#but then this issue came out and damn what a tone shift

[rafeandonlyrafe]

angel of a daughter

words: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, stepcest, stepdad!rafe, p in v sex, unprotected sex, virgin!reader, female receiving oral, fingering, breeding, fertility issues (from mother), reader is described as having big boobs, kinda pregnancy kink from rafe but more talk of sex while pregnant, cheating (no daddy kink)

“i got the results back.” your mom says, her voice low and sad, revealing her results with her tone alone. “the doctor says theres no way.” “i’m sorry, mama.” you pout, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. you hate that you feel a bit of relief. your mom had you young, a teenager knocked up by another teenager who ran off the second he heard his girlfriend got pregnant.

your mom raised you until you were a teenager yourself, doing everything by herself until your stepdad came into the picture. he inserted himself perfectly into your life, but expected to have kids of his own.

“whats the plan then?” you question as your stepdad comes into the living room, setting a glass of water down in front of your mom. you sit on either side of her, showing your support. “adoption? surrogate?” 

you like being an only child. you like it just being you, mom, and rafe, but at the same time, you want your mom to be happy, and if a baby gives her that, you'll adjust for her.

“actually…” rafe clears his throat. “we were hoping you’d be willing to help out.”

“yeah, of course.” you nod. “anyway i can.” 

you don’t realize what rafe means until later. you assumed it was just help researching adoption agencies, or finding a surrogate, but as rafe hovers over you, you realize he means to breed you.

“m-my mom can’t be okay with this.” you stutter out, body stiff against the bed, trapped as you blink up at rafe, body caging you over the mattress.

“she thinks you’re going to get inseminated.” he huffs out, breath warm against your face. “and in a way you are. a natural way.”

“i-i-” you stutter out. “i don't know about this.”

“come on, i see the way you look at me.” rafe shifts his weight to one hand, gliding down the other down your torso, squeezing your hip gently. “i know you want this.”

“you're married to my mom!” your eyes are wide, but a spark does ignite inside of you. “you're my stepdad!”

“and you’re going to be doing both of us such a big favor, pretty girl.” rafe coos, his fingers running along the material of your shorts, stroking closer and closer to your center every time.

“i-i guess it would be easier than going to a doctor.” you’re sure it involves waivers and legal shit that your mind just can’t even wrap around.

“exactly!” rafe smiles down at you, glad for your naivety. “besides, im making you feel good... you’ll get pregnant, and both of us will feel real good.”

“how many times will we get to do it?” you whisper, hands reaching up to touch rafes cheeks, running your finger down the smooth planes. “like, it probably won’t take the first time.”

“as many times as we have to babygirl. and i’ll take real good care of you during your pregnancy. rub your feet, buy whatever you are craving, eat you out.” rafe loves the way your eyes blow wide.

“thats not appropriate!” your mom has lectured you long and hard about sexual experiences and above all how important it is to wait so you don’t become pregnant young like she did. and now she is asking you to allow your stepdad to breed you when you’re freshly out of your teen years.

“its okay, its just you helping us out so im helping you back out in return.” rafe moves his hand up to cup your cheek. “let me show you.”

he leans down to press your lips together in a kiss. you lay frozen for a moment before beginning to move back, reciprocating the kiss as your hands fist into his shirt, tugging him lower.

you let out a moan into his mouth and rafe has to pull away to chuckle. “see, i knew you wanted me babygirl.”

“yeah.” you nod. “okay, lets do this.” damn the consequences, you can think about them later.

“good.” he coos out, lips back against yours quickly as his hand gropes at your breast, rubbing them through your tanktop. you’ve always been insecure about the size of your chest, but as rafe lowers down to look at them, you think about them in a whole new light.

“these are gonna feed our baby so well.” he says, tugging at the hem of your shirt, lower and lower until it breeches the swell of your breasts and they pop out the top. you don’t ask who he means by ‘our’. you can indulge in the fantasy that it’s just you and rafe. that your mom is still in the picture, but only in the role as your mother, not the one of rafes baby. 

rafe wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking deeply into his mouth, so in contrast to what it must feel like to have an infant feeding.

“i-more.” you gasp out as rafes fingers play with your other nipple, rolling and pinching at it until they’re both stiff peaks.

“i can’t wait to fuck you baby.” rafe says, helping you sit up just slightly to pull your shirt off, the small pajama shorts the only barrier you have left on your body. rafe also tugs his shirt off. you’ve seen him shirtless before in the pool or on your boat, but its different in this low lighting, so intimate and close. 

“gonna eat your pretty pussy first though.” rafe tugs your shorts down, your thighs pressing together to allow you to keep that part of yourself hidden for a moment longer, before rafe is pushing at your legs and slotting himself onto the bed in between them.

“aww.” rafe smiles, looking much more like a boy your age with his grin rather than your stepfather. “i knew she’d be cute.” his hands stroke over your inner thighs. “have you ever had a guy eat your pussy before?”

“no.” you shake your head. “never done anything with a guy.” you’ve kissed past boyfriends, but it never went beyond that.

“im gonna be your first?” theres a spark in rafes eye when he realizes that you’re a virgin. that he’s going to deflower you, fill you up. 

“y-yeah.” you nod. 

rafe wants you to cum once with his mouth and fingers first to open you up and get you wetter before he fucks you, so he wastes no more time, pushing his face forward between your legs, tongue swiping over your folds as you scream out in pleasure. 

rafe is glad as your moans increase with every flick of his tongue and glide of his lips that he chose to sneak into your room in a time when your mom was gone, off to the spa with her girlfriends, no doubt sharing to them her recent doctors trip and how her angel of a daughter agreed to be a surrogate so her and rafe could have a baby of their own.

“you taste so good.” rafe says. he isn’t one to enjoy giving head often, but you really are the sweetest taste on his lips. he focuses in on your clit as your entire body stiffens before relaxing, sighing out as your head becomes fuzzier and fuzzier with every touch of rafes mouth.

“do you touch yourself here?” rafe asks, pressing kisses to your clit, making out with it just like he did you mouth.

“no.” you shake your head. you occasionally grinded yourself into a pillow stuffed between your legs to get off when you got too overwhelmed, but you never reached your hand in your pants to feel yourself.

“what about here?” rafe brings his hand to your cunt, finger circling around your entrance.

your eyes widen again, that gloriously innocent startled look that has rafe grinding into the bed to give his cock some sort of relief.

“never!” you shake your head.

rafe just smiles, going back to focusing on your clit as his finger pushes in. you’re so wet it’s not difficult at all, but he can feel the way you squeeze around his digit, getting used to the feeling of the intrusion.

“relax for me, princess.” rafe says, sucking at your clit as he begins to move his finger in and out until he’s able to easily pump, the delicious squelching of your wetness filling the room with his every movement.

“gonna add a second, okay?” rafe talks you through the process, not wanting to do something to scare you into changing your mind. “gotta open you up for my cock, baby.”

rafe pushes a second finger into your entrance, working you open until he feels your body stiffen, his concentration going to your clit as he works you through your orgasm, your high so suddenly breeching that your body locks up and you let out a scream.

“shh, i got you.” rafe kisses along your mound as you work through it, pussy clenching around his fingers as he scissors them, knowing he needs you looser to fit inside.

“that-” you gasp out, mouth suddenly feeling dry. “that was so good.” “yeah?” rafe smiles up at you. “i can keep helping you feel that way, baby.”

“mhm.” you nod, not sure how you’ll ever go without now that you’ve felt the high that rafe can get you.

“can i fuck you now?” he questions. as much as he’s ready to go right now, if he has to build you up to allow him inside bare, he would wait.

“yeah.” your voice is dripping with eagerness. “yeah, yes please. just need a drink of water first.”

you sit up slightly, going to reach for your water bottle on your bedside table, but rafe moves quicker, helping you bring the bottle to your lips and suck the water down, pulling away with a gasp as a drop of water glides down your chin, reaching your throat before rafes tongue is on your skin, tasting the sheen of sweat as he follows the wet trail up to your lips, kissing you to keep your mind occupied.

he works his pants and underwear off while you’re wrapped up in the kiss, your hands stroking through his hair, playing with the strands. 

rafe moves your legs to wrap around his hips as he holds onto his cock, swiping it through your folds. he taps the head against your sensitive swollen clit, making you pull away with a gasp.

“stay nice and relaxed for me, baby.” rafe says, pressing kisses to your jaw as he lines up with your entrance. he pushes in slowly, your eyes clenching shut as your chest moves up and down with each breath, trying to keep your body relaxed like rafe said.

“there ya go.” rafe says, halfway inside your cunt. “good girl.”

he pushes as far in as your pussy allows, both of you sitting in that moment, relishing in the feeling of being joined together as you stretch to accommodate his large length, shifting your hips side to side and up and down to get used to the feeling.

“i gotta move, baby.” rafe says, his voice sounding strained.

“yeah, go ahead.” you nod. despite your affirmation, rafe continues to move slowly, his hips swinging back before pressing forward, carefully building up a rhythm.

“it feels really good.” you tell rafe, your cheeks flushed bright pink, hair fanned out on the pillow around you like a glowing halo.

“yeah, yeah.” rafe nods rapidly, his grip on control quickly loosening. “you feel so good too.”

rafe knows he should stop, but he loves the way your body reacts to his dirty words. “you’re so tight around me. i love this pussy. so much better than your mamas. gonna give me a baby, right?”

“i-yeah.” you nod. “fill me up.”

rafes loosening control shatters, his hips swinging forward fast, burying his cock inside of you as the pace instantly triples. you let out a squeal, the sheets gripped in your hands as he pounds into you.

“gonna fill up your pretty little cunnie, baby.” rafe grunts out, his own forehead sheening with sweat from his effort, his muscles straining as he pushes up then down, up then down.

“want it so bad.” you whine. 

“fuck.” rafe gasps out, mouth dropping open, his lips shiny from eating you out. “can’t last much longer. gonna cum.”

you experiment, clenching your pussy around his cock, and judging by rafes reaction of a loud moan and curse, you can tell he likes it. you continue, squeezing every time he pulls out, wanting to keep his cock wrapped in your warmth.

“i-im cumming.” rafe gasps out, his cock growing inside of you before your eyes widen, suddenly feeling warmth spreading as his cum fills you, his cock pressing in even harder, hoping it reaches your womb.

“god.” rafe groans, lowering his body on top of yours, but you don’t care about the weight as you smile.

“we’re gonna keep doing that?” you ask, running your hand down his back.

rafe looks up at you. “oh, of course baby. gonna keep fucking you while you’re pregnant too, maybe you’ll give us twins.”

you roll your eyes and giggle at rafe. “thats not how it works, silly!” “oh, what do you know?” rafe smirks at you. “you haven’t even had sex before!”

“well… i have now.” you mumble, shifting your hips from side to side, rafes cock still lodged deep inside of you.

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[kingkatsuki]

— heatwave

I’m suffering through the heatwave over here, and Bakugou is the only thing that could make it better or worse.

Warnings: 18+, not proofread, Bakugou is your roommate, sweaty sex, dirty talk, spanking, creampie.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 3.8k.

“It’s too damn hot,” Bakugou growled as he lay the back of his head against the couch. Even the soft, worn fabric was uncomfortable against his back. Retaining more heat than necessary paired with his body temperature it had sweat pooling against his skin.

Life as an up and coming Pro-Hero had been rough. With long shifts, terrible hours and little pay he was stuck in this dingy, stuffy apartment. Waiting for the day he’d add an extra figure onto his paycheck to have enough to move out. Things like air conditioning were a lavish luxury that he couldn’t afford right now, so it meant suffering through the torridness with a small ice pack he’d grabbed from the freezer.

The only bonus was having a roommate like you.

Originally Bakugou had been adverse to living under the same roof as someone, unable to trust anyone living in close quarters with him. There was an entire cacophony of issues that could arise from picking the wrong person— from being kept up all night, the mess they could leave behind to having friends or hookups in his shared space.

But you had been a godsend, understanding of his unsocial work schedule and his house rules. You could even argue that you were a better roommate than he was, with his friends delighting in showing up unannounced and causing a mess in his apartment. Something that you were always so understanding of when you’d join them for movie nights or dinner.

You were a blessing. Or now that he thought about it, perhaps it was a curse. Now forced to watch you practically saunter around in the shortest short shorts known to man in a feeble attempt to try and deal with the extreme temperatures. Your top half not much better, the stringy vest top you wore— without a bra no less— exposed your midriff and the cute stiffened peaks of your nipples. Not that he was looking, and even if he was what did you expect him to do.

Rubbing sweat from his upper lip as he spreads his legs wide on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen, his crimson eyes roaming your figure as the shorts hugged the swell of your ass perfectly. Dipping in between the cheeks as he imagined pulling them apart to see what was hidden between them, the material dangerously close to revealing it to him anyway—

You were doing absolutely nothing to help quell the heat oozing through his body. In fact, Bakugou was certain you were making it worse. His cock jumping at the sight of you, pulsing beneath his shorts as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Praying that this sudden heatwave would cease and he could stop being tortured by the sight of you like this every damn day, it was bad enough when he’d catch peeks of you in a towel coming from the bathroom towards your bedroom, or forgotten panties left strewn around. But this? This was unbearable.

“I can’t deal with this heat,” The whiny tone to your voice had Bakugou silencing a growl deep in his chest, watching you hold the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically, “I wanna sit in the freezer.”

“Don’t you dare.” Bakugou knew from experience the heat alone would be enough to shut down the entire machine, and you both definitely didn’t have enough money to replace it if it did.

And that freezer was the only thing satiating the heat so far. Shoving his melting ice pack against his chest, the contents quickly changing form to liquid as he tried to make the most of it before it would have to go back inside the freezer.

“Let me feel,” You came around the couch to stand in front of him, his eyes set in a heavy glare as he tried to weigh up whether it was worth letting you feel how cold the pack was.

It was bad enough having you so scantily clad in such short proximity to him right now, certain he could now smell the saccharine of your perfume as you pulled the top of your vest down, exposing the swell of your breasts as you presented your sternum to him.

Bakugou pushes the pack to your chest and immediately regrets it when the sound you let out is downright sinful. You have to know what you’re doing to him, the way your lips curl into a delicious looking pout and your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

“Oh god, that feels so fucking good.” You moaned, eyes clenched shut to focus on the cool chill that slowly washed over your chest.

His cock jumps in his shorts as he tries to shift his hips to avoid you from noticing the now very evident bulge, the throb pounding through his veins as he feels a different kind of heat beginning to take over.

He should stop here, take his ice pack back and tell you to go and sit in front of your mini desk fan again. Get you out of the room and as far away as possible and save this for another day, a day when you’re both not delirious from the intense heat.

But his depraved thoughts have already consumed him, the thought of your plush body pressed against his while he slides his throbbing cock inside you now at the forefront of his mind as he presses the pack lower. Watching as you arch your back towards it, welcoming the cool chill as you lean forward to splay your sweaty palms against his thick thighs.

And whether he’s delirious from the heat, or it’s the desperate look in your eyes he doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s kissing you fiercely, the ice pack drops forgotten between your bodies in favour of grabbing your hips.

“Fuck,” You kiss him back, words swallowed by his chapped lips as you feel the bulge between his thighs press snug against your crotch.

Your hands reach up to card through messy blond spikes as your nails graze his damp scalp, your tongue swiped against his as he palms your ass. Calloused fingertips disappear beneath the flimsy fabric as he squeezes the fat of it, tugging you down against his hardness as he pulls more sultry sounds from your throat.

“It’s too hot for this, Katsuki.” You whine, breaking the kiss as you gasp for air in the humid room.

At this chance Bakugou’s lips venture lower, peppering kisses along your jawline towards your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your vest. Tugging the fabric down to reveal your round breasts, his tongue pokes out to wet his lips at the marvellous sight.

His nighttime fantasies can’t compare to the sight in front of him, crimson eyes shamelessly ogle your skin to commit the sight to memory as he leans forward.

“Shut up,” He rasps back gruffly while mouthing your breast.

You’re right, it’s entirely too hot for any kind of strenuous activity, especially when he’s sweating so much it already feels like he’s run a marathon. But the way your soft body feels pressed against his is too much to pass up. Especially when this is what he’s been dreaming about ever since he moved in with you, fisting his cock too. It’s too much to leave it to chance that he may get this opportunity again later. Bakugou’s always been a greedy man, and he wants to have you now.

“Fuck,” You cry out when his teeth graze your nipple, pushing your crotch against his with more urgency.

Certain you’ve leaked through the flimsy fabric, desire surges through you dense and fast. A stark contrast to your lethargic movements as you grind yourself down on his lap pathetically.

“Katsuki,” You whine.

His strong hands are doing all the work as he moves you how he pleases. Strong palms pick you up by the meat of your ass to drop you back down on his length. Grinding your puffy clit against his pelvis with each motion as he has you crying out in pleasure.

“Fuck, Katsu. S’too hot—”

You weren’t sure whether it was the humid air permeating the room or the way that Bakugou was looking at you with smouldering eyes that had your body aflame. Muggy, vapid air filling your lungs as clammy hands stroked along his bare torso. Mapping out a course of newly discovered territory as you let your thumbs brush against his pebbled nipples, his chest vibrating against your touch with more sultry groans.

“I know you are, sweetheart.” He hummed, his fingers brushing the crotch of your shorts, “Let me make you feel good.”

“Oh,” You gasped when you felt the calloused pads stroke your labia, involuntarily leaning forward to give him more space as Bakugou began to spread you apart for him. Fingers gliding through your messy folds, dragging your essence along your slit until he found your puffy clit.

The contact had you jolting forward, nails grazing his chest as he focused his attention on it. Circling it tentatively with the pad of his finger as you began to rock your hips back against him, uncaring about how debauched you looked as you began to seek your own pleasure.

“Yeah?” He rasped, and the gravelly husk did nothing but increase the desperation inside you, “You like that?”

“Fuck, please—“ You buried your head in the curve of his neck, your lips pressed against the slick skin as you tasted the saltiness of his sweat on your tongue.

“Please what, sweetheart,” He cooed.

“Please—“ You gasped when you felt his thumb press against your empty hole. He knew exactly what you wanted, he was toying with you.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Your fingers.” You were shameless, your hips grinding back against him as Bakugou finally took mercy on you and pushed his thumb into your sloppy entrance. The slightest penetration enough to drag a deep moan from your throat as he kept his focus against your clit, leaning his head back against the couch to try and see the blissful expression on your face as he worked you with precision.

“Got no damn idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this,” He husked against your ear, lips soft against the shell as you clenched around him in response, “Always walkin’ round in those fuckin’ short shorts got me wanting to bend you over every surface in this house.”

“Oh fuck,” You mewled, already feeling yourself teetering on the edge of your climax as he kept his pace constant against your clit, his thumb positioned to press against your spongy wall as his other hand tightened its grip on your ass. Spreading you open, as you found your bliss, “Katsuki.”

“That’s it, good girl.” He hummed, feeling your walls pulse around his digit as he kept his pace. Working you through your release as he pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your temple.

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d wished the same, coming into the kitchen to see him still in full hero gear after work. Dirt and grime covering his body as his mask was pulled up over his forehead to show his blackened eyes, bending over to grab the carton of juice from the fridge as he held it up to his lips to chug it. Watching his Adam’s apple bob as the liquid flowed, giving you the perfect view of him as you tried to busy yourself to hide the fact you were blatantly staring.

Or the moments where he’d come out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips to shout at you for using the taps in the kitchen while he was showering. The cheap apartment had one flow of hot water and it shut off that luxury whenever it was used elsewhere. The cold water catching him off guard as he glared at you, water droplets drooling down his perfect skin and making him look more like an ancient god or deity than your roommate.

“So why didn’t you?” You asked when you’d come down from your high.

“Huh?” Bakugou’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt before.”

“I like livin’ with you,” He shrugged, “Didn’t wanna jeopardise that.”

“You wouldn’t have,” You smiled, pulling yourself back from his neck to meet his gaze, “I like you too.”

“That mean I can finally eat this pretty little pussy?” He groaned, shuffling his hips, “Been thinkin’ about it since the day I met you.”

“Later, please—” You pawed at the hard bulge between his thigh, his pre staining the fabric as you pressed against the tip.

“Fuck,” He grunted, shamelessly bringing his fingers to his lips to get a taste of you. His tongue sweeping against his digits to clean them of your slick, “Gonna take you over every damn surface in this house, princess.”

Your fingers curled into the hem of his shorts, Bakugou lifting his hips off the couch to help you drag them down just enough to free his heady cock— the sight of it better than you’d ever imagined in those nightly fantasies.

He was thick and long, bulging veins that forked along the length of him only made him seem that much more intimidating as his balls sat heavy at the base. Neatly trimmed blond hairs decorated his pelvis as they created a pretty trail along his abdomen, unable to resist running your hand along it as his stomach folded at the touch. A sharp hiss sucked sharp through his teeth as you wrapped your hand around him at the base, holding him steady so you could see the tip. The head a swollen pink as pre continued to bead at the slit, drooling down towards his frenulum as you moved to settle between his thighs. Wanting a taste of him yourself as you swiped your thumb over the leaky tip of his cock.

“Oi, I thought you said later,” He teased, rough hands steady on your hips to stop you from moving.

“Please,” You whined pathetically, “Wanna taste you.”

You brought your thumb to your lips as your tongue swiped at the surface, tasting him on your tongue as your lashes fluttered. Crimson eyes focused on your movements as his cock twitched in appreciation, tempted to let you do whatever you pleased. But he’d been waiting far too long for this moment, and there was no way he could wait any longer.

“You little minx,” He groaned as you sucked your thumb, “I promise later.” He groaned, tugging at your shorts, “Do you like these?”

“Yeah, they’re— what the fuck, Katsuki?”

You gasped when you heard the sharp sound of ripping fabric, “I said I liked them.”

“Sorry,” You could tell from the smug grin on his face that he was anything but as he positioned you above his leaky cock, “I gotta have you now.”

You held onto his shoulders as he wrapped a large fist around his cock, dragging the tip through your slick as he felt it catch against your tight entrance. His other hand on your hip slowly dropping you down onto his length as you felt the pleasurable ache of him stretching you open ebb through your pelvis.

“I got you, sweetheart,” He groaned, watching his cock slowly disappear inside you as he felt your warm walls wrap snugly around him, “Gonna take such good care of you.”

You felt hot, the heat radiating from your sex sweltering and yet you didn’t want to let go. The thick girth of his cock filled you perfectly as you felt him pressed against every ridge and groove of your cunt like he was made for you.

Your lips move together languidly, tasting the saltiness from his upper lip as you move together in tandem. Wet and sloppy while his tongue strokes yours, desperation evident by the way you try to deepen the kiss. As though you’re trying to melt into him, to feel him devour you whole.

“Oh, shit.” You choke back a cry when you feel the tip of his cock hit a spot deep inside you, certain you’ve never had something quite so big before.

You struggle to lift yourself up with your legs spread wide over his thick thighs as you grind yourself against his lap. Your clit catching against the trimmed hairs at his base as you roll your hips with desire, your chest pressed taut to his as you start a lazy pace. The scorching heat inside the apartment makes it difficult to breathe as you writhe in his lap, his warm breath fans against your skin almost feels cooler than the thick air clouding the room.

“Kats. It’s too hot.” You whine pathetically, your pace clumsy and sluggish as the desire inside you burns hot and heavy.

“You started this.” He retorts cockily with a smug smirk on his face.

“I did not.” You pout, “This is your fault.”

“Stop whinin’” He reaches back to bring his palm down on your ass in a rough smack, the sweatiness of his quirk has his skin tacking to you as it increases the sensation, clinging to your skin as you gasp in surprise. A painful pleasure courses through your veins as the skin prickles beneath his touch, your pliant walls clamping down around his girth in retaliation.

Without hesitating he reaches his large palms back to cup a cheek in each hand, lifting you up languidly as he marvels the glossy sheen your slick leaves on his cock.

“You just sit there and look pretty, let me do the work.” He spread is thighs wider, giving himself more air as he shifted your weight. Picking you up and dropping you down on his length as he listened to the pretty sounds that spilled from you like a siren, drawing him in and capturing his heart as you pulsed around him.

“Why couldn’t you have got an ice quirk?”

Clammy hands paw at his shoulders as Bakugou repeats the motion, skin tacking to skin as he bounces you on his cock. The kinetic energy builds heat swiftly and harsh as you feel the stickiness against your skin. Your wetness seeps out against his pelvis and matts the hair at his base, catching your clit with each drop of your hips.

“Shut the fuck up,” He scoffed, “You won’t be sayin’ that come winter.”

The thought of having his warm body to warm you during those cold winter months, still being with him then— had you clenching around him.

“Oh yeah? You like the sound of that?” He grinned, “Can feel this pussy clenchin’ around me.”

“Fuck, Katsuki.” The heat was becoming unbearable, radiating from your core as it burned molten lava. The coil inside you dangerously close to snapping as you danced on the crux of your release, gasping for air as he changed tact. Holding your hips tight under sweaty palms as he planted his feet flat on the ground, pistoning his hips up into your pliant sex, “There— oh, god. Right there—”

“That’s it,” He rasped, watching your tits bounce with each rapid thrust, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

“‘m gonna cum,” You choked out between moans, feeling the curved tip of his cock drag against the spongy spot inside you with each thrust, “Oh shit—”

“Cum for me,” He growled, “Cum all over my cock.”

The tips of Bakugou’s thumbs pressed against your pelvis, tightening his grip as it only increased the pressure. Sweat trickling down your temples as he sent you vaulting over the edge into euphoria.

“Good girl,” He grunted, feeling your walls clamp down around his cock as you willed him to come with you, trying to milk him of his seed.

The pleasure was unlike anything you’d felt before, mind-numbingly intense as you cried out a jumbled mess of his name. Your nails digging crescent moons into his skin as he hissed beneath you, shamelessly searching for his own end as the heat radiated from your body. Sliding against each other from the sweat that now trickled down your skin, leaving a glossy sheen against you both as he used you for his own pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum,” Bakugou grunted, moving to lift you off his cock before you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, unbothered about the stifling heat in the room as you kept him tight against you.

“Cum inside me, Katsuki.” You gasped a he choked back a grunt, your words all it took to meet his own end.

His guttural moans are sinful, erotic as you cling to him with fervour. Committing the sensation to memory as though it’s the last time you’ll have him like this, as if the heat has him in this delirious state. And maybe it does—

You never thought Bakugou could look so pretty like this, completely vulnerable as he exposes his most intimate self to you. Thick, white spurts of cum spurt from his tip as he empties his balls inside you.

“Fuck, baby.” He breathes hot and heavy as you feel his chest rise and fall against yours.

Bodies slumped together on the couch as you feel the dampness of skin against skin, your vest that now sits useless around your waist is soaked and warm as the fabric clings to your body.

“I’m so sticky,” You whine childishly, making no attempt to move as Bakugou’s fingers trace absent-minded patterns along your exposed back.

“How the fuck dya think I feel?” He rasps, “My ass is stuck to the couch.”

“Eww,” You tease, running your nose along his collarbone as you take in the musky scent of him, “We’ll have to get another couch.”

He catches you by surprise as he presses the forgotten ice pack to the back of your neck, although it’s mostly melted it’s a stark contrast to your sweltering body as you flinch in surprise. Your cunt clenches around him at the sensation as Bakugou grunts from the attention.

“Oh shit, don’t do that sweetheart—“ He hisses, wrapping an arm around your back to hold you tight against him, “You’ll make me hard again.”

Something that you’re not sure you’d mind, even though your body is screaming out for a different kind of relief now. Desperate to cool your temperature down as you scrunch your nose in irritation.

“I feel so gross.” You complain as he gives your ass another playful spank as you barely move from the impact, your bodies stuck together with a mixture of heat and sweat.

“Got no one to blame but yourself, princess,” He groans, “I was just mindin’ my business until you came over in those little shorts.”

“You weren’t complaining when you were balls deep.” You moved your head back to glare at him.

“My balls feel like they’re on fire now,” He scoffs, leaning forward to peck your pouty lips, “Cold shower?” He asks, although he’s already decided he’s showering with you— he’s taking every moment he can with you now.

#Bakugou x reader #Bakugou smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #Katsuki bakugou smut

[transvampireboyfriend]

Had this “Steve only hates impersonal nicknames” idea in my notes for a while and then after seeing @cholvoq​ ‘s wonderful art I had to turn it into a real thing for Valentine’s Day. This is 2.4k, i’m SO sorry edit: you can now read this on ao3 :)

Eddie’s a nickname guy. It’s always Dusty this and Gare-Bear that and JeffJeff here and Bobbie there and it’s Mikey and Maxxii and Nance-pants and Johnny and… big boy?

Him being a nickname guy makes it near impossible to hide his crushes. Thankfully, Steve had been really cool about it. Sure, he seemed a little stunned, but Eddie still had all his teeth in place by the end of that interaction, so he had called that a win.

He hadn’t known then that Steve was… different. Or he was starting to see it but what he thought was shocking then had really been just the tip of the iceberg. He hadn’t expected Steve to be nice. Or funny, or caring, or protective, or understanding.

He had learned all of that after everything. During chats on Hellfire nights while the kids cleaned up after themselves, during hangouts at the diner with Robin and Nancy, during Saturday afternoons when he went to pick out a movie only to end up talking with Steve, their conversation flowing until it was cut short by Steve’s shift ending.

After some time, Eddie had gotten to know Steve even more during long weekday nights when one came over to bring the other something they left behind, or to share a record, or to demand the beers the other owes or to show the other a stupid article in a stupid magazine only to end up making dinner together and watching a movie afterwards.

They stopped making excuses about two weeks ago.

Eddie had asked “do youuu… wanna come over?” on Saturday night, while nervously twirling his keys as Steve locked the front doors of the Family Video.

The evening chill had cut right through Eddie’s leather jacket as his keys clanged against his rings. But Steve had nodded with a smile and asked “pizza?” on their way to their cars, and Eddie had forgotten all about the cold.

Point being, Steve had been just fine with ‘big boy’ when it happened. Eddie’s a nickname guy. Him and Steve are hanging out more now, and so, Eddie’s been calling him more nicknames. Some of them are very intentional, others come completely without thinking, and it turns out, Steve takes issue with a few of them.

The first time it happens, Eddie’s underneath his van trying to get the damn thing to cooperate, the recent winter was tough on it, and it keeps dying out on him.

Steve sits nearby perched on a little stool, wearing his Family Video vest since he came by right after finishing his morning shift to see if they could make plans for lunch. Eddie suggested they grab something at the diner if and when he finally gets the van to start back up and Steve had agreed to wait.

He’s been telling Eddie about tonight’s basketball- game? match? super bowl? Is there such a thing as the major leagues of basketball? Eddie’s not sure, but he adores the sound of Steve’s voice and he’s kind of invested in the drama of players switching teams and retiring and whatever else Steve wants to tell him about. So, he’s been listening, not really bothering with asking for clarification for what he doesn’t understand yet. He’ll figure it out as they go.

He's blindly patting the floor around his legs for his rag, when he feels Steve put it right in his hand.

Eddie’s relieved. "Thanks, bud!" he says, the nickname just rolling off his tongue effortlessly, no meaning attached.

It gets kind of quiet all of a sudden. After about five seconds of Steve not talking, Eddie comes out to check on him, and finds him frowning at his legs.

"Don't call me ‘bud’" Steve requests, looking up at his face, his tone just a tad harsh. Eddie would think he ran into King Steve if he didn't know any better.

As it is, Eddie gets Steve probably thinks the nickname is childish or patronizing, so he doesn’t think twice of it, just gets a little sheepish and says "sorry, Stevie".

Steve smiles at that, a little cocky. He does his little mean girl shaking his head thing like he just got exactly what he wanted. Eddie feels his face twist a bit in confusion, but he likes it when Steve gets a little mean so he doesn't say anything about it and just dives back under his van as Steve resumes their conversation.

 The second time it happens, they’re outside the supermarket. The kids shot out of the van as soon as it rolled to a stop, Steve calling out a warning after them while still listening to Eddie explain why Star Wars and Star Trek are actually very different but really good in their own way. Their conversation carries on as they hop out of the van, lock up and walk to meet at the front.

“I’m telling you, Star Trek is great. You would love it,” Eddie says, “you just have to give it a chance”.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, but Eddie can see his smile.

“Ok, alright,” Steve answers, “you can show me tonight then”, it’s almost too nonchalant. Eddie has to hide his grin.

Steve’s been suggesting they hang out more and more lately, and he can’t help but feel a bit hopeful. They clearly enjoy each other’s company, their time together is never dull, Steve seems to be really comfortable around him and maybe, just maybe…

“Should we get beers then?” Eddie asks, excited at the prospect of some more time alone with him.  They haven’t had a weeknight hangout since Eddie fixed his van last week. He kinda misses the very specific color of Steve’s eyes in the Harringtons’ yellow living room lamplight.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his eyes get soft in a way Eddie only started noticing a couple of weeks back, “we can watch it at my place” he adds. Eddie thinks he definitely hasn’t seen him look at anyone else like that.

To shake himself out of the spell of the prettiest boy he’s ever met making the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen at him and ONLY him, Eddie grabs Steve by the wrist and starts marching them towards the supermarket’s front doors.

Without thinking, Eddie says "c'mon man," as they go.

Steve, who started easily following him (like he always does these days), suddenly stops in his tracks. Eddie gets pulled back and almost stumbles on top of Steve. He'd get flustered if Steve wasn't frowning at him like he’d just said the most insulting thing he’d heard this month.

"Don't call me ‘man’" Steve says. Eddie feels his eyebrows raise a bit.

He debates asking why but doesn't question Steve in the end. He’d rather offer understanding than judgement to him any day.

So, Eddie takes advantage of Steve's wrist in his hand, and squeezes there a bit, says "I'm sorry sweetheart" sincerely, looks into Steve's eyes so he can see Eddie means it.

Steve blushes a bit then, not really used to the nickname yet, Eddie just got the balls to start using it last week. Eddie himself is not really used to seeing Steve blush, and at something he says? It’s too much power for one metalhead.

But he gets distracted from Steve’s blush because it happens again, Steve basically preens like a peacock once Eddie switches nicknames. Looks smug, like he has Eddie wrapped around his finger and well, Eddie guesses he does, so, no arguments there either.

He just smiles back at Steve, really, has no other choice, it’s not like he can control how he reacts to the most gorgeous fucking face the universe could ever come up with. But he tugs him along again, Steve happily following this time.

The next time it happens, Steve’s leaning against his kitchen island, with Eddie leaning across from him against the counter.

The party is watching a movie in the Harringtons’ living room and at some point, Eddie got up to get himself another soda, Steve not so subtly followed after him, taking the empty popcorn bowls to the sink. He struck up a conversation and there they stayed.

Eddie’s been turning the small gesture around and around in his head. Clearly Steve’s not shy about seeking him out, and he’s obviously good with the party knowing, which means a hell of a lot because those are Steve’s people, that’s his family.

Eddie’s honestly running out of excuses to not ask him out. Seeing him reaching out to bump his sneaker against Eddie’s boot when he says something funny, laughing just a little too hard at Eddie’s dumb joke; seeing his eyes widen a bit when Eddie compliments him; seeing him notice when Eddie is holding back from talking too much, and not letting it go until he thinks Eddie’s shared all of his opinions on the subject; Eddie thinks maybe he can be brave, when it comes to Steve.

And this week might be the perfect time.

Here they are still, the movie long ended and several easy conversations floating from the living room to the kitchen, where they’re still engrossed on their own.

“I mean I taught the kid how to do his hair for god’s sake!” Steve is saying, Eddie’s laughing easily, and he has a slight suspicion Steve’s acting way more annoyed than he really is because he knows Eddie dies laughing every time Steve roasts the kids.

“Just, if he’s gonna give me hair advice, he should work on that goddamn tone. At the Very Least.” Steve finishes, Eddie giggling all the while at his Annoyed Mom tone.

"Yeah, dude!" Eddie agrees, wanting to egg him on, but Steve's face suddenly falls and whatever remark Eddie had locked and loaded just fades away.

Eddie blinks perplexed; he’s getting déjà vu.

Steve frowns at him, says "Don't call me ‘dude’".

It’s eerie, only he sounds a bit annoyed this time.

Eddie thinks, maybe someone called Steve ‘dude’ before in an unpleasant way, so he doesn't pry.  Instead, he takes the chance to call him a nickname he likes more, and says "Sorry, pretty boy", his heart fluttering in the milliseconds he has to wait for Steve’s reaction.

And it happens one last time: Steve absolutely beams at that one, his smile so bright it makes Eddie want to jump in place.

He leans further back on the counter returning the smile, not noticing the common thread in Steve’s reactions to him switching nicknames.

But then the glint in Steve’s eyes suddenly brightens a dim corner of Eddie’s brain. He gets this feeling that reminds him of a perfectly set up riddle or finding that one perfect note for his latest song. It’s like everything suddenly just makes sense.

Eddie feels realization dawn on his face as he pushes himself off the counter to walk right into Steve’s personal bubble, grabs both of Steve's hands.

"Steve" Eddie says, not even caring that he sounds like the name is dripping in honey when it comes out of his mouth. With how sweet Steve is, it might as well be.

Steve just looks at him a little stunned, but doesn't say anything. Eddie draws circles in the back of his palms to reassure him.

"Why don't you want me to call you ‘dude’?" Eddie asks, trying to find out if this whole thing is what he thinks it is.

Steve looks down at their joined hands,.

"You call Nancy that sometimes..." Steve mumbles.

His answer would sound inconsequential to the unsuspecting, certainly would have to Eddie as late as last week, but Eddie thinks he’s finally getting it, and he hums his understanding.

"How ‘bout ‘man’?" he asks

Steve replies "You call Robin that sometimes..." his eyes still on their hands.

Eddie nods his agreement.

"I call everyone those things" he points out.

Steve agrees. "Exactly" he says, finally looking at him again, sounding annoyed and confirming Eddie’s suspicions.

Eddie feels his face split into a smile. He wants to grab Steve’s beautiful freaking face and just plant one on him.

"Can I still call you sweetheart?" he ventures instead. The nickname brings the hint of a smile to Steve's face but then he seems to realize something not so pleasant.

"Do you call someone else ‘sweetheart’?" Steve asks in return.

"No one" Eddie says, shaking his head, his tone vehement.

"Then yes" Steve finally answers. Eddie's heart wants to beat right out of his chest.

He interlocks their fingers to ground himself, Steve looks down at their hands and smiles at the sight.

"So, you don't want me to call you something I call someone else?" Eddie states, more than asks, calling Steve’s eyes back to his again.

"Anyone else" Steve confirms, holding his gaze.

Eddie lets out a small shuddering exhale and feels his heart fluttering in his throat, he really cannot believe this boy.

"Steve" Eddie drawls, dripping in honey again, his hands coming up to cradle Steve's face because he really can't resist anymore "Sweetheart" he says.

Steve's eyes grow a little wide and he starts blushing so much that Eddie can feel it in his palms.

"Steevieeee" Eddie sinsongs, squeezing Steve's face a bit "Pretty boy" Eddie calls him. Steve just keeps looking at him and a small smile blooms in his pretty, pretty face.

"Would you let me take you out to dinner this Friday?" Eddie finally asks him, his fingers curling to the back of Steve's head to play with his hair there. Steve's eyes get even wider.

" 's Valentine's this Friday" he points out. Eddie knows.

"Mmhm. Want you to be my Valentine." Eddie tells him, tugs his hair gently, "How's that sound?" he asks, bold in a way he never has been before. Steve blushing does things to him.

"Sounds nice" Steve answers. He smiles and nods while his hands hook on Eddie's belt loops.

"Then it's a date?" Eddie asks, trying not to sound too eager. He thinks he fails spectacularly but Steve beams and pulls him in to kiss his cheek.

"It's a date" Steve tells him, his breath ghosting on Eddie's cheek and making him shiver.

Steve pulls back, lets go of Eddie’s belt loops and tugs on a strand of his hair gently, smiling like the cat that got the cream as he walks back out into the living room.

Eddie’s gonna make this the best Valentine’s Day date Steve has ever been on.

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie headcanon #steddie fic #Steve maybe gets a lil emotional the first time Eddie calls him 'sunshine' #steve harrington #eddie munson #adhd/autism eddie my beloved #fanfic #stranger things #sigh. im not really satisfied with this I wish I could get more of Steve in it #i ESPECIALLY wish it was better so it could live up to that AMAZING ART OMG IM INLOVE WITH IT 😭 #but it's almost not Valentines anymore so here #have it #i just want it to leave me alooooneeeeeee #but anyways #i might put it on ao3 later #i just get so embarrassed about my other fics but i also dont wanna orphan them idk #asdfghjkllkjhgf #whatever. good night #i hope your Valentines was nice <3 #bossy mean girl princess steve supremacy forever #.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

heyyyyy sliding back in here lol

what about soft!jason who just knows when reader needs a hug? like not specific mental health issues but jason just notices a drained reader and decides to clear his aft to take care of his girl??

(this may or may not be completely self-indulgent...)

sending love <333

Heeeeelp not me relating too much to this for the rest of the weeeeekk 💀✨

A lot of scenarios came to mind but this was the most easiest to me

—

What’s an obvious talent with nearly every member of the so called “Batfamily,” was the detective skills. The ability to observe and take in details, noticing the slightest shift in demeanor. Just harnessing the unique gift until it’s second nature was a gift in itself.

Jason wasn’t one to flaunt those abilities of his, but right now, he feels his mind working overdrive trying to figure you out.

As in, figure out your slumped body taking up most of the couch after you collapse on it. Your face hidden away behind the comforter, hiding from the harsh society of the daily grind that always found a way to bug the hell out of you after you believe you’re finally starting to get the hang of it.

“Can I have some couch time, too?” Came Jason’s soft question, gently prodding what he assumed was your shoulder. Your shuffling body grants him permission to settle along the slim space beside you, leaving you undisturbed in your sensory deprivation cocoon.

“Bad day at work, Huh?”

“Mhm.” Came a bland little muffle.

“Want me to make some calls?” Jason offers in an ever so snarky tone. “Take care of some business?”

“Please.” You murmur, taking him by surprise.

By that, he always references using violence just to get a rise outta you, knowing you’d usually click your tongue, roll your eyes, or smack him on the shoulder for his idiocy. This time, you agreed to it, maybe even consider mentally encouraging it.

This wasn’t the first time you agreed, but whenever you did was usually on ‘not so good’ days. Today looked like a ‘not so good’ day.

“Aww, babygirl.” Jason’s arms reinforce around your body, cradling you to himself like a treasured doll.

“Show me what’s underneath this blanket city you got goin’ on.” Jason pinched the fabric with two fingers, giving gentle tugs. “Show me that gorgeous face, pretty girl.”

Your reluctance was to be expected, but you give in. Your flushed face is greeted with crisp air before Jason comes to view, smiling softly with all his handsome beauty.

“There’s my girl,” he whispers, brushing some stray hair tussled by the blanket off to the side.

“Got some soda earlier. Want an ice cream float to feel better?” He asks, watching your head shift as you gesture a no. So distressed, you’d turn away a childhood tradition? Ouch.

“Hmm,” Jason tilts his head back in thought, clicking his tongue. “Need me to kill your boss?”

You nod yes, per his amusement.

“Agh, damn. You should’ve asked me that about a year ago, babe. Fresh outta the ‘soul refund pool’ me woulda’ done so in a heartbeat.”

You groan, hiding your face further in the valley of his neck while his hands rub circles along different points of your back. “S’okay sweetheart. I know what it’s like to wanna kill your boss, but you’re not at work right now.”

He easily shuffles you around as he spoke, hoisting you into his lap in a seated position.

“You’re home with me, safe an’ sound,” he continues as he pulls off your shoes, running his hands along your lower legs to soothe the muscles. “An’ I’m here. Real world isn’t gonna getcha in here.”

Jason’s lips on your forehead settles the sting of bitterness you’ve carried in your chest for hours. He knew just what to say, how to act, and held enough patience for the both of you combined.

You adored him. Your giant red teddy bear.

“Wanna do something fun, babe? Wanna watch an old horror movie?”

The silliest of habits you had with Jason was judging the movies you used to find scary back in the day. While some lived up to their name on the gore filled horror scare, the SFX and editing left something to nearly choke on popcorn over.

After that, it was good habit to end movie night on a comedy. The early Y2K movie parodies seemed to always hit the spot. 

You nod yes to this, craving that relief now more than ever.

“Bet that ice cream is starting to sound good now, huh?” Jason muses, his smirk growing as your head shuffles a yes again.

Thought so.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #we need mimis

[vainvenus]

⌲;꒰ Drunk words are just sober thoughts. ꒱

Pairing :: JJ Maybanks x Fem!Reader

Synopsis :: You and JJ are best friends. Nothing more, nothing less. At least, that's what you thought.

Includings :: CW for EMETOPHOBIA (puking and talk/mention of it), best friends to lovers, mutual pinning, jealous!JJ, drinking, almost violence, pogue!reader, drunken confessions, hangovers, mostly fluff, kisses.

An :: Finally got into Outerbanks so I'm obvi taking requests!

You and JJ had been best friends for as long as anybody could remember despite how the two of you were kind of opposites.

JJ was a wild card, there was no telling what he would do in any given moment. He was rambunctious and impulsive. It seemed that no matter where he went trouble liked to follow.

You were the perfect balance to that, you were careful and logical. If there ever was an issue you were quick to think of a way to get him out of trouble or to at least keep him out of it as long as you could.

The two of you were a perfect duo, balancing the other one out. And you weren't total opposites all the time. You sometimes gave in to his stupid ideas and he sometimes followed your advice when brewing up a particularly horrible idea.

The two of you were also the most well known duo in the OBX. You were almost always together. Wherever one of you were, the other one couldn't be too far away.

So everybody was a little, if not a lot confused when JJ arrived at the Boneyard for another party that John B was hosting and you weren't at his side or on his back.

Pope's brows furrowed as the blonde grabbed a beer from one of the coolers, popping it open as he took a seat next to him. "Where's [Y/n]? I thought she'd be trailing behind you as soon as you got here or vice versa."

"She had to take somebody's shift." He replied, his tone having a bit of bitterness to it before he took a couple of sips from the bottle.

"And why do you seemed more pissed than you should be about it?"

"It's with Chris."

Pope nodded, it seemed that almost everyone was aware of JJ's true feelings towards you except for you. It was ironic and honestly funny if it didn't seem to cause JJ so much distress.

"Chris again, huh?" And JJ had rolled his eyes, setting the now empty bottle aside. "Yeah, Chris again. It's like witchcraft how they always work the same shifts. Even surprise ones."

Pope shrugged his shoulders as he watched the boy grab another drink. "She's probably not into him man, I wouldn't stress it. And if she was, don't you think she would say something about now?"

JJ only shrugged as he downed the second bottle of beer.

When you finally did arrive to the party you had Chris attached at your hip and JJ was on his fifth bottle of beer. A mixture of events that was bound to end in disaster.

JJ's nose scrunched up as he looked at you and Chris exiting from your car, his lips turning into a scowl as he watched the ginger rush around the car to help you out from the driver's side.

"Great. She brought him with, he should know he's not wanted here." JJ murmured to Pope and John B who were trying to coax him out of grabbing another drink. Pope muttered. "Everyone's allowed to be here technically..."

JJ rolled his eyes again as Kie made her way over to the two. Kie grabbed a water bottle that was deep down in the cooler, buried under a couple of beers. She twisted the cap and looked over to the blonde. "What's wrong with him?"

"His girl came here with her coworker and now he's all jealous." John B said and JJ narrowed his eyes at him. "Not my girl." He muttered which caused the group to roll their eyes.

"Well you better fix your face because here they come."

JJ almost crushed the can in his hand as he saw you walking over with Chris, holding on to his arm as you brought him over to your four friends. And you were giggling, just what could be so damn funny?

"Look who finally decided to join us and with a plus one." John B hummed, holding out a bottle/can of [f/drink]. You smiled, humming out a 'thank you'.

"Oh right, this is Chris. Chris this is John B, Kie, Pope and JJ!" You introduced with a wide smile on your face, trying to ignore how JJ seemed to to be glaring into Chris's soul.

If looks could kill the ginger would be six feet under.

Nonetheless Chris gave a smile as he waved to everybody. "It's nice to finally put a face to all these stories [Y/n] tells. Especially you, she talks about you the most." He said, gesturing to JJ.

"Oh really?" JJ hummed, a smile on his face that seemed to mock the one that Chris had. "Good things, I hope."

"If having a killer right hook is a good thing, totally." The ginger chuckled and JJ got up and nodded his head with a small chuckle. "Yeah. That's me. You wanna see it in action?"

Chris's brows furrowed and before he could fully understand the question you had grabbed JJ's right hand which was balled in a fist and gave a strained smile to the boy.

"I'm gonna take JJ home, he's had a bit too much to drink tonight. He doesn't think straight and ends up making extremely dumb choices." Your tone grew harsh at the last two words, sending a glare to JJ as your grip tightened around the his wrist.

Chris nodded, brows furrowing a bit. "Oh, okay! Are you coming back?"

"Probably not..unless you need a ride back home?" You offered.

"No, it's fine. Stay safe and uh..it was really nice meeting you JJ!"

"A pleasure." The blonde hissed as you dragged him away to your car.

You opened the car door, pushing him into the car's passenger side as you reached over his chest to put on his seatbelt which he mumbled something under his breath about them being stupid.

You ignored his mumbling, sitting in the driver's side as you drove away from the Boneyard. You took your time, not wanting to drive fast and upset the boy's stomach but just in case you kept the window down.

"I don't like Chris."

JJ finally spoke after the entire ride of silence until you pulled up to your home and helped him get out of your car. You were lucky your parents had been out for the night so JJ could stay over just until he was sober and his soon to be hangover hit.

"And why is that? He hasn't done anything to you." You retorted as you helped him up the stairs, walking as slow as possible since he almost fell face first when you attempted to rush up them.

He was about to argue as he leaned against the banister but his breath was coming out in short huffs and he was holding his stomach. Your eyes widened as you rushed him to the bathroom.

You quickly flipped on the light he rushed to hang his head over the toilet bowl.

You grabbed the few strands of his sunkissed blonde locks, holding his hair back as he emptied most of what he had drank out into the toilet.

You would have cringed, wanting to puke yourself but since this wasn't first time you had taken care of JJ when he got drunk like this you had basically grown use to it.

You patted his back with your free hand as his head leaned back over the toilet to throw up again. "Mhm... there you go." You hummed.

When it seemed that he was finally finished you wiped his mouth with a warm face towel and got him a pair of clothes to change into, one of the many pairs he kept at your house since you insisted it would come in handy.

And per usual, you were right.

He had changed into a random graphic tee and a pair of sweatpants, tucked into your sheets with your soft covers thrown over him and the fan on it's highest setting since he complained about his skin burning.

You left, shortly coming back with a bucket next to the foot of the bed just in case he had anymore to puke out in the middle of the night.

You left the room again to grab him a cup of water and aspirin. JJ mumbled something incoherently as you handed him the aspirin and he quickly swallowed them then downed them with the water.

He pulled the cup away from his lips but you shot him a glare.

"The whole thing, JJ." He groaned again and reluctantly drank the rest. He set the empty cup by the counter, getting back comfy under the the covers.

"I hate him, y'know."

"Who?"

"Chris."

"Oh we're back to this." You hummed, moving a few strands of his hair from his face and he nodded as he leaned into your touch.

"Why don't you like him? Tonight was the first night you even met him." You questioned with a small frown and JJ didn't seem to care as he huffed.

"Don't care. He's trying to take you away from me. Did you see his hands all over you?"

"It's time to go to bed now." You said, ignoring his complaint. You could talk about this when he was in a much better headspace. As you tried to pull your hand away from his hair but he grabbed your wrist in attempts to keep you there.

"Wait! Please don't go.."

"I'll just be downstairs on the couch like any other night." You reassured, confused at his sudden clinginess. He shook his head again.

"Please. I don't wanna be alone right now. I..I love you. That's why I really hate Chris or any guy you talk about honestly." He continued.

"Jealousy is so gross, wish there was some sort of medicine for it..." Word vomit. Much more easier to stomach than actual vomit but you new it was just him drunkenly rambling although this was the first he confessed he loved you.

"JJ. You're drunk. You don't love me, you're just saying whatever right now. We'll talk about this in the morning, if you even remember." You pulled your hand from his, putting the covers back over his body.

"When I'm sober and say it, will you believe it?"

"Mhm. Sure. See you in the morning." You muttered, obviously not paying attention to anything else that was leaving his lips as you left your room.

|★|

JJ groaned as he woke up, rubbing his head before he ran his fingers through his hair to get the stands out of his face. His head was pounding as his eyes squinted from the sun peaking through the blinds.

The smell of something cooking filled his nostrils as he scratched the back of his head and tried to remember the events of last night.

Then everything hit him like a freight train as he sprinted to the kitchen.

He saw you standing in front of the oven and making pancakes, his favorite hangover remedy food. You looked over your shoulder and smiled.

"Well good morning, sleeping beauty! Asprin's on the table. You can take them after-"

"I love you."

There was a moment of silence as he got closer to you and he spoke a little louder.

"I love you, [Y/n]. I meant it last night and I really mean it now." He restated, only putting a few inches of space between the two of you.

"So you were serious?" You asked and he nodded his head so fast you were sure it could've fallen off.

"Yes! C'mon! You said you would believe when I'm sober! Do you not feel the same? Because if you don't I'd like for you to save me the em-"

You grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you pressed your lips against his and his eyes widened in slight surprise before he leaned into the kiss to reciprocate it. You smiled against his lips before pulling away.

"I love you too JJ." You placed another kiss on his cheek before muttering; "Now go take a shower, you smell like fucking a morgue."

"Yes, ma'am." He chirped, giving you a two finger salute as he walked back up the stairs towards the bathroom.

#obx #obx fic #obx x reader #outer banks #outerbanks x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n

[yamahex]

Jack eating Tr out

17+ Smut

A/N: Using this request to freshen up my smut writing skill. (Warning, I don’t have one) Also this takes place in the morning so if you have any issues with some light somnophilia (sleep play) then I recommend skipping this one.

The sound of the covers shifting caused you to slowly wake, you were used to Jack getting up early so you tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. You turned to lay on your stomach when you felt fingertips ghost over thighs, which you barely noticed due to being tired.

You quickly became aware of the kisses being placed up to the hem of your shorts. This caused you flip onto your back, feeling aroused and craving the sudden attention. Involuntary your heart began to beat quicker and your breath staggered as you lifted your hips, allowing your shorts to taken off fully.

You and Jack had discussed waking each other up like this beforehand so you saying you were excited was a bit of a understatement.

“Mm babe.” You lifted the blanket to see his smug face with arms hooked under your knees.

Jack placed kisses on your inner thighs and looked up at you.

“Morning mama.”

The conversation was cut short when he continued kissing up. You felt him eagerly pulled you closer, elevating your legs on his shoulders and gripping your thighs which allowed him to be face to face with your heat.

He dipped his tongue into you which caused you to drop the cover and arch your back at the sudden contact. His tongue halted it’s movements and he placed light kisses on your clit to tease you.

“Jack.” You whined in a warning like tone.

You could almost feel the smirk on his damn lips and you mentally cursed at him. The thoughts were soon pushed out of your head after went back to licking you. It didn’t take long for you to be dripping, the noises coming from you echoed bounced off the walls. His beard tickled your skin and his nose rubbed against your swollen clit.

Jack used one of his hands to combo with his tongue causing you to feel a bit overstimulated. He knew exactly what to do to push you over the edge. His tongue and fingers worked in tandem against your opening.

You soon felt your orgasm approach which caused you to lightly pull away from his touch. This caused him to momentarily lift his head up.

“Uh uh don’t run.”

His grip tightened on your thigh and his fingers continued to work their way in and out of your wetness.

He pushed the covers off his head and watched as you fell apart. Your eyes met his which made it even more intense. Jack knew you were close so he let go of your thigh and brought his free hand up to intertwine his hand with yours.

His tongue flicked your clit while his fingers pushed inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, right there!”

Feeling him hit that spot with his fingers you spread your legs wider and tilted your head against the pillow in ecstasy.

“Go ahead and cum for me mama.”

A weight was lifted off your shoulders after hearing him give you permission.

He watched your orgasm rip through you and listened to your sweet moans echo through the bedroom. Your chest quickly moved up and down while you came down.

You felt Jack pull away and watched as he sat up then wiped his chin. A proud smirk was evident on his face.

“Great way to start the day.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow smut

[darkwolf989]

Outside The Office Part Twenty Eight

Hi all!

Take a peek at part twenty eight- enjoy and as always, feedback is welcome!

“I told you to stay away from her!” 

The anger in Valentino’s voice startled me awake. I shifted under a blanket that wasn’t there before and I tried to raise my arm to wipe the sleepiness away. I felt like I had been asleep for hours, and my entire body ached. I sat up slowly and looked around the room. The curtain was pushed back, and I watched as Valentino took a step towards the nurse. I didn’t need to see the absolute fury written on his face- his tone was more than enough.

“I told you I would be back, I told you to call me when she woke up and you not only ignored my orders, you ignored them because you fucking felt like it,” he snarled.

Red wings exploded from his back as he stepped closer to the nurse. I froze and watched in a mix of fear and fascination. I knew the Vee’s kept parts of them hidden, the darker parts, the parts that defined them as demons. But I never expected Valentino  to have wings hidden, well, like mine were. 

Come to think of it, I hadn’t taken my wings out since my arrival in hell. Or thought about them really. They were a part of me, but a part I kept hidden. And when I looked to Valentino’s 

 blood red, moth-like wings, I wondered if our reasons for tucking them away were similar. 

My thoughts were interrupted as Valentino stepped closer to the nurse and lifted her by the front of her too short dress. 

“Not only did you directly violate my orders, you violated my consent clause. And for that, our deal is done,” he continued. 

“I- I didn’t-” she began to plead. 

Valentino wasn’t having it. “You know damn well giving a patient, one entrusted in your care, drugs without medical cause or patient permission is a violation of consent.” His voice dropped to something darker, more dangerous. 

Above her head, a contract, similar to the one that appeared when I signed a soul on. I watched as it tore in half and Valentino’s gun came out. I knew better than to interfere this time.

A single shot. A smoking gun. A scream and the vanishing of her form. As if she had never existed.

Valentino turned around and I saw him for the first time in his full overlord form. Bright red wings spread out. White fluff around his neck, dotted with small black hearts. Sharp red teeth. And an expression that contained nothing but soulless rage. 

Behind his heart shaped glasses, our eyes met. Realization struck. In a moment, his form changed back to the Valentino I knew.

“Princessa, how much of that did you see?” He asked in what I assumed to be him attempting to be soothing.

“A-all of it.” I replied shakily. “What happened?”

He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure I would want him to come closer. I reached my arms out to him and he came right to my side and took my hand in his. 

“She gave you something- something to make you sleep. I trusted her to watch over you while I handled an issue, and, instead of notifying me when you woke up, she decided to keep you asleep. And then said things to me that don’t bear repeating, mi amore. So I made an example out of her to the rest of my staff. Just in case I haven’t made my position clear enough.” He pressed the palm of his hand to my forehead and studied me. “How do you feel, mi amore?”

“You have wings,” I said slowly. 

He let go of my hand. “I do. I’m sorry- I’m sorry you had to see that side of me, my love. I promise, I will never give you that anger- that rage, that power that you just witnessed.”

I studied him. For the first time in a long time, Valentino looked uneasy. And if I didn’t know Valentino as well as I did, I would even suggest he looked uncomfortable. Uncomfortable, Valentino- those two words didn’t belong in the same sentence. 

“I have them too, you know.” I began as I searched for the words that would show him I was comfortable with him. That I trusted him. That I wasn’t afraid of what I had seen.  “Wings, I mean.Haven’t thought much of them since, well, since I got down here. We really only used them in battle, otherwise they’re a liability. Easy to tell I’m an angel if my wings are out, right?” I knew I was beginning to ramble. “Can you control that side of you? Do you control when they come out, how much of you changes in your…other form?”

“I control it all,” he answered slowly. “Princessa, I-”

“I want to see it again. That side of you. Even- even just your wings.” I interrupted. “Show me. Please? I know- I know you won’t hurt me.” 

He gave me a wary look but sighed. “As you wish.”

He took a step back and his wings sprang forth from his back, casting a dark shadow over where I sat. He watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction. 

“They’re…beautiful..” I breathed. “Do they feel pain? Are they sensitive? Are they flexible?”

If he seemed uneasy before, my line of questions definitely caught him off guard. 

“Yes, yes, and yes?” He answered. “I mean, I wouldn’t appreciate them being yanked on, but I also…I also don’t think it would hurt me if you touched them.” 

“Can I?” I asked. “Touch them, I mean.”

I waited for him to nod before I reached out and ran my fingers over just the edges. They felt silky smooth, soft and rigid all at the same time. Much, much different than the sharp feathers that made up mine.

“Mine are different. Really different.  I’ll show you someday, I don’t think…I mean, I think I’m too tired to call them forward. That happens sometimes.” I said softly as I began to trace the bright heart shaped pattern. “Hearts for love?”

“You’re not sacred, Princessa?” He asked softly. “You’re not terrified by what you just saw? By what I just looked like- by what I just did?”

“No. You would never hurt me,” I replied carefully as I leaned my body forward to move my hands down his wings. “You’ve proven that, more so today than ever before. I trust you, Val.”

His expression softened. “Princessa.” He took another step forward. “To answer your question, yes- hearts for love.” 

 I ran my hands down to the base of his wings. To love someone meant to love every part of them- good, the bad. The beautiful.The ugly. He loved me enough to want to care for me, even when I made shitty decisions. He loved me, despite my scars, my emotions, my fears. He embraced every part of who I was- and I wanted to do the same. I tried to sit up, the wave of exhaustion flowed through me. 

I saw his wings begin to retract as he came closer. 

“No, Val.” I pleaded. “Keep them out.”

He balked. “Princessa, I want to hold you. I don’t want…”

“Does it cause you pain to sit with them out?”

“No, they don’t feel pain.” He answered softly.

“Then hold me. Don’t hide them away…”

He shook his head. “Let me get you upstairs, mi amore. Then if you so badly want to explore this side of me, I will allow you to. But right now, I want you out of my studio and into our bedroom.” His wings vanished from sight. “Can you agree to that, princessa?” 

I absolutely could.

#valentino x reader #valentino x wife #hazbin fluff #valentino x you #hazbin hotel #vox x reader #the vees x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #valentino #the vees

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

Seventh Year: Reconciliations Bonus Scene 7

Oh, I finally did Gabriel's POV of the thing! The thing! That scene where the breakdown happened.

Love to hear your thoughts! :)

Bonus Scene 1

Bonus Scene 2

Bonus Scene 3

Bonus Scene 4

Bonus Scene 5

Bonus Scene 6

Bonus Scene 8

**

When Raphael returned sans Michael and in too little time for anything to have happened, Gabriel was simultaneously disappointed and also resigned. Of course.

“Well?” Draco demanded. It felt rude calling him by his last name after everything. “What happened?”

Raphael looked and felt a little discomfited. “He says he would like time.” She glanced at Gabriel.

“We’ve been giving him time. It’s not been doing anything,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Not long enough,” Raphael disagreed. “We had so much time, Gabriel. Time he hasn’t had.”

On the surface level…sure. He could see that. He glanced at Samael. Ne looked unconvinced.

To the side, Draco and Luna seemed like they were about to gear up to protest.

“What exactly did he say, Raphael?” Gabriel asked. “Wasn’t it you who told us he’s masking?”

“Yes, but I understand that. I went through it myself. He and I – we’re very similar.” On noticing Gabriel still expected the details, Raphael sighed, obliging him. “He said there’s no issue. Pointed out we’re very similar and that he needs time. The same time I needed. He was…reassuring.”

There was a dry laugh from Draco. He rubbed a hand over his face.

“He asked that we trust him,” Raphael continued speaking. “Trust that he knows what he’s doing.”

Gabriel let out a hiss through his teeth, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’d spent some time with Michael here now. Time trying to get him to relax and come out of his shell. Just…anything other than the damn blankness that they were dealing with.

Their own conversation had gone so well, though even then Gabriel knew he was hiding something. Whatever Michael had shown him was true enough but it wasn’t the entire truth. It couldn’t be. Not when it felt so different from his other siblings.

There’d been a glimpse of it with Samael during that disastrous conversation after his friends came here. A glimpse of something Gabriel hadn’t seen since. That exhaustion and that all-too-familiar self-blame. It was a game Gabriel was intimately familiar with.

Gabriel rolled his shoulders, then turned towards Raphael. He tucked himself in, then reached out reassuringly, warmly. “Like this, sister?”

Raphael startled, giving him a wide-eyed look. Samael didn’t look that surprised, more resigned.

“It’s going to be okay, right?” Gabriel said, smiling, keeping his tone gentle, fitting the energy of his Grace. “Hey, I got it handled.” He laughed, giving a quicksilver grin, and shifted once more, bringing out boldness. “It’s all good, yeah? There’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Gabriel—”

And he shifted once more, throwing aside the nervousness of what he was about to do. Tony sharpened his grin. “I got this.”

“This might make things worse,” Raphael cautioned.

Tony glanced at Draco and Luna, both of whom looked faintly bewildered. He gave them a reassuring smile. “Things are already fucked, Raphael. Besides, fixing things is what I do.”

He didn’t wait for a response, taking off to where Michael was. He found him standing in the forest, looking up at the sky and very carefully not feeling. Yeah, no. He landed right by Michael, taking hold of his shoulder. “So! That’s enough of that.”

Michael jolted, startled, even though there was nothing in his Grace. He was satisfyingly wide-eyed, though. He tried to twist away, but Tony held onto him tightly. “Gabriel—”

“If the next words coming out of your mouth are ‘I’m fine’ I will set your pants on fire.”

Michael narrowed his eyes, seeming to consider how serious Tony was. “I wasn’t going to.”

Tony had felt the incoming “I’m fine” coming a mile away. It was ridiculous. “And I’m the king of Asgard. Seriously. Michael.”

“What?”

“Don’t be obtuse.” It was like Samael all over again. Just…less moody. Or at least less moody in the open. “Sure, you can take all the time you want, but I don’t see how that’s actually going to help you when you keep flagellating yourself.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You think I can’t recognize it?” It wasn’t quite the same, but Tony knew what it was like. Of not being good enough, of not being enough. Of needing to leave because no one would ever listen to him and it was all broken anyway. He gave Michael a pained smile. For this to work, he was going to need to share a little. So Michael knew he wasn’t in this alone – that he wasn’t being judged or pitied. “Take it from someone who did a deep dive into identity politics because I couldn’t stand being me.”

There was no response from Michael. He was just staring at Tony, wide-eyed and still so damn blank.

“I’m not going to tell you how I did it,” Tony said, “trade secrets being what they are and all, but it happened. I get it, Michael. I also know that all the time in the world did jack shit with helping me out.” Being Loki hadn’t helped. Being the Trickster hadn’t helped. It had just shoved it down further and further – how he ran from being him. Ran from his responsibilities.

Michael huffed, something like irritation flickering across his features. “And you’re going to tell me what did?”

Tony was hit with a sudden rush of nostalgia for teenage Sam. Down to the irritated little scrunch between the eyebrows. He shrugged. “Talking did. My friends did. My family. It still took time, but it wasn’t quite so painful with company.” He didn’t look away from Michael’s eyes. “You’re not as fine as you’re telling us you are, and you’re not as fine as you think you are.”

There was a flicker there. Something like fear in Michael’s Grace, but it disappeared so quickly Tony almost missed it. But his face did something else, flinching back.

“Don’t give me that look,” Tony said, aware he was pushing but this needed to happen. “I’m just saying. Anyone who went through even half of what you did would be a mess, and you’re claiming you’re just fine? Can handle it on your own?”

Michael looked away, though it seemed to take an effort. He was as stiff as iron under Tony’s grip, trying to move but Tony wasn’t having it. Not now. If he ran now, this wasn’t going to work. Tony was done with this entire affair; he’d had it.

But it seemed like a little of it had gone through. Maybe. He still wasn’t getting anything concrete off Michael beyond the very clear air of do not want to be here.

It seemed fitting that Michael’s vessel was that of a teenager. He certainly behaved like one at times.

Even if he wasn’t one, and Tony knew why Michael was behaving like this, even if it was frustrating. He sighed. “You probably can manage it,” he acknowledged. “Muddle your way through it. It’s what you’ve done all this time, isn’t it? Alone. I’m going to say it again, and this time maybe it’ll sink through your thick skull. We’re here for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” Michael said immediately.

He hadn’t expected the quick answer, not when Michael had seemed to shut down. But this seemed to be something he could use. “There’s no should about it. There’s no ‘should’ about any of this. We are.”

Michael dropped his eyes to the grass.

“What should you do?” Tony asked after a moment, since the “should” seemed to be a sticking point. If Michael thought they shouldn’t help him, then there had to be something Michael thought he should do. He’d mentioned it before back during the argument with Samael.

There was a startled, almost suspicious side-eye from Michael. He seemed to be gauging Tony’s sincerity. Considering Tony was being 100%, bona fide sincere here, Michael wasn’t going to get anything else.

After a long moment of this, Michael slowly responded. “I should protect you.” He paused, then added, “I should have protected you.”

“Okay,” Tony agreed easily. This was expected. Michael had mentioned this before. “What else?”

There was another suspicious side-eye here, like Tony was leading Michael into a trick. “I should be fine.”

Oh, this was new. This was something different.  “Ah, acknowledging you’re not?”

“I am—”

“Pants. On. Fire.”

Michael thankfully did not continue that statement, which would have been a blatant lie to anyone who knew him. He also clammed up, no longer looking at Tony and instead staring off into the distance.

But it was a relief that Michael had the awareness that he wasn’t fine, even if he kept insisting he was. And maybe on some level he was really fine, but on so many other levels he wasn’t. That was the issue and that was what Tony was trying to finagle here. “There’s something else as well, isn’t there?” he asked, gentling his tone.

Predictably, there was no response. Tony waited several minutes, counting it down, before realizing Michael had said what he was going to. If there was going to be anything else, Tony would have to push a little more. He’d have to give just a bit more. “Is it… ‘I should be better than this’?”

That did get a reaction, Michael immediately looking up at him.

Tony smiled ruefully. “I’ve thought that, too,” he admitted. “There’s a lot of things I should have done differently. A lot of things I failed at because I wasn’t good enough.” He rubbed the side of his neck with his free hand, shrugging loosely. “You’re not the only one to think that, Michael. Not the first and not the last.”

“Isn’t it different?” Michael asked.

Tony didn’t ask what Michael meant by what should be different. Michael’s intention was clear in their link. They may have been angels, may have been other, but that didn’t mean they were infallible. But he didn’t want to just answer him; he wanted Michael to have his own answer. “Who says it is? Who says you should be fine or better?”

Michael tilted his head, something distant crossing his expression for a moment before he looked back at Tony. “Isn’t it expected?” He gestured vaguely between them.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Expected? Bro, since when have I ever done what was expected of me?”

Tony didn’t need to read minds to know that Michael was thinking of answers and coming up with nothing.

“So why can’t you do the same?” Tony pressed. “Because you’re the obedient child? How well has that worked out for you?”

There was no response from Michael, but the non-answer was as good as one for him.

Tony nodded, adding, “It hasn’t worked out for any of us. So throw away ‘should,’ Michael. There’s no ‘should’ in free will. Which is a thing we have. I know I mentioned this to you before.”

“And what of our duties, Gabriel? Like it or not, there are things we can’t lightly abandon even with free will.”

Of course it came back to that. It usually did, though this was a question Gabriel had to deal with before. He nodded, then shrugged. “Yeah, sure. But we’ve got all the flexibility in figuring out how we can do those duties. I can do my job just fine here; no reason for me to go back to Heaven to stay. So there’s no reason for you to do whatever you’re doing because you think you should.”

It looked like there was a question on the tip of Michael’s tongue, but what he ended up saying instead was “I don’t know.” He turned away again.

“That’s okay,” Tony said quietly. “You don’t have to. I didn’t either. The only reason I do now is because I’ve been doing this a lot longer.”

A muscle twitched in Michael’s jaw, just about the only sign of frustration Tony could pick up from him. “You’ve had all the time in the world,” he said, no sign of that frustration in his voice. “You don’t seem quite so willing to extend me the same.” It was a very reasonable tone. One which he’d probably used on Raphael.

It would probably have worked on Gabriel before, too, but he had the experience to not believe that tone now.

Tony shot him a sharp look, poking his neck with a finger. “Oh, I know that tone. That’s the whole ‘I’m being very reasonable right now and you better listen to me’ tone.”

“I don’t – I don’t have that tone.”

“You do. It’s also the ‘I’m your big sibling and know better so trust me’ tone.”

There was a frown now, Michael’s lips twisting.

“Unfortunately for you,” Gabriel continued, “that tone stopped working on me a long time ago.”

“Did it.” Michael’s tone was bone dry.

“Oh, it did. You see, I like to be contrary. Tell me one thing, and I’ll do the opposite.”

There was a beat before Michael actually said, “Then don’t go away and don’t give me time.”

It took Gabriel several seconds to actually comprehend that Michael had really just said that, like a petulant child, before he burst into laughter. “Ha! Nice try there, buddy.” He leaned an elbow on Michael’s shoulder, pressing him down slightly. He poked Michael’s cheek. “I raised four kids and took care of multiple others. You’ve got nothing on me in terms of pulling the wool over my eyes.”

There was a rueful smile from Michael here, the smallest quirk of his lips, before it disappeared. He didn’t otherwise react.

Tony refocused, breathing slowly. “My point is,” he said firmly, “that might work on Raphael, but it sure as hell won’t work on me. I mean, sure, we can leave you on your own. Give you all the time you’re asking for and more. But what’s that going to do? Leave you to stew in your thoughts?”

“It worked before,” Michael muttered, still sounding like a petulant child.

Tony had to do his level best not to pinch Michael’s cheek, settling for slinging his arm around Michael’s shoulders and poking his cheek. Not pinching. Poking. The goal wasn’t to piss him off. Ideally he’d do this without holding onto him, but he had the strong suspicion that if he let go Michael would just up and flee and having a conversation like this while running didn’t really work. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Before sucked. Before left you alone. Before led to this mess. There are a lot of things we’re doing now, and we’re doing our best not to repeat our past mistakes.”

Michael shot him a glance before turning away. He didn’t say anything, just drawing in a slow breath. He was still, annoyingly, blank. There was nothing Tony could pick up from him.

“Hey.” Tony tugged him in closer, nagging him. “Talk to me.”

There was just a head shake.

“You were doing well before. What happened?”

Michael didn’t even shake his head, eyes fixed on the grass. It wasn’t even that he was looking at something else off in the distance; his gaze was intent. He was also ignoring Tony to the best of his ability.

Again, Tony was hit with the image of a young Sam, downcast and stubborn and terrified of being rejected. None of his other kids had ever had those moments, except for the gods, but even they’d felt comfortable talking to him.

But he’d gotten through to Sam. He could do the same with Michael.

“Michael.” He tapped Michael’s cheek, repeatedly, until he definitely had Michael’s attention. “I can be very annoying. I can be so annoying. You’re not getting out of this.”

There was an instant of stillness before Michael broke, a frisson of anger sparking through his Grace. He spun on his heel, throwing Tony’s arm off with a burst of unexpected strength. “What’s the point?”

There was a moment of almost-panic before Tony got hold of it. He was very used to pissing off people. Michael could join the ranks. “What’s the point?”

“Yes, Gabriel. What’s the point of this? What exactly is this supposed to do?”

Michael wasn’t going to hurt him. He wasn’t. Tony refocused on Michael, on what he was here to do. “The point is to get it through that you’re not alone and you don’t have to deal with things by yourself. You don’t have to bottle it up. You don’t have to hide.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Think I can’t see it? Think I haven’t seen it on others? I don’t know what you’re hiding there, but I know it’s not anything pleasant. I know that it’s not something you should deal with alone.”

“There’s no should in free will,” Michael said, irritating the fuck out of Tony and eerily sounding exactly like a mulish teenage Sam.

Tony winced, groaning, rubbing a hand over his face. “Of course that’s what you take away from this,” he muttered into his hand. He dragged in a long breath, doing his best to quell the frustration, the grief, because that wasn’t going to be helpful here. They were back to “should.” Fine. He could use that. “Who says you should deal with it alone, Michael?”

There was no verbal response, but Michael’s Grace flickered. It wasn’t steady. Michael’s jaw clenched, and he took in a breath that seemed to steady his Grace.

Tony stepped in closer, only for Michael to take a step back. Tony didn’t take another step but instead leaned in. He wasn’t going to let this go. “Who, Michael?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Michael’s tone was flat.

“Spell it out to me like I’m five.”

Michael’s frown was confused now. “You’re not five.”

Fine, he’d give Michael that. “Irrelevant. Pretend I’m a human kid and need small words.”

Michael swallowed, pulling in another breath that steadied the tell-tale flickering of his Grace.

“No.” Tony just restrained himself from reaching out, thinking that it might actually break something. “No. You’re not hiding.”

“You don’t need to see this,” Michael ground out. “None of you do. This isn’t your responsibility. It’s not your responsibility to deal with my mess.” His Grace flickered but it wasn’t enough for Tony to pick up what Michael was hiding.

They were back to responsibility. Something else Michael had brought up to Samael. “Then this isn’t something dear old Dad told you to do, is it?” he asked softly.

“He told me to protect you,” Michael said. “He told me to protect all of you. You know how well I succeeded with that.”

“And this is protecting us?” Tony gestured to all of Michael.

“My mess is my own. It’s not yours to take on.”

“Then whose is it?” Tony waved around wildly at the trees around them. “Samael? You can’t even stay in the same room as nem. Raphael? You sent her away. Gadreel? Balthazar? Castiel? You can’t even look any of our other siblings in the eye. Just who is supposed to help you take this on?”

“No one is,” Michael snapped.

“Because it’s your weight alone?”

“Yes.”

Oh, fuck it. This was going round in circles. This was so incredibly frustrating that Tony felt bad for Michael’s friends for having had to deal with this for years on end. The even more frustrating piece was that despite Tony’s own aggravation at having to deal with Michael stonewalling, he also got it. That was even more ridiculous.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Tony dragged a hand over his face and through his hair. “Ugh, I hear you and I hear myself and I can’t believe no one punched me in the face.” He was sure Rhodey had come close to it at times. Natasha would have just stabbed him. But he couldn’t just leave this. “Michael. I know your friends wouldn’t have let you keep thinking this. They certainly reamed us out for leaving you alone.”

There was a flicker over Michael’s face now, something resignedly fond.

“It’s not a weight you should bear yourself,” Tony said, gentling his tone slightly. “None of this ever should have been. And I know…I know bridges have been burned that may not be rebuilt. I know what I’m asking you to do isn’t easy. I know that.” This wasn’t pain easy to share; this wasn’t a weight one felt comfortable sharing, not when sharing it made one vulnerable. His throat ached, and he winced, rubbing over it briefly. He didn’t meet Michael’s eyes, struggling with this next piece. He had to – had to if this was going to work. For Michael to even feel comfortable sharing with someone he saw as a little brother. “I…I was so ashamed that I had to rely on Gadreel. That because of my weakness, he had to shoulder my pain and figure out what to do.”

A flicker ran through Michael’s Grace, something darkening it. “That wasn’t…that wasn’t your fault.”

Tony smiled weakly. “Maybe not. My choices led me to that position, and I’d do it again. I would.” That scar still ached, partly phantom, partly actual pain. He rubbed over his throat once more before dropping his hand.

“I wouldn’t.” Michael looked slightly startled at the admission.

Tony’s next smile was a little wry. “But you can’t go back. You can’t go back, can’t change what happened, so what’s the point? You – Michael – everything that happened, it wasn’t just you. I made my choices. Samael made nir own. And Raphael made her bed and lay down in it. We all did. What happened wasn’t just on you. It’s not just your weight, and even if it were, let us share it with you.” Tony extended a hand. “Let me share it. No one else is here; no one else is looking. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? The others watching? Judging? They won’t; they can’t. It’s just us. And, Michael, I’m not. I’ve been there. I get it. I really, really do.” He’d tried to make that clear; he didn’t know how much clearer he could make it. “And if I have to keep you here until it gets through your damn head, I will keep you here because it’s gone on long enough.”

There was no response for a long moment, but Michael wasn’t shutting down. He was studying Tony intently, likely once more gauging his sincerity. It was all he was going to find.

Tony didn’t move, keeping his hand outstretched in that figurative and literal offer to help. He just hoped Michael was going to take it because he was almost out of ideas at this point beyond chucking Samael at his head to see if something blew up.

“And if it’s my choice not to?” Michael asked eventually, quiet. “Would you take that from me?”

Oh, that sucked. Tony twisted his mouth, pulling back slightly. Michael’s face was still unreadable, as was his Grace.

This was the awful piece for free will. That while he could disagree with someone else’s choice, that was still their choice to make. Even if it was a fucking stupid one.

Tony considered his options here, what to say that wouldn’t give Michael a clear out. “If you can tell me honestly, openly, that you’re choosing it because you absolutely want to, and not because you think you should. Only then, Michael.”

Michael wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of that quite so easily as with English. It was the last card he had to play here.

And it seemed to make Michael stop, something else flickering over his face and his Grace. He swallowed, his next breath shaky and loud to Tony’s ears.

“Can you?” Tony asked.

Michael seemed mute, staring blankly at him. There was something else about him now, something that was almost difficult to pin down but seemed…heavy. It was an unbearably long moment later when Michael shook his head.

Oh, thank the universe. He relaxed slightly, stepping closer, relieved when Michael stayed in place. “I’m here, sibling.”

“You don’t want to be,” Michael whispered. “I don’t.”

Wasn’t that a familiar sentiment? Not wanting to be stuck in his own skin – his own Grace? But for all they could jump vessels, they couldn’t stop being themselves. Not really. Gabriel gave Michael a wry smile. “No one can make me do anything I don’t want to. You certainly never could, no matter how much you tried. I’m here because I want to be.”

Michael didn’t respond, but Gabriel hadn’t expected one. He also didn’t move, which was another positive. He hadn’t looked away from Gabriel. That heavy sensation was still around him, just…lingering.

“Trust me,” Gabriel said, half-pleading. He extended his hand once more. “Trust me as your equal.” He wasn’t Samael; he wasn’t even Raphael. He had to hope that just being him would be enough.

Michael didn’t take his hand, but something else shifted as he breathed, his attention moving from Gabriel to something else – something inside him.

There was no physical movement, but they didn’t need to move to see each other. And Michael’s Grace – his true form – was motionless, no change but for something that had Gabriel on the edge because he could tell he was trying.

Tension seeped into Michael, his vessel’s shoulders tightening and his breathing quickening.

“Relax,” Gabriel murmured, keeping his tone as calm and gentle as he could. They had time for this. This wasn’t going to happen quickly, not if Michael had kept himself this tightly controlled for so long. “It’s okay. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Take your time.”

Michael’s next breath was shaky, sharp grief hitting Gabriel with all the force of a spaceship. It was there for a moment before disappearing, Michael hiding it, but there was panic now, too.

“It’s okay.” Gabriel kept his voice calm, soothing. “I’m here. You can let it out.” He didn’t physically reach out but did send reassurance towards Michael, hoping it would help.

Michael’s flinch was both physical and with his Grace. He reeled back from Gabriel, still panicky, wildly uncontrolled in a way Gabriel had never seen before. And yet, in that brief touch, Gabriel knew it wasn’t something he deserved, it wasn’t okay, why did he need that?

Gabriel stepped in closer, reaching out to try and steady Michael, but Michael took another step back, and this seemed instinctive, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

There was a dull burst of aching pain that hit Gabriel in the chest. He winced, his own Grace aching in sympathetic pain. He couldn’t even fully tell what it was, only there was grief there, before it was gone as Michael clearly attempted to pull it back.

“It’s okay, Michael,” Gabriel murmured, though he wasn’t sure how much Michael was registering or even processing right now. But he could at least make this as reassuring as possible, make sure Michael knew he wasn’t alone. “You’re not alone; I’m here. Let it out; you’re doing great. You’re doing so great.”

He thought he was better prepared this time for reaching out to reassure Michael, but the gut-wrenching grief, loathing, disgust, disappointment that hit him left him almost gasping. And there was more. There was so much more that hadn’t yet come out yet and the grass was browning at Michael’s feet and the earth cracking ominously, the trees shaking and groaning as their bark split.

Asgard was not going to make it if this continued. The only reason Gabriel was still as fine as he was could be attributed to his new position.

Gabriel reached out again, this time to gently take hold of Michael so they could leave Asgard. He met instant resistance (too gentle, too gentle, not for him), Michael flailing and struggling and it was only because Gabriel technically didn’t need to fly anymore that they even made it off Asgard to begin with before he lost his grip and Michael crash-landed on a planet.

Well, he wasn’t about to hurt Michael and with how Michael had struggled, he would have needed to hurt him to restrain him.

Gabriel landed a split-second after Michael did and was hit with blazing anger that felt like a Wolf-Rayet star at its hottest, barely bracing through it before he was choking on acidic and sharp guilt.

It wasn’t anger at others. It was anger at himself, and that was terrifying.

Michael didn’t think he deserved gentleness. He didn’t think he deserved sympathy. He thought he deserved the pain.

And that – that was – no. Fuck it, Gabriel muttered. You’re going to like this and take this.

He reached out again, making sure to keep it as gentle as possible because Michael did deserve that, and this time he held on tightly and didn’t let go. He pulled Michael into him, hugging him physically and wrapping himself around his Grace.

The exhaustion was next, so unbearably heavy and awful that Gabriel really did just feel like lying down and not getting up. He could scarcely find the energy to breathe for air, though that wasn’t altogether bad considering how awful this planet’s air was. It didn’t disappear, magnified by feelings of utter helplessness and hopelessness that he was worthless, wrong, it was all because of him.

The earth around him cracked, but Gabriel wrapped himself around Michael further, making sure it wouldn’t affect the planet. He buffeted the anguished energy from Michael’s Grace, breathing through the slight sparks of pain in his own as the heat scorched him; it was far more bearable than it had been before, and this was manageable.

At least Michael wasn’t pulling away anymore. He was holding Gabriel back tightly, burrowing into his Grace and thankfully no longer rejecting the reassurance. His vessel had also gotten the memo, arms wrapped around Gabriel’s stomach.

The exhaustion still soaked into Gabriel and he had trouble seeing how Michael even had the energy for anything with that always dragging him down. The self-loathing, though… Yeah, that tracked; it was more familiar.

Thankfully that was the last of it. The grief, self-loathing, anger, guilt, disappointment, exhaustion… There wasn’t anything else that came out from behind the discarded mask.

Michael still didn’t seem to entirely have awareness of where he was or who he was with, just clinging and shuddering. It was almost frightening, but Gabriel had asked for this and this was what he wanted. He just stayed still, holding onto him.

A volcano erupted in the distance, the earth rumbling beneath their bodies in a pattern that was solely the planet’s. He was not going to get the stench of sulfur out of his clothing anytime soon unless he cheated.

There was another eruption closer to them and a minor earthquake before Michael jolted back into proper awareness, shuddering and whining in the back of his throat. He was panicking now, Grace writhing against Gabriel’s (too much, too much, hide it).

Hush, Gabriel said quietly, not letting him go. Breathe. It had worked well enough for Michael before. Focus on that.

Michael did breathe, though he struggled and choked on the toxic air of the planet. He didn’t quite seem to have the fine control necessary to breathe and heal the damage to his lungs so clearly gave up and just held his vessel in stasis. He felt vaguely reproachful.

Yeah, that was definitely Gabriel’s bad. Sorry. Not my first choice but you didn’t give me a whole lot of options.

Michael didn’t respond, but Gabriel wasn’t surprised given the level of exhaustion he was still picking up off Michael. But he was so much more open, everything clear for Gabriel to read if he wanted. And like this, pressed close, it wasn’t even an option. It just was.

And the protest from Michael was as clear as day.

Gabriel laughed, then regretted it when the air scraped against his own throat and lungs. Hey, I was all for taking you somewhere else but you ejected early. So…here’s where we’re at.

Michael didn’t physically move but Gabriel could feel him evaluating their surroundings.

He rubbed a hand over Michael’s back, watching the dust wipe off the black fabric of the robes he continued to wear. He did the same with Michael’s Grace, though Michael shrank back from that, radiating shame and guilt.

No, they weren’t going to deal with that. Hey. Look at me. Do you see any pity?

Michael had a similar connection with Gabriel’s Grace given how they were pressed together. He would definitely notice pity, and that was the last thing Gabriel felt for him. There was no pity.

There was a silent negative from Michael, along with a cut off but that Gabriel knew the rest to.

You deserve this, Gabriel said flatly, firm. Get that out of your head. You do.

Michael’s response was to pull back. He didn’t let go of Gabriel, but his Grace withdrew slightly. He seemed to be trying to regain some of the stability he’d shed, though it wasn’t quite working.

Gabriel could feel him shaking where he was lying in his lap. He rubbed over Michael’s back again. You don’t have to hide, he said reassuringly. Not from me. I’ve already seen it all, and I don’t care. Wait, he might take that the wrong way. Well, I do care, but I don’t care that you’re feeling that way. No, shit. No, I do, but not in a way that’s bad. I mean that it’s okay for you to feel that way and I don’t care if you show it. Michael wasn’t laughing but he seemed close to it. Hey, stop laughing!

The sense of laughter didn’t fade, the amusement warm and fond.

It was catching, Gabriel laughing now despite the earlier experience with this planet’s air. Stop it. You know what I mean. There’s no need to hide here. Not from me.

He only knew Michael heard him because of how he no longer attempted to shy away from Gabriel. He just lay there, letting Gabriel hold him.

Which was great. Gabriel didn’t want to disturb him, but this was the wrong sort of planet for something like this. He did let it be for now, until the constant erupting of volcanoes was all he could hear and would likely continue to hear for the foreseeable future. C’mon. Let me take you somewhere better.

It took a while for any kind of answer from Michael, but eventually he had one, and Gabriel shifted them to the planet he’d selected. It was nice and verdant, moist and rich. The sound of water bubbling filled the background, which was nice compared to the last planet.

Gabriel rubbed over Michael’s shoulders. “Try breathing now. Should be decidedly less toxic.”

It took a minute before Michael did start breathing, restarting his body’s biological processes. He otherwise didn’t move, just breathing and existing.

It wasn’t quite so terrifying anymore, seeing Michael like this. It was almost a relief, because this seemed more like Michael than he’d ever been before. And Gabriel wanted him to stay like this, open and not closed off and hurting.

Maybe he could be.

There were a lot of things that seemed possible now.

#first born #the last archangel #my writing #bonus scene #seventh year: reconciliations

[valmare]

For your 300 party I was wondering if I could request reader lovin on Ice. I've read a lot of Ice taking care or protecting reader, but at this point in my life I need some soft, clingy Tom. Maybe he's sore from an ejection, or he caught some sickness (or maybe he get tension headaches from clenching that gorgeous jaw of his.....)

Idk, you do you boo

Okay, so, this is a little angsty but I think it accomplishes the mission at hand. Somehow it ended up 14 Google Docs pages, but, I'm not complaining. Enjoy the Iceman, love.

Keep Me Alive 

“God, it’s good to be home.” 

If the little edge of impatience weren’t so evident in Slider’s tone, the way he shifts a little on his feet and cards fingers through his hair would be evidence enough. For the better part of an hour, they’d been standing on deck as the carrier slides home to quay, dwarfing any and all the bodies that have gathered to welcome some six-thousand men home.

For the first time Tom is conscious of, the beast beneath his feet isn’t moving, cutting through dark waters. Bobs on the surface of glassy waters, like God’s bath toy, but isn’t in motion. Knocks against the wharf every so often. A sure sign he is home. 

Mentions of home have kicked anticipation down the length of his spine like a mule for nearly a week. He hadn’t slept soundly since they’d pointed the rig in the direction of the golden coast. There’d been no better way to spend time on this thing than counting the days he’d be docked, feet planted on solid ground. Even on his hops, he’d been half distracted thinking about home—his bed, his car, all the meals gone cold from being too busy holding you. Eight weeks on the water was enough–two of them in Medical had driven him just short of insanity. 

Medical had taken a concussion and a jacked collarbone all-too seriously, but that was the Navy for you. Making a big deal out of injuries when in reality, it came with the gig.  Maintenance issues happened, cropped up out of nowhere all the time—facts of life, all that.  Traveling at mach speed, pulling Gs and breaking sound barriers tended to work a bird pretty hard. Loosened some screws. And he didn’t exactly take it easy on his rig, that wasn’t his job. He flew the damn things, went to work, ensured national security, and came home. 

But, a hundred and fifty miles out is a helluva distance to bail and watch the ocean consume forty million tax dollars. Man doesn’t really know what insignificance feels like until he’s surrounded by churning waters and open sk.Dwarfed by the cruel joke that is the behemoth of the ocean. Reality had hit him as soon as he’d broken the surface, Ron a few hundred feet to his right—he wasn’t as indestructible as adrenaline would lead him to belief. 

He’d almost bought it. Died. In a matter of seconds, everything he’d known about the world hadn’t mattered. He’d only thought of his little slice of home in San Diego, you waiting for him on the front porch. His car parked in the driveway—the life he could have with you. All the things he’d never said but wanted to have bludgeoned him like a sledgehammer. Seconds were all he had, but he lived an entire life in those heartbeats—or, rather, hadn’t lived. 

Ice didn’t have any idea how actually freezing the Indian was. Well, more accurately, how freezing open ocean was. Survival training had been forever ago, the body easily discarded information that wasn’t necessary to immediate survival. His feet had hit the water first, its glacial bite cutting straight to his bones as the full weight of miles of endless depth had attempted to pull him under surface. He’d immediately started shaking, heart kicking against his ribs, brain somehow managing to tell his limbs what came next. Lungs immediately burning, Ice realized he was a complete pussy—not built for the cold, couldn’t hold his breath for shit. Realized how actually awful he was at swimming. Cursed the Navy for not enforcing mandatory swim training as he’d cut through the water, grappling for air. 

The black veil of unconsciousness pushed inward from the perimeter of his vision. Hadn’t even been aware he was still wearing his helmet, it did nothing to cut the roar of a spinning ocean. Bile splashed in the back of his throat he’d taken one breath of air, panicked, and dropped back down. Might as well have weighed a thousand pounds. Seconds from kicking off his boots, his vest engaged to float him up, and a firm kick of his legs sent him popping back above the water. 

Treading water became second nature. He hadn’t even registered the pain of his arm until the glass ceiling of reality had shattered—Ice went through the motions, almost like routine. Popped ink. Sucked frigid, biting air into his lungs. Watched his chute roll away on the water, tipped his head back to see the still-there trail of smoke he’d left behind. Remembering Slider, he was prepared to meet Kerner halfway. Angled to attempt a crawl. Instead, white-hot, shooting pain rocked him to his back, twisted his freezing facial muscles into a grimace. Arm rendered all but usable, it was already throbbing despite the freezing water trying to suck him in. 

You passed through his mind on a continuous loop, unstoppable. Beautiful. Every few seconds he was smacked with the truth of his current state of affairs, that he could still die. Die without telling you again how much he loved you. How you were the sun, he but a revolving moon chasing after you. You put him back together, took him apart. Fixed the places the world dared to break. He allowed you to, because nobody touched him like you could—nobody saw him like you did. They saw the Iceman, the master of the skies, the man without mistakes. The saw who they wanted to see. 

You saw him for who he was—imperfect. Broken. You saw the reflections he hides for the world. Demons he fights. And, you loved him.  You still worshiped him, sought him. Ran into his embrace when he came home—because. Just because. His reward; witnessing parts of you that locked out the world, that rattled the cages of those who looked inside. Imperfections that only resurrected in the valleys, when the time was equal parts right and wrong. You didn’t ask him to fix you, to do it the right way. Expectations were a discussion, not a right. 

Ice didn’t have to be the Iceman when you held him. You allowed him to be Tom, to pursue his own mistakes—to make them. And when he did, you helped him fix them. He could be just Tom. Like nobody else had allowed him to be. Since he’d been able to walk he’d run in the shadow of his family name. The Academy had created Iceman. Buried any form of the little boy who had raced across Hawaiian sands and drank in the ocean, who had become a man. And you? Well. 

You saw the Iceman. You remembered the boy. You embraced both sides of him and understood they reflected off the other. Chose to see both sides of him when the world only would witness one.  

And dying—God, dying apart from that feeling? Hell reincarnated. 

Aware that you already knew all these things was poor man’s poison. He could tell you a hundred times he loved you, could hang it in the sky and write it in blood and everlasting starlight but he’d starve over it again and again. It could never echo loud enough. He was going to die sometime, probably in situations not unlike the one he’d been in. He would die like this, knowing that even telling you endlessly would never be enough. That was hell. 

Small eternities had passed, tossed around in frigid whitecaps and swelling waves, before Slider had cut through the bleeding ink to him. Ron was fine, thank Christ for him. But he’d known nearly immediately that Ice was not. Shaking hands managed to tether them together, and a flyby exam had Kerner suspecting that he’d wracked up something in the top shelf. Together they’d just bobbed there. Waiting for SAR, maybe dying. It was anybody’s guess. 

SAR had sent him straight to Medical, where he’d been in and out for two weeks nursing a concussion and a cracked collarbone. He’d lasted three days in a brace and had tossed it across quarters. Hadn’t worn it sense, but had been restricted to light duty. Grounded. His plane buried miles beneath the dark water. He’d almost anticipated them flying him off, but the O-6 had thought he’d be useful running comms and flight sims. Fuck Captains and the crazy stick up their asses. He could’ve been home, with you, sleeping in a bed more his than any of the ones he’d even been assigned—eating hot squares, watching you make his assignment a home. 

It doesn’t matter, not in hindsight. He’s docked and home. Somewhere in the press of bodies at the wharf, you’re there waiting for him and will welcome him with open arms and that gorgeous smile that’s ravaged him from the first time he saw you, at that stupid volleyball game where he’d lost to Maverick. Fucking Maverick. His ego would probably never recover from that one. 

Thank God for that loss, though. Maverick. If Mitchell hadn’t been trying to smile at you, pick you up, he’d never have barged over and smiled back. While there was a lot about Mitchell that pissed him off, his timing wasn't always terrible. And he had good fuckin’ taste in women—he’d wanted you. But miracles did exist — you hadn’t bought his cowboy attitude, abs and smile and all. 

“It’ll take a lot more than a pretty smile and skin, cowboy,” you’d shrugged a shoulder, swung a leg over the bleacher you’d been parked on, and effortlessly your eyes had skated over to him from the other man. Maverick dared to comment that you were unreasonable. “Oh I’m not unreasonable. You’re just more trouble than you’re worth. Anyone ever tell you you’re dangerous, honey?” 

Signed, sealed, delivered. He was sold. Shoving Slider’s proposition for another game off, he’d thrown on a shirt and eyeballed you as you’d cut back to your car—the ‘72 Chevy C/K with a four-barrel V8 and fat, gorgeous tires that still killed him. Powder blue with a strip of cream, it had all the right curves. Like you. All sure signs you were worth the effort of jogging over and making his case. You’d agreed to a drink, just one– he’d offered to pick you up. You’d laughed and he’d been boneless. 

You did not take rides in cars with boys. Even if they wore wings and looked pretty in their U.S. Navy best. And his favorite thing about it? You had boundaries. Standards. Boundaries that preserved whatever sweet thing the two of you had. He’d never met a pretty little thing that hadn’t folded under the right smile. Whites always impressed the tits anywhere he’d ever gone—and while he’d caught you more than appreciating him, it wasn’t enough. 

Never since his time even in the Academy had Ice imagined there being anything that could parallel the rush of cutting through the air. Racing by at mach speeds, the sting of adrenaline in the blood. For so long that had been it for him, nothing boots on the ground could compare. But then you’d come into his life, and everything and nothing started making sense. He’d kissed you and his heart had been avalanched wide open, in ways he hadn’t known existed. You’d asked him to stay. Tethered him like a kite to the earth, beckoning him back to somewhere that had meaning. Even if that somewhere had never before been home. 

“Ice. Kazansky—you okay, chief?” His gaze snaps up, all too quickly. “Fucking hell, Ice—you’ve got it bad. Dick really that hard over her already?” He’s not serious, but the glint in the other man’s eye is enough to send Ice’s own eyes rolling. Exasperated, he shakes his head a little. 

“Shut up, Slider,” he manages the growl as quietly as possible, while slipping aviators into place, “don’t act like I don’t know you haven’t been fucking yourself for eight weeks.” Ice can’t help but rally in his victory of heat rushing to the tips of Kerner’s ears, “You and I both know you’re in whatever pussy so much as bats an eye your direction.” 

“That right?” Ron cuts a look over his shoulder, and Tom’s cheshire grin is unmissable, probably from space. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Kazansky?” 

“Tell me I’m wrong, Slider,” he shoves at Kerner’s shoulder, sending the man forward, “I’ll wait.” 

“Screw you, Ice.”

Commotion on deck signals the ramp’s letdown. Slider’s elbow knocks his, jostling him a bit as he bends for his gear, hauling it up to his shoulder. Ice manages his own, but forgoes his shoulder, favoring the injury that still aches as he falls in behind Ron. Kerner’s height towers above most and cuts a path through the gaggle of bodies lingering on deck, waiting for them disembark. It’s a perk of being an aviator. 

Last to load, first to leave. 

He can’t help but laugh at the man’s sour expression, but he’s beat and Slider knows it. It isn’t a serious offense, but the heat hasn’t dropped out of Slider’s ears yet, which sends a bolt of pride down to his face. It sounds off in a sure smile. 

Slider might hate it, but he knows his RIO pretty well. Cold beer, some laughs and a good fuck constitute a successful date is really all it takes to impress his backseater. And Ice can’t really fault him for it. To each their own. Slider hasn’t met the perfect girl yet—he doesn’t get it. He may never. But that isn’t exactly Ice’s problem. 

He knows he’s right, though, as the ramp drops to the quay, rattling the chains between scuppers. It’s all the release the atmosphere on deck needs—nearly instantly, the weight of six thousand men press around the small crop of aviators stepping off, all bristled with the anticipation of finding family and going home. But they don’t get to leave, not for a few days. Families waiting at the base of the ramp are for aviators, him. It’s a powerful, alarming feeling. He can’t imagine the torture of being so close but so far away. 

But he doesn’t care—immediately he begins looking for you, eyes scanning over a few dozen nameless faces in between heartbeats. He can’t see over Slider’s goliath height as they meld into the press of nearly-silent people, and for a second, Ice wonders if anyone can feel his heart throbbing like a jackhammer against his ribs, or if that’s a privilege reserved just for him and blood in his ears. 

Someone clips his injured arm and he grimaces, releasing a low huff at the bolt of pain that zings to his fingertips and down his spinal column. It bleeds into the familiar, dull ache again as Slider continues cutting between bodies. Guiding him to the perimeter of the crowd, neither of them spotting you. For a second fear sinks deep fangs into the back of his head—you could’ve forgotten he’s home today. There could’ve been an accident, you could be a thousand miles from here. 

But you aren’t in the press of bodies waiting at the dock. Mingling with the other families and making small talk, reeling in the nervous energy of waiting wasn’t all that appealing for so early in the morning as you’d parked your pickup in the lot, well beyond the dock. You’d gotten here earlier than the other families—you always did. Watching the carrier rumble into port without the white noise of milling families was its own kind of magic. Especially in a quiet cab with hot coffee, a journal, and Sunday’s notes skittered across the dash. 

It’s the worst possible Saturday your boyfriend could dock, when you’re preaching Sunday. Scheduled to stand before nothing short of a couple hundred people at your family’s church, you’d been nervous about this for weeks. When you’d been approached for the opportunity, almost immediately you’d remembered the date circled on your calendar. The papers Tom had talked to you about nearly eight weeks ago—he was due home. Today. Hours before you were giving your first sermon as a graduating minister, the sermon that would lock in your credentials and guarantee you a diploma. Trembling from excitement and nerves, you’d accepted the opportunity and scheduled a date to meet with the church’s board of elders. 

And between cleaning the house, sermon preparations, your thesis, and missing Tom you’d been scrambling well into the early hours of dark morning. Hadn’t collapsed into bed until well after two in the morning, you’d gotten up at six to be out the door. The dock wasn’t far from assignment housing, but family’s have had vehicles parked here for a few days. Not wanting to grapple for parking, you’d just decided to camp here, when the carrier had been little more than a speck on the gray horizon. 

Sipping at your coffee, your eyes dart up from the material you’ve been pouring over for the better part of a week. Paul and the church of Corinth, the subject of your thesis. You can’t wait to preach it. It sends zips of nervous energy to your fingertips, thinking about it, but it blows away like a late summer breeze when you spot Slider’s height through the crop of people. Your heart slams to an all-stop as he cuts out of the crowd, a head of blonde hair not a breath behind him. 

Your smile broadens when you see him casing for you. Fingers effortlessly pop the latch of your door and you slip out onto the step bar, balanced against the door. Slipping fingers in your mouth you release a sharp whistle, then reach down to punch the horn a couple of times. You break out in giggles and see the minute he spots you, waving at them with a bright, goofy smile. Even from here, his pearly smile is captivating and unmissable. 

Immediately they both start making their way from the dock and you drop back into the cab, hurriedly closing your materials and tucking them up on the dash against the windshield. Flipping the visor, you check what little makeup time had allotted for you to apply, and with a shrug you smack it closed. Acceptable, your fingers brush the keys in the ignition when you pop out of the truck, batting the door closed behind you.

Darting around the pickup, you step from the concrete to the steps sloping from the lot, heart rate nearly at odds with your quick feet. Taking them nearly two at a time, you forgo the last step with a little hop. And when he’s close enough, his bag drops to the ground and his arms open. Scooping you up, you don’t miss Ice’s grunt of pain upon impact. He slides his glasses into his hair, doesn't make a big deal of his injury. You don’t either, and within seconds his hands are cradling your face for a hard, desperate kiss. 

You’re happy to stay here and drink him in, to never stop and let the world bleed away, until Slider makes a gagging sound over Ice’s shoulder. 

“God, this is embarrassing—alright, okay, we get it, you’re made for each other. Now if you’re done eating each other’s face, let’s get the hell out of here.” He sounds irritated but you know better—Slider’s a jealous creature, but it's all in good fun. 

You snort out a laugh against Ice’s mouth and break back with a wet pop to look over at Slider. A crooked smile twists up his mouth as he adjusts the bag on his shoulder. Offering him a lazy smile, you rest your head against Ice’s chest as his arms snug up a little tighter around you, which wrinkles your nose affectionately. 

“Hey, Kerner.” He’s smiling at you when you slip out from Ice’s arms to wrap the RIO in a welcoming embrace. He bear-hugs you, thick arms arm as he exaggerates his hug with a little growl, nose tucking into your neck for a breath of your perfume. “Good to see you, Sli.” 

“Hey yourself, pretty,” he claps a hand on your shoulder and you lift on toes to kiss his cheek hello, which sends a sparkling smile to his lips. “Got enough room in daddy’s pickup for the three of us?” He knows you do, but makes a show of flexing his chest to emphasize his size. The running joke, always. You can’t help the smile and little roll of your eyes, shoving him back at the shoulder. 

“Of course I do, if you ride in the back, Ron.” you step back, Ice’s arm lifting over and he laughs. Full and loud, rich and genuine it prompts a smile from you as he slips his aviators back into place, your arms sliding home around his middle as Slider rolls his eyes and makes for the stairs, looking miffed. 

Slider tosses his and Ice’s bag in the bag of the pickup, and as he does so, Ice crowds you against the driver’s door, arm draped through the open window. His hand moves to play with one of your curls, the lazy smile on his face coquettish as his eyes scan over your face, drinking you in. Your bottom lip rolls in under your teeth and you sink back against the door a little beneath his gaze. Swirl of butterflies in your stomach, the muscle of his jaw ticks with a repressed smile. 

“Hey you,” his finger slips your curl behind your ear, then slowly falls down the cut of your jaw to hook your chin in place. You manage back the most pathetic return “Hey,” that’s more of a squeak than anything that could be considered a greeting. You jump when two sharp bangs erupt from the box, Slider’s fist knocking against the side of your pickup with deliberate force. 

Brows lifted, the look says everything as he gestures to the truck. “We leavin’ or what?” 

Ice’s look is stone cold. “Ron. Shut up.” 

Your brows lift as you turn back to Tom, shifting on your feet a little as your eyes sweep down his frame, which is slung forward to pin you against the door. Pleasurable color rises to your cheeks as you feel Ron open the passenger door. “You two always this married?”  And you don’t miss the amusement on Tom’s face as you smile at him, eyes purposefully lidded. His lips part to respond but you reach behind your back, pop the door, and nudge it open. “You drive, I’ll ride middle seat.” And you slip through door along the bench seat, in next to Slider. 

It’s a tight fit, but comfortable enough when Ron lifts his arm along the back seat, allowing you to rest against him as Ice flicks the keys forward, the 350 rumbling to life with a smooth growl that sends appreciation through your blood. Ice has always looked delicious driving your pickup, but eight weeks of not seeing him hits differently in the pit of your gut. Your tongue skates along your low lip as you devour him navigating the parking lot, the cut of his arm in short-sleeved khaki. 

The jaunt to your little rental isn’t long, but Slider’s complaining of the cramped quarters anyway when Ice pulls the pickup against the curb, making room in the driveway. Kerner wastes no time getting out of the cab, retrieving his gear beside Ice as you scoop up your reading material in the crook of your arm. Ice passes you your keys and you hurry up to the door to unlock it, slip inside, and dip into the attached garage to slap at the door controls. 

Dropping your stuff in the kitchen, you sling your keys into the tray they’re always parked in. You straighten your college sweatshirt a little, push the sleeves up to your elbows. Nervous habit— you’re more than a little anxious to have that eyesore of a Trans Am out of your garage. It’s been sentinaled beside Ice’s Chevelle since he’d parked it there, in your spot. More than once you’ve thought about rolling it out to the curb so your baby can rest in its rightful spot, but you aren’t that soulless. Even if it’s the ugliest damn thing you’ve ever seen. 

Telling yourself you’re genuinely glad to see Ron and that you don’t actually want to chase him out, you can’t ignore Ice’s taste still on your tongue, the need you have to be alone with him. 

Bouncing down the two steps into the garage, you pass between the Chevelle and Pontiac, finger deliberately tracing the sharp body lines of the Chevy at a slow, swaying pace that’s enough to notice Ice’s attention side-eye over to you. Leaning against the side of the garage, he’s been discussing something or another with Kerner in one-word answers. The back of your mouth thickens with dry—his sun-kissed arm flexes the material of the khakis as he crosses his arms, his fingers all but magnetic as they slide over his skin. 

Electricity at the mere sight him cuts down your spine and you jump a little, moving to dip low through the open window of the Trans Am. Your fingers find the keys along the column. A peek over the steering column and you catch Ice watching you, reveling in the sight of you slung into Ron’s car. His expression isn’t readable as your lips twist into a grin, and you deliberately linger to draw his attention. And you can’t miss how he rubs his hand along his jaw, attempting to stifle the absolutely filthy look glinting in his eyes. 

Slipping back through the window, you pop tall and spin Slider’s keys on your finger. “Kerner,” he stops mid-sentence to glance at you, hands still mid-gesture. His expression changes from one of passive indifference to sexual appreciation as your hip falls against the door of the Pontiac with deliberate flirtation. Underhanding his keys to him, you crook a smile. “Get this sorry piece of crap out of my garage before I roll it into the middle of the frickin’ street.” 

Ice’s cough is more a laugh as he sets his jaw, impressed with the look that muddles Kerner’s face. The RIO’s brow drops into a frown as he snags the keys from the air in his hands, looking from them back to you. You’re giggling at him, brightening the smile on your face to indicate that you’re only teasing, but not really. And then Ice looks at you, his wolfish gaze dragging over you slowly. Lingers where your hands knead through the front of your sweatshirt, the cut of your hip that’s more than a little cocked. You offer him a greedy look of your own. Exaggerate licking your lips. And it says everything. 

He looks good. You look as good as you imagine you can, in jeans and a college sweatshirt and what little makeup you normally wear. But you know it doesn’t matter what you wear, not really. Eight weeks nearly lifetime-guarantees interest, even if you’d been wearing a nunnery. Locked in a wordless conversation, Ice’s brow raises a little and his head cants to the side. You look away, purposefully. 

Cat and mouse, forever and always. All the little games that you love, come ashore to play. Heat simmers at the base of your spine, and you absently spin the ring on your finger, rocking up on your toes as your eyes fall back to the Chevelle, which you love. You love this damn car. Probably more than you should. 

Passing the keys between his hands, Slider rolls his eyes and audibly groans. Moving to haul his gear to his shoulder, he points first at Ice and then at you, finger cutting between the pair of you as he moves to the Trans Am, you crowding back against the Chevelle to let him by. 

“You both behave yourselves,” he chucks his bag through the window to the passenger seat. Popping the door a little, he turns to thrust an accusatory finger in your face, “Don’t do anything I would do, Reverend.” Trying to sound serious, his lips curl up into a barely-contained smile that makes you giggle.

“Ew. No,” you try to look serious. It cracks beneath a hint of a smile. 

He points to the side of his mouth, indicating a kiss as he slips sunglasses into place from the pocket of his uniform. Rolling your eyes, you press a soft kiss to the spot, Slider beaming proudly at the accomplishment. He looks to Ice and wags his brows, and Tom rolls his eyes. “See ya later, pretty.” He makes a show of grabbing you aggressively, like he wants more than just a friendly kiss. He doesn’t, but it pushes Tom from his leaning position against the garage all the same. 

“Get lost, Slider,” Ice moves in beside you, and you shove at Ron’s shoulder. Impressed with himself, Ron’s grin widens and he kisses your forehead, lowering the shades on his nose enough to wink at you before he claps a hand on Ice’s uninjured shoulder, nodding at him. 

“Alright. I’m outta here.” The RIO drops into the Trans Am, fires it up, and tears out of the driveway. You watch him from the vacated spot until the eyesore of a Pontiac is down the block and out of sight, the exaggerated muffler making your eyes roll to the ceiling of the garage as Slider purposefully feeds the thing fuel. 

You don’t even have time to think before Ice grabs your arm and pulls you over to him, crowding you up against the back of the Chevelle. The steel is warm beneath your hands from California heat as Ice captures you in another hard kiss, licking into your mouth with a filthy moan that nearly cripples you where you stand. Suddenly unaware of anything but his sun-chapped mouth on yours, you melt into his touch when his hands find your thighs, nudging you back farther against his car. 

In one fluid movement he takes your chin and angles it up a little, bracketing you against the car until he urges you to actually sit. You comply, more consumed with pushing and pulling at his lips when his hands move to push your legs apart, allowing him to step into place between them. His fingers are thick and burning even beneath the denim of your jeans, and your fingers curl into the line of buttons on his uniform to beg him closer. 

Hands sliding to your hips, he moves to press a thick kiss to the pulse in your neck, your head canting to allow him. The sensation sends a bolt of heat down your spine and to the low of your gut, and your bare toes curl nearly to breaking. Heels dig into the warm chrome of the bumper, sheens of perspiration catching over your skin as Ice’s tongue lathes into the salty taste of your skin. It pulls a filthy mewl from you. Your arm slings around his neck, pulling him in and closer—you miss the bulk of whatever has him wrapped into place. The grunt he hisses into your skin jumps through your chest, making you gasp. 

His shoulder. You angle back and away, a hand to his drawing him back to you. Beautiful color dusts over his nose. His eyes simmer with lustful light. And despite his best effort, you can see the lingering pain in his expression, the exhaustion in the shadow around his eyes. He looks tired—looks like a man recovering from crashing a taxpayer jet in the middle of the Indian. But there’s something else, something in his expression that you can’t quite put a finger on—something you’ve never seen before. 

Swallowing a shallow breath, your fingers gently skip over his collarbone, your hands moving to undo the first few of his buttons. Pushing aside the collar of his shirt and tugging at the undershirt, sure enough—gauze is wrapped beneath his arm, around his barrel in a light brace. 

“Ice,” you breathe a little when his fingers brush at the hair sticking to the sweat on your face, “are you really still this sore? How bad is this?" He’s too busy looking at your mouth to catch the worry mottling your eyes, and you’re thankful for that as your heart picks up within your breast, “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.” 

“Because it isn’t,” he bites a bit sharply, tongue parting the seam of his lips a little in a greedy, hungry way, “The concussion from the impact was worse than the collarbone. Kept me in Medical for a few days, but really—I’m fine,” 

“A concussion? Ice! Are you telling me you’re concussed? You drove us here!”  

The look on your face prompts his shrug and the slight eye roll, but you snag his chin and pull his gaze back to yours. Wrinkled, you attempt your most concerned expression, though all you can feel is the fire of his touch flaming through you like a wildfire. “Kazansky—you have to tell me these things.” 

He rolls his eyes, heaving a nearly bored sigh. “I tell you the important things.” It’s all he offers. 

But his voice is more assured than his expression, and that little something creeps into the light of his eyes. It robs the mirth, muddies the waters of endless gray depth that usually have you tethered to somewhere far away, that doesn’t resemble the world. And then the muscle in his jaw ticks, in a way that isn’t his normal. The beast bucks the chain, and slips into his expression for all of a few seconds. 

The crash. It’s still there—fear. Cold, detached fear. It still has him out in that ocean, somewhere, a thousand miles from you. You’ve never seen Ice off his game, never seen him this vulnerable. Watching his tongue fill the pocket of his cheek as his eyes drop from yours, you’ll never forget the bristle of discomfort the moment brings him. Something akin to shame hangs in his posture, skirts in and out of the shaky breath he releases. Tom has always been a barely-held-together pillar of strength, broken in all the ways men who crave control are. But he’d never been afraid.

“Tom,” your hand moves to cup his cheek, and he leans into the contact, and his eyes close. His exhale is much more confident, but he can’t shake the tremble. Not yet. His cold sweat skims into your palm, he’s never this clammy. “Ice. It’s okay—” 

“Don’t.” 

Nearly instantly Ice’s hands drop from your hips, his expression hard like a child that has been reprimanded. He attempts to take a step back from you, but you beat him to it—leaning forward, you snag the first few open buttons in your fist, tugging him back against your chest with an exaggerated pout about your face. Fist curling around the material, your brows avalanche into a hard line. He plants his feet, head kicked back a little to stare at you, expressionless. More like a man standing in the face of a drill sergeant than a lover. Passive, tolerant. As cold as ice. 

Compassion rattles your chest for a minute before the muscle in your jaw ticks, burning with effort to keep your expression checked. “Cut the shit, Ice. You crashing into the ocean is important. Talk to me.” His eyes snap up to you at your use of language, which is very rare, as a minister’s daughter and student of the church. He holds you there, seated on the back of his Chevelle, with the weight of the world. “Ice. Please. Tell me wha—” 

“I thought about you,” he takes your face between his hands softly, thumbs gently skipping over your cheeks as he drinks you in, studying with deep, attentive eyes. Your hands move to slowly slip along his forearms, welcoming the contact, and you gently wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him a little closer. “The entire engagement, all I could think about was getting back—coming home, seeing you, and—” In a very rare show of inarticulance he tumbles, gaze dropping as he attempts to rally. Stumbling about unintelligible attempts for a few moments, his eyes close and his head drops. 

The moment of weakness won’t last, he won’t let it. And you don’t want him to. Ice has allowed you to see him so unfurled only a few times in your relationship. Carding your fingers through his hair, his hands move to hold you by the shoulders, firmly. Like he doesn’t want to let go. You're about to slip off the car when his hands firm up on your shoulder, softly jerking you to a halt. 

“No, please. Stay.”  

He pulls you forward for his head to rest against your chest, you feel him inhale the scent of you deeply. Gently sliding your nails along his scalp, you hum a little, exhaling a toe-curling breath. Tears gloss over your vision but you dismiss them. Relish instead in how he nuzzles into the rhythm of your heart, the warmth of your sweater. You can see him drifting, still at sea. Fighting to come back. 

The Iceman. While it fits him to a T, it is such a foreign concept. Vulnerable, melting within your very grasp–everything an Iceman isn’t. It’s a power unlike anything you’ve ever known. And there’s nothing more beautiful. Like the slow bleed of the sun to the earth, giving way to night. Holy, magical. Breathless. This is how it is meant to be, between man and woman. Eve taken from Adam, not to be apart from him, but to complete him. 

And you will complete him. God will you complete him. 

“I love you, Tom Kazansky,” if he’s forgotten who he is, it’s your job to remind him. And it will be, as long as he allows you the privilege. The idea of him thinking about you during engagement sends a thrill through you, and you take one of his hands to draw his palm to your lips, softly. “I love you.” You say it again and again, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the crown of his head. 

When he lifts his head, a Tom Kazansky you don’t remember stares back at you. His eyes are red and rimmed in shadows. He isn’t guarded in the way you’d expected him to be, but instead, Ice looks as if he’s taken a great breath of fresh air, buoyed. Drunk on your words. For a fraction of a second you see the glint of moisture in his eyes, but it passes when his hand wraps around the back of your neck and forces you into a soft, barely-there kiss. 

He sighs against your mouth, tipping his forehead against yours. “I love you.” It’s a statement, not a phrase. Nothing follows, nothing proceeds. Vibrations of it rip through you like a shockwave, his lips brushing over yours lightly as he bips at your bottom lip, wanting. “You keep me alive, fuck you keep me breathing.” 

Arms laced behind his neck, your fingers slide through his hairline. He’s hot. Burning up, really, and sharing his head beads sweat across your forehead, in the ravine of your spine. Swallowing each of his breaths, you lazily kiss the corner of his mouth, until he turns to slant his lips over yours, hand roughing against the back of your neck. The other pulls at the front logo of your sweater, and your little sigh against his mouth pulls him back with a thick, wet pop. 

Offering him a small smile, your fingers skip over his injured shoulder and up his neck, to cradle his jaw. “You should crash for a few hours, I have to prepare. You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.” That makes him splutter out a tired chuckle, nodding as you slip off the car and take his hand to guide him through the garage, into the house. “Wanna stay for dinner, or are they wanting you back?” 

He stops you on the stairs, fingers lacing through your belt hoops to draw you back against his chest. Kissing your neck, his arms slide home around your middle as he takes a breath of your hair, a low moan rolling around the depth of his chest that sounds like “Nowhere to be,” but just makes you chuckle. The words rumble against your spine, before you step forward out of his arms and into the cool house. 

Without further prompting the Iceman slips back into the rhythm of your home, as if he never even left. 

Taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @spicydisaster14 @thescreamingpeach @your-local-crzy-lady @sakar-rad

#tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky #iceman kazansky #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun imagines #valmare's 300 followers party #300 followers #300 followers celebration #val kilmer #tom iceman kazansky #blurb requests #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #call sign meerkat #iceman top gun #answered asks #tom kazanksy x reader #iceman x reader #iceman x you

[liamthemailman]

♠️♥️House of Cards♣️♦️

Act Two Part Six - Goodbye

CW: None, angry old men

The door opens with a creek, pulling King’s attention from his work as he looks up over his reading glasses. He gives a short huff as he watches Ace limping in.

“Quite the mess that last mission was,” King comments, his eyes falling back to his paperwork. He missed the slight glare that Ace shot at him as he stepped forward.

“..The intel given was rot, sir. I was told the area would be clear.”

Ace drops the mission report, shifting his body weight to his uninjured leg. He was far from recovered, but Ace would be damned if he let the medics fuss over him again. This time he barely stayed in the medical bay, having decided he had other things to settle.

King only gives a light hum, seeing Ace’s current state. He finally places his pen down and reaches over to the report and places it aside.

“You came back just dandy, didn’t you Lieutenant? This isn’t the worst you’ve faced so I don’t see the issue here.” He invites Ace to take a seat opposite him but Ace remains standing despite his knee protesting the pain. 

“What actually happened in the safehouse, Major?”

King gives him a questioning look. He straightens up and furrows his brows at Ace. The air is still as the two stared each other down, the silence only broken by a rough gruff from King.

“I’ve told you. Captain Tudor had fought off Private Kyle after they viciously attacked you,” King answered, his eyes narrowing as he studied Ace standing before him. Ace’s stare was piercing right into King’s eyes.

“Is that what really happened?” Ace prods. “As far as I’ve known Jack, he’s not one to-”

“Be careful, Doe. Are you sure you want to question Elize’s words? She still saved you after you fought her.” King rumbles, a dark warning tone slipping out. This doesn’t deter Ace though, he only stands taller in spite of his handicap.

“Your promotion is coming up,” King adds, words cutting through the thick air. A threat to Ace in every way, daring the man before him to continue if he so foolishly pleases to. To anyone else, it might have silenced them into compliance, but not to Ace.

“It doesn’t matter to me.” Ace says firmly through gritted teeth. He bites his tongue to keep from wincing as he takes a step forward. Before King could ask, Ace slaps another document onto King’s desk.

“What is this?” King picks up the form, eyes scanning the top header before clenching his jaw. He looks back up at Ace who stares back with equal intensity. King sputters. “You-”

“I’m not staying for this. Not anymore.” Ace says, cutting in before King could express any further confusion or anger. He leans against King’s desk, letting out a sharp inhale as he forces his injured leg to follow along.

“I can no longer work by your side or this task force due to conflicts of interest, alongside obvious medical reasons. Effective immediately.”

King looks up from the form, looking between Ace and the paper before barking out a loud laugh. He reaches for a pen, clicking the tip out and scoffs. 

“Glad to see you still have that bite in you, Mad Dog,” King says with a bit of a joke in his voice. Despite this, the white knuckled hold King had on the pen and the silent angry scribble of the pen in the suffocatingly silent room said this was everything but a light matter. King lifts the paper, standing up himself as he reaches out to shake Ace’s hand.

The handshake was harsh, painfully tight and curt. As King moves to retract his hand, Ace clenches it tighter one last time, straining to lean closer towards his former boss and friend.

“You were a good man, Russel. It’s a shame things ended this way.”

Ace finally released King’s hand, who was shocked by his gall and could only stare as Ace turned and limped towards the door.

“I appreciate the sniper support from the last mission, Major. Don’t know what inspired the change of heart but glad I wasn’t totally alone in enemy territory.” The door shuts behind Ace, his odd limping footsteps slowly fading away.

King sinks back into his chair, the thing creaking under him. He slowly leans back, taking a deep sigh as he sets aside the approved retirement form. He stares at the door for a moment.

“I didn’t send a bloody sniper..” King mutters to himself, pulling out his phone and dialing Queen’s number with hands shaking so much he was sure he was going to snap the bloody thing in his hand. The dial rings once, twice and Queen picks up on the other end.

“Yes, my love?” Her voice calls out. King’s shoulders slack a little at the sound of her voice but he steeled himself and sat up.

“I didn’t send any snipers to assist the Lieutenant on his latest solo mission. I’ll need you to investigate his movements. He just retired too which is awfully convenient timing on his end. Might have some involvement with the enemy.” King says, eyes glazing over Ace’s mission report once again. He’s met with silence but it doesn’t last long.

“Roger that, Major. I’ll take a look into it.” Queen hums.

King bit his tongue and sighed, tapping his fingers on his desk as he hung his head low, thoughts still fresh on Ace’s parting words.

“My darling, you were right. He was a mistake to bring in. I thought I managed to put that dog down long ago but clearly it’s very much still alive.”

On the other end, Queen smiles to herself, twirling her pen in her hand as she hummed.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it.”

Objective Completed.

#House of Cards AU #Act 2 Part 5 #cod oc #call of duty oc #oc: LT Ace #mailman rants #fanfic #fanfiction #Task Force Cards #oc: Major King #oc: Queen

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 313.brb x oc

a/n: another shorty but hope yall like it!(comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

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/302/303/304/305/306/307/308/309/310/311

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix @lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

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-

She knows she should wait when he’s free,she knows it, but she couldn’t wait especially after what happened??? After Miranda? She chews her lower lip as she looks down at his contact number on her phone, gardening gloves have been tossed aside as she walks back inside.

She was surprised her fuming hadn’t woken Shells or the kids up.

After a moment of internal debate, Beatrice made a decision. She couldn't wait. She needed to hear Rooster's voice, to share the strange occurrences that had unfolded in his absence. Pulling her phone closer, she took a deep breath and pressed the call button.

The phone rang a few times before Rooster answered, his voice groggy from the late hour. "Bea? Everything okay?"

“Hey…I know it’s late out there,sorry for waking you…”

“No,hey,” he grunts and the bed creaks as he sits up, “Don’t apologize gorgeous. You know I love hearing your voice especially when I’m deployed.”

Beatrice smiled, the warmth in Rooster's voice providing a comforting embrace, even across the miles that separated them. "I just... I needed to talk to you. Something happened, and I couldn't wait."

Rooster's tone shifted to alertness. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Beatrice hesitated for a moment, contemplating how to relay the events without causing unnecessary worry. "Miranda came over today. It was... strange, Rooster. She was saying things, trying to create tension or something again. I don't know what her game is…"

“ What did she say?"

Beatrice recounted the encounter, detailing Miranda's cryptic comments with detail, and Rooster listened attentively, remaining silent so his wife could let everything out without being interrupted.

When Beatrice finished, Rooster let out a heavy sigh. "Damn. I wish I was there, Bea. I don't like the sound of this. What did she want?"

"I have no idea," Beatrice admitted, frustration creeping into her voice. "It felt like she was trying to get under my skin, questioning your abilities as a pilot. It was bizarre, Rooster."

Rooster's tone shifted, a mix of annoyance and concern. "Questioning my abilities? What does she have to do with that?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. It's like she's trying to stir up trouble again… I don’t know, is…well,is Mark bothering you guys too?”

A pause.

“You…could say that,gorgeous.”

"What's happening with Mark, Rooster?" Beatrice asked, her voice laced with worry.

"...I can’t say over a call baby" Rooster explained. "Too risky.”

“Are you all safe? Right now?”

"Yeah, we're safe for now. Just dealing with some internal issues. I'll fill you I can,I promise.”

Beatrice exhaled a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Okay. Just...be careful, Rooster. I don't like the sound of all this."

"Me neither,gorgeous…we’ll be okay," Rooster reassured her “I promise. We can handle…whatever this is.”

Beatrice nodded, even though Rooster couldn't see her. "I know. But it doesn't make it any easier when you're so far away."

"I know,gorgeous…did Miranda…said anything else?”

"Nothing else."

Rooster's voice softened. "I see… Shells is there with you, right?"

"Yeah, Shells has spending some time," Beatrice acknowledged, a small smile touching her lips. "But it's just... I don't want anything jeopardizing the peace we have at home, especially with you away on a mission."

"I know baby. I wish I could do more. Just remember, we're a team, no matter the distance. If anything feels off, trust your instincts, okay?"

"I will, Rooster. Always." she sighs, “I should probably let you go back to sleep.”

Rooster's voice held a comforting note. "I'm not going back to sleep until I know you're okay. Talk to me, Bea. What else is on your mind?"

Beatrice hesitated for a moment, debating whether to share the weight that had settled on her heart. "I just miss you, Rooster. And with all this happening, it feels like the world is a bit shaky."

"I miss you too, Bea. More than you can imagine. But we need to weather this storm, and then I promise I'll come back to you."

Tears welled up in Beatrice's eyes, the longing for Rooster magnified by the distance between them. "I know, Rooster. I just... I worry. About you, about us, about everything."

Rooster's voice softened, "We'll get through this, baby. I'll make it back to you. Just keep our home fires burning, okay?"

"I will," Beatrice whispered, a sniffle escaping her. "I love you, Rooster."

"I love you too, gorgeous. Now, get some rest. We'll talk soon."

After exchanging a few more words, Beatrice reluctantly ended the call. The weight of the conversation lingered in the air, a mix of concern, love, and the underlying uncertainty of the situation. She wiped away a tear, took a deep breath, and dropped her head on top of her folded arms as she rested on the kitchen table.

Jolene whined under her, her huge head plopping on Bea’s thigh as her paw landed on the human’s knee.

Beatrice absentmindedly ran her fingers through Jolene's fur, finding solace in the comforting presence of her loyal companion. As she sat there, Beatrice's mind danced between the happenings of the day.The encounter with Miranda left a lingering unease, like when you swallow bitter medicine. She couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous lurked beneath the surface, something she couldn't quite grasp.

But why?

Why?

Why were Miranda and Mark so obsessed with them? This has been happening for so long she couldn’t even figure out a fair reason to.

"You doing okay, Bea?" Shells finally broke the quietude.

“Ah!’ Bea jumped, turning around to see Shells standing by the kitchen door, holding the twins to her chest while Nicole wobbled over to her mother. Bea sighed, picking Nicole up and standing to check on the other two, “Sorry,I…didn’t hear you.”

Shells grinned, gently rocking the twins in her arms. "No worries, Bea. You looked lost in thought. Everything okay?"

Beatrice sighed, her gaze drifting towards the window as if seeking answers in the starlit sky. "I just had a chat with Rooster. Miranda's visit today... it's been lingering on my mind. I can't shake this feeling of unease."

“...Miranda was here?”

“Oh,oh yeah you…were all asleep on the couch…you didn’t hear me by the door?”

Shells shook her head, a perplexed expression on her face. "No, I must've been out like a light. What happened with Miranda?"

Beatrice recounted the encounter with Miranda,  and Shells listened attentively, her brow furrowing as she processed the information.

"That's weird," Shells commented, her eyes narrowing in thought. "But…considering everything,I’m not surprised.”

Beatrice shrugged, her eyes reflecting the weariness that had settled into her bones. "I wish I knew what she wanted, Shells. Rooster mentioned some internal issues in the squadron, and now this with Miranda"

Shells gently rocked the twins, a thoughtful look on her face. "Maybe we should beat her up."

“Shells!”

“Beat er up!” Nicole giggled, throwing her little fists up.

“No-Shells,please don’t mention violence in front of my kids.”

Shells chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, alright. No violence in front of the kids. We'll just have to outsmart her. Maybe throw her off with kindness or confuse her with some gardening trivia."

Beatrice rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. "I appreciate the sentiment, Shells, but I just want things to settle down. Between Rooster being away, the breach, and now Miranda's mysterious antics, its a lot."

Shells nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's a lot to handle. But if Miranda wants to play games, she'll soon find out she picked the wrong opponents."

The twins, sensing the shift in energy, began to squirm in Shells' arms. Aurora reached out towards Beatrice, her tiny fingers trying to grasp onto her mother's hair.

"Looks like they want you, Bea," Shells chuckled, carefully passing the twins back to their mother as Bea but Nicole down. "I'll make some coffee. We might need it for our plotting against Miranda."

Beatrice cradled the twins in her arms, planting a soft kiss on each of their foreheads. "Thanks, Shells. I’d like that."

"Any word from Rooster?" Shells asked, as she marched over to the coffee maker, letting Bea handle the babies for a little while.

“I called him a few minutes ago."

“Yeah?”

“What did he say?”

“That I should listen to my gut if something feels off,” Bea smiles softly as she places the twins down on their bouncers a bit before preparing herself to feed them while Nicole walked over to her high chair, waiting to be settled.

Shells looked at her from the coffee maker,smirking a bit, “Well he doesn’t have to worry about that,does he? Gut feeling is our specialty.”

“It is?”

“I mean,I had a gut feeling you and Rooster would end up together, and surprise to no one, I was right!”

"Yeah, well, your gut feeling about Rooster and me was probably the only one that worked out."

Shells returned to the living room with two steaming mugs of coffee, handing one to Beatrice before taking a seat across from her. "True, I might not be the best fortune teller, but I make a killer cup of coffee. So spill, what's the plan, Bea?"

Beatrice puts Nicole on her high chair and then tilts her head ‘Plan?”

Shells took a thoughtful sip of her coffee, her eyes locking onto Beatrice's. "You know, for dealing with Miranda. What's our strategy? Besides not beating her up, of course."

"I'm not sure, Shells. If she wants drama, let's not give it to her."

Shells leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Ignoring her works for so long. Then what?"

Beatrice sighed, the weight of the situation settling back onto her shoulders. "I don't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she's getting to us. Let's focus on our own circle.But for now, let's not let Miranda's games distract us."

“Hmmm…”

“I know you hate that idea.”

“You are absolutely right.” Shells says, “I hate it.“I’m just sayin’ we need to be proactive.” 

“I know…”

“Yeah..” Shells pulls out her phone, “Good thing I called Aunt Penny then! She can give us some advice,” if she noticed Bea’s wide eyed look she ignored it and kept on talking “You know she can help us out.’

“Shells.”

“And Mav.” oh God. “He can help us too!”

“Shells….”

“Yeah,we have this in the bag!” Shells laughs, “Anyway,coffee,right?”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x named reader #tgm oc #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction

[papaver-decervicatus]

tiktok keeps recommending me videos of bassists and I cannot stop thinking about julius because of you

First ask ever, let’s go!!! Let me, not at all, remedy this issue you’ve found yourself with, anon! Answer Below the 'read more'

Most of what Julius plays is in the safety and privacy of his own home, and it’s not a hobby he ever really brings up. If anyone knows about it and is egging him on to join a local bar-band while out, he has to be about 6 beers in to even entertain the idea. If the lights in the venue won’t blind him on the stage he does require being blindfolded for stage fright reasons. 

He usually starts predictable and “universal” with something like Pink Floyd’s Money or Superstitious by Stevie Wonder, he’s always partial to a little Super Freak by Rick James, too. The sort of stuff you’d find on a ‘Top Ten Bass Lines of All Time!’ list because for the most part those are songs that are popular in their own right without the kick-ass (if a little sanitized) baseline. But that’s not where his heart is, his heart has always been with Heavy Metal (Metallica, Black Sabbath, for a more recent example see anything in the Doom Metal subculture/subgenre like Ramesses and Valhall) and Neue Duetsche Härte (think Oomph! and Rammestein.) And I’m not talking slipknot, Tin or Steel levels of metal, I mean straight up Mercury or Lead poisoning. The second song is always when things get interesting. 

See, the funny thing about König playing the bass is, people hate playing in a band with him. Think about the phrase “take em for a walk,” when it comes to a musical breakdown, yeah well. König never got the memo that a bass is supposed to be a rhythm instrument first and foremost. He takes that puppy for a full on marathon sprint, shows off to the max, he’s playing the lead guitar’s part or the vocals half the time if he knows the song well enough. With his own personal double neck bass, Walküre (obligatory quick mention of @kneelingshadowsalome‘s series Valkyrie, go read it yesterday if you haven’t already) he is replacing the strings four times as often as he ought to because, as gentle and loving as he is with the instrument as a whole (he adores her, and is probably a few screws loosening away from sleeping in the same bad as the damn thing), his playing is naturally violent and bombastic to the point of shredding his fingers and the strings. 

His style is something like this (Djent Style, a sub-genre of metal) 

But he likes his kickback and reverb, way, way, way up. The only thing louder than the mess of pure sound coming from the amps is the barely-recognizable music notes cascading out. König doesn’t know what dynamics are, if he’s playing it, it’s gonna be loud, except of course, when the rest of the song gets quiet. 

He usually finishes a set with something classic like Metallica’s Master of Puppets or 21st Century Schizoid Man by King Crimson because those are universals, everyone’s gonna know them. But if he’s feeling particularly pumped, in his element, or is that drunk, he’s playing a once in a lifetime rendition of Agent Orange by Sodom (because trash metal isn’t heavy metal, but it sure is fucking fun!)

The second he steps off the stage, however, he’s practically running away to get to the bathroom or a shower or something. König isn’t usually a sweaty guy, or at least not more so than any other man, but when he jumps off the stage he’s practically swimming in clammy anxiety and sweat. Finishing his little show and going back into the crowd is his least favorite part of the ordeal by far. It’s a dire tone shift once he’s finally gotten back to the people he came in with, from a heavy metal god that rivals the craftsmanship and raw power of Hephaestus or Vulcan to… demure and anxious Julius Doss, dodging praise like bullets on a battlefield. He would never admit it, but he absolutely adores the compliments and awestruck expressions he gets from his little displays of what remains of his teenaged exuberance and the blood hammering adrenaline of having everyone's attention on him (usually the very last thing he wants outside of the field.)

That being said, practically no one gets the privilege of seeing König on bass but when they do. God, do they fucking see it. 

#navigation -> headcanon tag #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #thank you so much for the ask! can you tell I have dabbled in bass? #also metalheads forgive me if i got stuff wrong i hope i did yall justice ily but i am not in that scene

[brendathedoodler]

I saw the tags that mention AS Four and Shadow are a canon couple SO please can I see what you're thinking? Honestly, the more headcanons and stuff that I hear for this AU, the more excited I get about it ^u^

And I'm not just saying that cuz Four is my blorbo, I promise

Thank you!! Tbh Four is one of my favorites so I’m always eager to talk about him

I may or may not have paired my fav Zelda game with my fav character

The romance starts, unsurprisingly, with Vio and Shadow.

The two were already close before this and had begun to banter with one another regularly. Now, though, they were together, taking over the Yiga clan.

It went back and forth, their usual banter as Shadow joked and teased about their plans (or their false plans, anyway, for fear of any ninjas that may be listening in). Vio responded in his usual deadpan tone, often rolling his eyes with a small smile on his face.

Shadow rested on the throne, Vio sitting on the armrest. With how small the two were, Vio had eventually shifted to sitting right next to him. He wasn’t entirely paying attention, and eventually ended up on Shadow’s lap.

They kissed there on the throne of the Yiga clan, illuminated only by the light of the nearby torches.

A few days later and the entire scheme collapsed (but so did the Yiga base). They continued on. The moment Vio and Shadow shared went unmentioned, but both were thinking of it often.

The group decided that they needed to more practice as Four. Their break was over, and after the near defeat with Vah Ruto, they’d need to prepare before facing Vah Naboris. They agreed to do some shrines.

The first issue came when they arrived at the shrine deep in the desert next to the fairy fountain. They planned to awaken her, but Red admitted that he’d spent all their money on arrows. This infuriated Green because Red had sold the molduga parts he’d been farming for the past few days to get the money for arrows. They were now broke. To top it off, Blue revealed that he’d scammed some sucker out of his sand boots, but then dyed the sand boots blue. The other three, being stubbornly unwilling to wear something that wasn’t dyed their own color, got mad at him for it.

After a few minutes to cool off, they all agreed to combine and just do the damn shrine anyway. The thing with combining is that none of them have any true privacy; whatever memories one of them has during their time split will be immediately shared with the others.

The fact that they were all already frustrated combined with the fact that neither Vio nor Shadow had told anyone else about the fact that they’d kissed caused them all to immediately split and start arguing.

Blue accused Shadow of playing favorites, Green was mad because keeping secrets like that wouldn’t help them when they were trying to be more of a unit, and Red felt betrayed that Vio hadn’t said anything to the rest of them. It didn’t help that they were all hellishly jealous because they also wanted what Vio and Shadow had. The entire thing was a mess.

Needless to say, Vio and Shadow were left alone there, unable to actually do the shrine because they needed to be whole (and Shadow couldn’t go in the shrine anyway).

Now, Shadow adores all of them and really didn’t mean to play favorites. He def needs to give them some space before trying to prove that, though.

Vio, meanwhile, is bad with feelings and tries to logic his way through an apology (to which Shadow just says “lmao good luck with that”).

Anyway, Shadow goes and has a moment with each of them, though it’s less romantic and more just trying to make up and connect with each of them (he’ll have a particular romantic moment with each of them eventually but this isn’t it).

Vio also goes around and gets everyone some “sorry for keeping secrets from you” gifts. For Green he gets the exact amount of rupees that Red ‘stole’ from him (they have a shared inventory but Green is still mad about the molduga parts Red sold), for Blue he got a bunch of Yiga weaponry but put the effort in to make the handles blue instead of red, and he went and commissioned some custom jewelry from Isha for Red.

At least now that everyone was less pissed, they finally regrouped and started doing some shrines. Tbh sorting out that disagreement really did help with their overall cooperation as Four.

Eventually they faced Vah Naboris, and that battle was the first time Four truly felt like a single person since he woke up. The feeling didn’t last, but it had been nice.

Anyway, more about the romance! Each of the colors has their own particular moment with Shadow, and then Four too. Though, after the incident before, he’s making an effort to spend more time with each of them instead of just Vio.

Green and Shadow kissed on the back of a crumbling Talus they fought together. It wasn’t their smartest idea, seeing as the thing was crumbling under their feet. The entire fight had been exhilarating, and the adrenaline running high when Green had grabbed Shadow’s tunic to initiate. When the Talus dissipated Green broke his leg falling, but it had absolutely been worth it (two health potions later and he and his leg were fine).

Red and Shadow kissed doing something more domestic. They’d been cooking together, whipping up some magic foods in preparation for hiking up the frosty mountains. The others had gone off to do who knows what, and Red and Shadow remained, flipping through a cookbook and filling Red’s slate with delicious meals for the road. There had been plenty of cuddling, teasing, and messing around. The kiss was a simple peck on Shadow’s cheek to thank him for helping out, but nonetheless Red’s face matched his name by the time the others returned.

Blue and Shadow kissed as they explored together. Shadow loves banter, and Blue is so easy to get a rise out of (and maybe he was playing it up for comedic effect). It just went back and forth as the two travelled, on the search for shrines (or any little thing they might stumble across). They kissed after a rather typical exchange. Shadow was being a pest, Blue told him to shut up, and Shadow responded with "make me”. What else was Blue supposed to do? Not kiss him? Ridiculous.

One last scene I have in mind is when Four unlocks the Master Cycle Zero. Shadow sitting just behind Four, arms wrapped around his torso to keep on. The wind in their hair as they drive across Hyrule Field in ancient technology that they don't fully understand, whooping and hollering with joy.

#nowadays Shadow doesn’t have a whole lot of energy so he hangs out in Four’s shadow #the fact that he’s not dead after the Calamity’s defeat is a bonus even if he isn’t as acitve anymore #linked universe #lu adventure swap au #lu four #lu shadow #lu green #lu red #lu blue #lu vio #idk what the ship name for four and shadow is lol

[aritamargarita]

ATTITUDE || 012

tonight, you find out who this secret admirer is and more shenanigans ensue. like anon said, reader is slowly entering her dean ambrose era but someone(s) want to put a stop to it before it gets worse. i KIND OF had to like split things up im doin something important just stick around....hotel interactions next chapter!

poor reader getting dragged into team extreme drama is insane like omg. at leaaasstt she can get closer to jeff, YAAYYY. this chapter, something in the air shifted i fear….

RAW IS WAR // 6:37 PM

Monday came around quickly and yet again, you were back at the arena. Raw was a little different than Smackdown’s set up, but you didn’t really mind. The interchangeable brands, despite how much trouble it caused you, was somewhere you could easily call home.

You and Lita really drank too much, huh? You’ll both have to get those pancakes another time.

You remember Lita calling you and thanking you for allowing her to spend the night, but you couldn’t even respond with how loudly you were laughing once those memories came crashing down.

You swore off of drinking for a while. You also made Lita agree to never take you out to a bar again. At least not before eating anything. And next time, the destination would be IHOP instead of some sleazy bar.

Lita had to beg you to not tell Jeff what she said. In compromise, she said that you could meet her in the locker room before the first match to talk.

Today’s matches were as follows…

CHRISTIAN VS. JEFF HARDY (EUROPEAN TITLE)

RVD VS. D-VON DUDLEY (HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP)

TRISH STRATUS VS. STACY KEIBLER

EDGE VS. TEST (INTERCONTINENTAL TITLE)

WILLIAM REGAL VS. BIG SHOW

THE ROCK VS. CHRIS JERICHO AND KURT ANGLE

At least you weren’t on the card, but Jeff’s got a match with Christian? Looks like Stacy’s got a match too. Perhaps you’d be seeing them very, very soon.

That is, if you had time. The voice of that man over the phone replayed in your head, reminding the time you should meet him. 7:50? No, 7:20. NO, 7:30!

Now’s not the time to have a bad memory. This could be important. If they had some sort of “strategy” to keep Stephanie down for a bit, you wanted to hear it. You came earlier than usual just to ensure that you’d be there in time.

The hushed and murmured voices made you stop. You could hear them behind the door.

“Well, is she in here?”

“Ya’ think I know for sure?”

Okay, just by the tone of their voices, it sounded like Debra and Austin outside of your door. Their questions towards each other had turned into a small argument, something about who’s going to be the one to call you out first.

Why’d they show up? You knew Austin saw how mad you were the night of your match, so maybe he told Debra.

“Come on out, [Name].” Austin calls. “Just want to talk.”

You didn’t want to be chastised. It’s the last thing you wanted to hear, especially from him. “I’m not coming out.”

“Don’t make me break this door down.”

This time you got scared because you knew that he’d do it. So you slowly crack open the door. “Yes?” Of course, those cameras you loved so dearly were rolling. This must be good.

Debra steps forward, an apologetic look on her face. “We’ve been thinking...after what happened back on Smackdown…we think you should start looking into some anger management classes. You see, Mr. McMahon has offered it to certain people who were apart of the Alliance after a recommendation.”

Anger management classes??

It was one thing for Mr. McMahon to pour MORE salt in the wound after a crushing loss to your original team, but to even suggest anger management? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding.

“If I have to look into anger management classes, he has to look into them too!” You point a finger at Austin accusingly.

“Me? Anger management?” Shockingly enough, he seemed appalled at your words. “I don’t need a damn anger management class, goddamnit. All I need is a forklift.”

“You have issues!”

Debra can only shake her head. This is exactly why you should look into it. However, you made a valid case. The more she thought about it, she realizes the both of you needed to go. “That’s it then. I’ll be signing the both of you up for a class next week.” She briskly walks away, not staying around to hear you two’s outburst.

“Hey, no! What if I have a match or something? Debraaaaa!” You complain. Austin wasn’t too happy about this decision either. You walk after her, pleading to not let you go. “Pleaaasee?? Can’t you just send him alone? He’s an angry guy! Like way more angry than me!”

“My answer is final!” She asserted, making you take a step back. “If it makes you feel better, there are other people who you may know that are attending. Why don’t you make some friends?”

“Ughhhhh…” You groan. Debra softly rubs your shoulder.

Once Debra made her mind up, that was it. Looks like you’ll be taking anger management classes with Austin.

Pissed off wasn’t strong enough to describe how he felt about it. He comes closer to you two, rubbing his face. “I need a beer.”

“I don’t have anger management issues, I was just mad!“ You complain. “Throwing chairs at the walls aren’t even that bad! I could do worse. I could do way worse, right?!”

You turn over to Austin, who was simply shaking his head at you. For a split second he was going to say something, but decided not to. So far, the things he’s done in the past have been completely worse than what you’ve did in the last few days.

In an effort to take it off your mind for now, you look between the two. “Err, have any of you seen Jeff Hardy? I’d like to talk to him.”

“Not at all.” Debra shook his head. “Wouldn’t he usually be with his brother and that Lita girl?”

“Sort of, kind of. Not with Lita. They got into an argument or something, but right now I’m not sure if they’re cool. I really hope things blow over.”

“Why talk to him?” Austin just cuts to the chase. “Rainbow hair makes me sick. Him and that girl who can’t pull her pants up.”

You roll your eyes. Of course he had an iffy opinion on them. He’s so old school. You bet if you gave him a keyboard, he’d take forever to type just one word.

“I can’t tell you. But it’s really important.”

“Let the girl go.” Debra waves her hand. “The classes aren’t today. Besides, I need to talk with you about things, Austin.” She then looks at you knowingly, a mischievous glint in her eye. Did she kno—

“Why’re ya’ lookin’ like that??” Austin questioned, switching his finger between you two.

Debra feigns innocence. “Like what?”

“Ya’ looked at her with that look in your eye like ya’ got something planned.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about!” You smile. “Listen, I’ll catch up with you guys later. I need to find Jeff.” This was very urgent. It’s a matter of life or death.

“Hey, kid, before ya’ go…” Austin holds out his hand, causing you to stop in place. “Almost forgot. We’re on commentary tonight.”

…You’re on commentary?! Seriously?

“Wait, for all the matches?”

Debra shakes her head, thankfully. “Just for the last match I believe. You two need to keep it together. No picking fights. If they start something with you, you walk away.”

That’ll be easy for you, unless, for some reason…someone decides to show up unannounced again. If Jericho decided to mess with you, then that’d be another fish to fry.

For Austin though, it may be a little harder. Incredibly harder.

The Rock was in the match. It was a no-brainer that they’ve always had some sort of tension. And Jericho was there too. Not to mention Kurt Angle. Those men have had problems with him in the past.

Who cares right now?! You had to figure out if you should make a move or not! If Jeff had a thing for you, you needed to strike accordingly, right? You walk back in the other direction towards the locker room.

You still couldn’t believe it though. Lita had really spilled the beans on that one. This whole time, Jeff Hardy may or may not have been interested in you.

If you were fast enough, you could catch him and Christian’s match. It would be best to change right now. Should you wear something nice? It’s not like you were going on a date in the ring or something. 

...Okay, maybe you’re thinking about this too hard.

RAW IS WAR // 6:50 PM

You were all set. New clothes, feeling energized, and most importantly, feeling confident. Tonight was a new night, so you couldn’t let anyone get you down.

“Hey, [Name]…you look nice…?”

The familiar voice makes you turn on your heel almost immediately. “Oh, you’ve got a lot of guts showing up here.”

Stacy holds out her hands. “Hey! I’m on your side. I don’t think you’ve ever asked me how I felt, huh? Before you try anything, just listen to what I have to say!”

Just this once, you’ll give her the time of day.

“I…I hate Torrie as much as you do.” She admits. “I don’t know how you didn’t realize. We’ve been at each other’s necks for at least a week or two now.”

“If it’s only been a week or two, you’ve gotta give me a break.” You sigh. “I’ve a lot of shit on my plate, Stacy.”

“I understand that!” She seems happy you hadn’t attacked her yet, clearing her throat afterwards. “But I just wanted to let you know before you came after me. Don’t forget, I’m your best friend too.”

Right. She is.

“Torrie’s been spreading some nasty things about you.”

You roll your eyes. This same song and dance. “I know. If it’s about the letters—“

“Oh, no,” Stacy shakes her head, folding her arms behind her back. “Not about letters at all. She says you’ve been sleeping around.”

“First of all, if anyone’s doing the sleeping around, it’s her. Last time, I remember her and Mr. McMahon had some sort of meeting. I hope she knows talent is not sexually transmitted…not like Mr. McMahon is talented anyway.”

Stacy comes over and hits your arm. “You can’t say that! You could get fired, what if someone’s listening?!”

“I’m just saying! Jeez.” You rub your arm. “By the way, you’re lucky you said something, because I was about to fight you right here.”

For some reason, she doesn’t seem to stop talking about Torrie, even if you thought it was over. “Did I mention she says you’re trashing most of the superstars? I mean, even disrespecting legends, wow!”

What? Disrespecting legends? What legends was she talking about?? Now, some of them deserved it. But who exactly?

“Wait, who?”

Stacy opens her mouth, but is interrupted by the door opening.

In comes Lita, surprised to see you two not mauling each other. Sure, it wasn’t Torrie, but it’s someone she associated with. “…You guys are still friends?” She stares at Stacy for a moment, fighting the urge to glare.

Stacy nods. “Of course. That’s my [Name]!” She gives you a tight hug. “I’ll see you later, okay?” Just like that, she was gone. Suspiciously quick.

You simply wave as she walks off. Lita can only scoff. “Her? Really? After I poured my heart out last night?”

“I just think you’re jealous.” You grin. “Litaaa’ss jeaaallouusss.”

Your sing-song tone made her smile as well. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever makes you happy.” She looks at you, then your outfit of choice. “Woah, that’s a transformation if I’ve ever seen one. You really want his attention, huh?”

It’s not like she wasn’t dressed up herself either. Her thong was literally saying ‘hello!’ to you. “You’re talking about me, but do you have a match I don’t know about?” You question, walking over to fold the clothes you decided not to wear.

….You’ve never folded clothes so fast, with shaky hands at that. Lita catches on quickly and takes a seat nearby. She doesn’t comment on it, but she damn sure notices.

“Just accompanying Jeff to the ring. Don’t worry, I’m not stealing him away from you or anything.” She prefaced. “..He just got really hurt at Survivor Series. And in the argument that Matt started, he didn’t want him to perform.”

She didn’t want you to be nervous. In fact, she could even sympathize. Maybe YOU were more shy than she thought, haha.

You take a breather, doing your best to offset the anxiety. “Oohh, I see. No wonder. So, it’s just you and Matt that are having issues.”

“No, no,” Lita shakes her head. “Jeff has problems with Matt too. Me and Jeff don’t have any issue with each other.”

Noooow you got it. She didn’t explain that in depth when you first asked her. She must’ve still been frazzled from the whole thing.

“I just have a feeling Jeff’ll do something risky. As much as I hate to say this, you’ll have to take advantage of that. I’ll pretend like it’s a complete surprise.” Lita pauses for a moment, taking a second to now stretch on the floor. “…If Matt by chance shows up, he’s not gonna be happy Jeff’s in a match tonight.”

You finish with folding things up, zipping your bag shut. “Fine with me. Hey, you’re not gonna screw me over, are you?”

Lita gives you a confused look. “Hell no. Why would I do that?”

“Just making sure.”

RAW IS WAR // 7:05 PM

You hoped this wouldn’t take too long. As much as you wanted to see Jeff, you had other obligations. You wanted to be in the parking lot at 7:30 sharp, no later than that. It’d be better if you got there earlier.

You’re backstage now, checking out the match on the television. It’s been going on for a while now. You giggle as you notice how Jeff’s shirt was stuck around his ankles. Him being shirtless was one thing, but you were immature enough to giggle at his shirt. You noticed how it limited his movement and Christian was really wearing him down because of it.

You’d ask him how things were going later. It makes you jump in surprise to see Jeff rebound with a enzugiri.

By this point, Matt’s already down to the ring, picking an argument with Lita. While they’re at it, you think it’s time to head down to the ring yourself.

With a pep in your step, you make your way to gorilla. You’d only stick around to check in on Jeff and give him help, but that’s it. Every little bit counts.

You push away the curtains and head down to the ring, catching Lita’s gaze. She fought the smile on her face, doing her best to look upset instead. The crowd cheers at your appearance.

Jeff notices you, confused as to why you’re out here in the first place. You don’t have anything to do with him. You wave at him.

Oh…

Did you come out for him? For some reason, a small grin appears on his face, but it’s quickly knocked off as Christian clotheslined him.

Christian notices you too. He comes over and even blows you a kiss.

He’s funny.

You cross your arms. You’re not out for him right now! Just for Jeff, but maybe you’ll keep that to yourself for now. You wave at him, feeling as if it’s rude to not respond.

Lita jogs away from Matt (much to his own confusion, a lot of it was going around..) right over to you.

“Started to think you wouldn’t come out here!” She raises her voice so you can hear her over the crowd. “Thought your dad was gonna stop you. I could’ve sworn he told me to pull my pants up!”

You laugh, raising your voice as well. “Yeah, right. Are things going okay out here?”

“Not..really.” She looks away, doing her best to not stare at Matt anymore. “It’s hard being here.”

“I get it. I’m sorry about that.” You turn your attention back to the ring, and Lita returns to her spot nearby Matt. Now you two were on opposite sides.

Christian begins to turn Jeff into the Killswitch, but Jeff reverses it into the Twist of Fate. Matt begins to scream at him to do the pin, but instead he climbs onto the top rope.

Even you thought it was a good idea to pin Christian. Was Jeff really going to be able to do this??

Matt comes over to your side yelling at him and you move further away. Christian, in the meanwhile, rolls out of the ring to safety.

But not for long. Jeff readjusts himself to do a high flying move, but Matt is still yelling. Taking advantage, Christian shoves Matt into the ring post, knocking Jeff straight into the mat.

You wince. That must’ve really hurt.

Christian gets right back into the ring and pins Jeff, retaining his championship. He points down at you with a smile.

You have to say, good for him. You clap, giving him some respect. You had nothing against him.

He rolls out of the ring and you roll right in.

“Jeff.” You get down on your knees, leaning over him. “Why’d you do that?”

He takes a minute to respond, breathing heavily. “Thought…ya’ might like it.”

Before you could say something, the referee shoos you out of the ring and you roll back out to give them space.

Jeff didn’t want that. He struggles to get up and slowly crawls out himself. “Wait.” He rasps, reaching out toward you. You come a bit closer to help him out and back up the ramp.

He’s holding his neck as you two go up, Matt and Lita trailing behind. This isn’t going to be good, you could just tell.

The closer you got to towards the medic, the thicker the tension had gotten. It got even worse after you entered the room.

No one was saying anything to each other. You and Lita could only exchange glances. The crinkling of the ice bag was the only sound heard throughout the room. One of the medics handed it over to you, and almost as if they knew something bad was coming, left the room.

You gently place it over the back of Jeff’s neck, making him quietly sigh. It must’ve been one of relief, because he sets his hand over your own.

“Jeff, how could you be so stupid, man?!”

And there it was. Matt stroked the fire.

“Stupid?!” Jeff immediately gets up from his spot, almost as if he had a jolt of energy. It startled you slightly, leaving the bag of ice in your hand.

“Yeah, stupid. I told you, you shouldn’t even have been wrestling tonight.” Matt got in his face. “But did you listen to me? No. And even when you went in the ring, I supported you. I told you what you should do. I told you; don’t take any unnecessary risks. I told you; do the Twist of Fate and beat him on the mat—“

Jeff interrupts him. “Who asked you, Matt? Who asked you to get involved in the match anyway, huh?”

“Nobody asked me to get involved. I got involved because I care about you. I got involved because I care about the team. Do you care about the team, Jeff?” Matt’s words were coming out almost a thousand miles an hour. It’s almost like this has been on his mind for a while.

You watch as they continue going back and forth for a while. You didn’t want to take sides, you were only watching from the sidelines.

Lita runs her hands through her hair. This was really getting to her. You felt really bad. She shouldn’t have to be in the middle of this.

“—Ever since we were kids Matt, you’ve been trying to run my life, you’ve been trying to control me.” Jeff accuses. “You’ve always thought you’re smarter, you’ve always thought you’re better..”

“I don’t think it’s a question that I’m smarter than you, Jeff. I think that’s obvious. And somebody—“

“Guys, relax, Lita is….“ You try to intervene, but you immediately get shut down by Matt.

“Look, shut up, please. She’s not in this and neither are you. I don’t even know why you’re here.” And now, his attention is on you. “Are you here just for yourself? Which one of us do you want to ruin first? Is it Jeff?”

Ruin? That must’ve been something Torrie must’ve spread. Matt must’ve considered you bad news.

But Jeff quickly stands up for you. “Don’t tell her to shut up. She came to help me, unlike someone I know. She actually cares.”

It goes silent again. You’re not exactly sure what to say.

This time, Lita speaks up. “…I thought you were in here cause’ you cared about Jeff. At the very least you could be nice to someone who’s trying to help. It’s pretty obvious the only thing you care about is yourself.”

She leaves, and Jeff glares at Matt. “Who feels stupid now, Matt?”

Matt ignores his comment, simply giving Jeff a scowl of his own. He calls after Lita and leaves the room.

Now, you and Jeff were alone. He mutters an apology, sitting back on the seat.

You say nothing, instead setting the bag of ice back onto his neck. He sets his hand back onto your own.

“You….look nice today.” Jeff compliments you, using his free hand to toy with his armband. He had no idea why he felt so on edge in your presence. Whether it was the atmosphere of the argument still lingering or just the idea of you taking care of him, he didn’t know.

“Hah.” You let out a strained laugh. “Thanks.”

It’s hard to bounce back from what just happened. And you didn’t know what else to say.

You had an idea though.

You let go of the ice and so does he. Jeff looks up at you questionably as you move to sit next to him.

No one was in the room, no one had to know.

So, instead of saying anything else, you take a chance and just kiss him. “I didn’t know what else to say, sorry.”

Jeff doesn’t have anything to say either, as his response is nothing more than returning his lips to your own. Again, and again. Each time, it was harder than the last. You hadn’t even realized how close you got to him until you felt his body against your own.

He sets his hand on your back, doing his best to keep you as close as possible.

You already felt like you couldn’t breathe. And just as you were going to open your mouth for him just a little more, he lightly pushes you away. Nothing lasts forever, you guess.

You still groan in disappointment.

“If we keep doing this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.” He admitted. “..and my neck is killing me.”

All you can do is nod. At least he came to his senses, any further and you’d forget your meet up with your secret admirer. You were close to blowing him off.

You finally collect your words. “What time..is it?”

Jeff looks up towards the clock in the room. “7:20.”

Shit. You had ten minutes to get it together.

“I’ve gotta go.” You say, getting out of your seat. “There’s something I’ve gotta do. I hope you get better, sorry about earlier.” In order to not explode, you try to talk about other things. “You guys shouldn’t have to go through that as a team.

Jeff waves you off. “It’ll blow over. Thanks for staying with me. I’ll see ya’ later.”

RAW IS WAR // 7:27 PM

You were in a mad dash to the parking lot, trying to make sure you were on time. You had about 3 minutes to spare luckily, so here you were, just rubbing your temples.

“Over here, Nitro Girl.”

You turn over to the direction of the voice, a curious look on your face. The curiosity turns into shock.

“Hey, wait, aren’t you….?”

The man nods. He’s a little aggressive as he shoves the bouquet of flowers into your arms. “Hunter. You’re a bit early.”

You just couldn’t believe it.

…..Triple H? He’s the person who wanted to meet you out here? Was this some sort of setup so Stephanie could ambush you from behind?

“Is this a joke?” You boldly ask. “Out of all people, it’s you??”

“No joke..“ He doesn’t seem to be in the best of moods, but you don’t point it out. “I’m going to cut to the chase. I think Stephanie is sleeping with someone else.”

Huh?!

Your eyes widen. That was one hell of an accusation. “How do you know?”

“I haven’t been in the ring and she’s been going on about this whole spiel about becoming business partners with others while I’m away. Because you refused, I think your attack on Smackdown may have been planned. I know how she is.”

“Do you really think it was planned? The only other person I could think of would be Jericho, but there’s no way he would be on it.” You say. “I mean, he’s called her so many nasty names. I don’t get it. And there’s no way in hell it could be Austin.”

Hunter shook his head. “Jericho’s the only one that makes sense. He’s threatened by me and he knows as soon as I come back, I’ll be going for the title spot. He’ll do anything to take me down, even if it means associating with Stephanie.”

“Yikes.” You mutter, adjusting the bouquet of flowers in your arms. “So, what’re you asking me to do here?”

“How about we become business partners?” He suggests. “You want revenge. I want a spot in the title picture. It’s an even exchange, nothing less, nothing more. I want to see what she’ll do next. If it’s true, we’ll officially start. If it’s false, we’ll pretend like we never met. Do we have a deal?”

You had nothing to lose, so you agree. “We have a deal. I’ll let you know if I see or hear anything.”

Neither of you had the confirmation, but once you did, it’d be one hell of a week.

RAW IS WAR // 7:45 PM

You were able to put the flowers from Hunter away in the locker room. Austin was waiting for you outside to head out to the announcers table. In order to get by him, you passed it off as a secret admirer gift to Trish. Someone gave it to you, so you decided to pass on the message. You refused to elaborate any further than that.

“Let’s get goin’ kid, they’re waitin’ on us.” Austin rushes you out, making you groan. 

“I’m coming, hold on!” You close the door behind you. 

“Took ya’ long enough. I was gonna leave.”

Well, you’re here now!

Once you two hit gorilla, the sound of glass shattering was your cue. Austin walks down the ramp with you behind him. While he’s all serious, you wave to the crowd.

There’s a fan that reaches out a pen and a picture of you. Before you meet Austin at the table, you decide to sign it. You quickly write your signature with a smile and give them a final wave before you run towards the announcer table.

You take a seat nearby Austin, as JR and Jerry greet you before JR begins his introduction.

‘And we are back here on Raw, Raw Zone on the new TNN. At ringside, Austin and [Name] accompany us…..’

Jerry automatically has his attention on you. ‘You look great tonight!’

You gave a thumbs up at his compliment. ‘I take pride in my wardrobe!’

Austin isn’t too happy about you taking too long, complaining as soon as you put your headphones on. ‘She always takes her time gettin’ places because of her little wardrobe!’

‘I have to pick something out! And don’t even start, I was signing an autograph, okay! I was being nice! Debra told us to play nice!’

Before you can continue, the pop of pyro and Jericho’s music immediately gets you hot. You’re so sick and tired of him.

Lillian announces him in. “The following handicap match is set for one fall! Introducing first, from Winnipeg Manitoba Canada, weighing 227 pounds, Chris Jericho!”

‘Y2J told us earlier this night what was wrong with his game all along,” JR says. ‘He cared about the fans. Obviously, he doesn’t care any longer.’

‘Oh, whatever. He only cares about himself!’ You accuse.

Jericho enters the ring, turning his attention down to the announcers table. He smirks seeing you two, and you can only shoot daggers at him. ‘I fucking hate you!’ Of course, they bleeped your curse word out, but you meant what you said. You were still heated from your own handicap match. 

His music cuts off, changing into Kurt Angle’s music.

“Introducing his partner from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Kurt Angle!”

‘Austin, you and Kurt Angle will go one-on-one for the WWF title at Vengeance. The winner of that match will go on against either Y2J or The Rock to unify those championships. How do you feel?’ JR asks.

‘Gotta be nervous, huh? I mean, this is the undisputed championship we’re talking about!’ Jerry adds.

‘I’m not nervous about those sons of bitches at all. I’m coming out of Vengeance as the undisputed champion. Most importantly, I won’t be kissing Vince’s ass tonight.’

Wait, huh? You look at Austin curiously. ‘Woah, I’m confused. What’re you talking about?’

You couldn’t hear anything else after The Rock’s music hits, the crowd coming alive and screaming. ‘I have to say, I’m on Rock’s side! A handicapped match? I can sympathize how hard it is. This isn’t fair.’

“And from Miami, Florida, weighing in at 240 pounds, he is the World Champion, The Rock!”

JR agrees with you. ‘I can agree with you, [Name]. He’ll be lucky to survive this.’

Austin seems offended at your words. ‘You’re on his side? Really? Ya’ weren’t even goin’ in alone!’

‘I mean, can’t you sympathize sort of? The odds were—‘

Suddenly, Ric Flair’s music hits just as soon as the match is ready to begin. The crowd “woo’s”.

You snap your fingers. ‘Oh, I forgot! He bought our stock, huh?’

‘And he made a career of being fashionably late. The match already started!’ Jerry says.

Flair’s raspy voice echoes. “I don’t think my business partner will mind at all the fact that I am changing this handicap match into a tag match, WOO! Without further ado, The Rock’s partner, Kane!”

As soon as he says his name, an explosion of fire comes from the ramp.

Kane….

Kane was another story. You weren’t quite sure about him, nor have you seen him around. All you’ve heard was that he had a bad, bad upbringing. He was intimidating and you were almost scared. 

This match certainly was something else.

k temporary spacer thingy. i decided to kind of speed through the like last match since its not as important. what’s important is what comes after it sort of. sorry for cutting the jeff scene so short though, i kinda had to push myself out of my comfort zone since im not that experienced with likeeee all the serious romance stuff. there’s more to come next. btw i promise we’ll see some more superstars soon,,ones that left and all yes yes. btw “nothing more nothing less” my ass smh.

anyone been rushed out before by your parents? like them threatening to leave u if u dont hurry up?? yeah its totally stone cold and [name] lmaoo,,, them anger management classes about to go hard💯

also kane interaction anyone? no? ok i’ll leave…

#wwe imagine #wwe imagines #i find it hilarious stephanie and reader were cool #and NOW THEYRE NOT #AJ LEE REFERENCEEE #wwe preferences #wwe x reader #NAH NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAYS READER WILL GET PLAY!!!! #wwe various x reader #lita imagine #wwe edge imagine #wwe christian x reader #wwe edge x reader #jeff hardy x reader #jeff hardy imagine #edge x reader #edge imagine #triple h x reader #triple h imagine #wwf x reader #wwf imagine #wwe attitude series

[kkrazy256]

Terra hai I want to see Fox being a good ori'vod to Rememememememdy with

➵ covers; character a gets into character b’s bed in the middle of the night. at first character b is confused, though they hear character a crying and hold them for the rest of the night.

Characters: Commander Fox, Clone Medic Remedy, Arc Trooper Drift (calamity-aim’s oc) 

Notes: Post-Prosthetics Center 2 and Pharma’s death

Sorry for so much exposition, but I genuinely don’t think Rem would willingly do this unless some shit’s gone down akjhfwklj. Enjoy! 

/

Fox had hoped sleep would take him the moment his head hit the pillow.

But then again, he’s never been the lucky sort.

Instead, the mattress of his bunk feels entirely too stiff and uncomfortable. Most likely from the lack of use. Really, his office chair gives a better embrace for his ass than this piece of shit. 

He’s the only one in the Command bunks tonight. It’s not a rare occurrence, but Fox usually misses his own sleep shift anyways so he’s never really noticed how quiet it gets in here without the rest. He misses Thorn’s snores and Stone’s half-asleep mumbles. It’s been a long time since he’s slept in his own bed. 

But he’s exhausted today. Even the usual late-night mug of scalding tea didn’t help keep his eyes from drooping nor keep his forehead from slamming against his desk painfully three times before he gave up and logged himself as ‘off-duty’ for the night. 

It’s been a busy week. Somehow there had been less paperwork with the first Prosthetics Center incident. And that outpost had been blown up to bits and pieces.

The second one became a graveyard, with every clone assigned there dead. The coroners (two full teams of them sent there) said that the various states of internal decay meant they had been dead for quite some time. Yet, the tears in dead muscles show they had been moving beyond death. There were no external wounds. By all accounts, an absolute mystery. 

Fox had been present during the meeting about this whole fiasco. The looks the Jedi shared with one another at the coroners’ revelation didn’t sit well with him. They knew something. 

The Jedi had joined the recovery mission and taken General Tarn’s body. To where and for what reason, it hadn’t been Fox’s problem.

But Pharma’s body? That had been his problem. 

Because his body had been the only one with a physical wound. A fatal blaster wound to the back of the head. The autopsy photographs had been as gruesome as they had sounded. The blaster fired had been a standard issued one, the serial number assigned to one CT-8847. 

Questioning by High Command had been delayed until Drift was out of emergency care, and Remedy got his knee fixed properly. Even then, neither of them was in the right mindset to take the brunt of the questions that were pressed against them, digging for holes and weak points. 

As their Marshal Commander, Fox had taken the brunt of it, defending their actions with everything he could. Like hell, he’d let these bastards tear into his men for making the choices they did on what was probably one of the worst days of their lives.  

It all came to a pause when the Chancellor asked to speak with Remedy privately. After that, he agreed that Remedy’s actions were justified and the matter was put to rest. Remedy says he doesn’t remember much about the conversation, but that might just be from the stress of the day. Even now, the gratitude that wells in Fox’s chest is genuine, though hampered by a feeling that something is still wrong. 

Because it hadn’t ended there. Because Remedy wouldn’t stop. 

His injuries had been significantly less severe than Drift’s but even then, it was clear as damn day he should be taking it easy. 

It was a miracle Fox didn’t raise his voice when he told Remedy his request to oversee Pharma’s autopsy was denied. The incredulity had probably bled into his tone, but at least he hadn’t outright sputtered, “are you insane?”. Remedy had just stared, the hand clenched around his single crutch was still. 

Then, he nodded and left Fox’s office. 

And that had been the last time Fox had seen his CMO this week. 

Still, he kept tabs on Remedy amongst the millions of other tasks throughout his days. Each report was the same.

He’s working, Commander.

He was in Medbay 6 when I signed off, sir.

He took over my inventory shift, Commander.

He said he’d do the night rounds in Medbay 2 today.

I think he’s falling asleep on his feet, Fox. 

He was visiting Drift, sir.

Fox groans, rolling onto his side to grab the datapad off his bunkside drawer. The bright blue glow makes him squint. Once the static in his vision clears, he pulls up the current on-duty roster of his Guard. 

He scrolls the endless lists of numbers until he finds CT-8847. He taps on his shift history.

Remedy’s been on rotation for the past four days. And he still hasn’t signed off. 

His rations check-off history is also spotty. He hasn’t been grabbing meals either.

Fox sends him a location ping request and sets the datapad down, staring at the dark screen.

His fingers tap out the melodies of at least three of Coruscant’s Top 30 hits before he realizes he’s not getting an answer.

Fuck it all to karking hell.

His spine pops when he gets out of bed, and he rubs his neck with a sigh. Surely, Senator Corinth wouldn’t notice if Fox takes one of his dozens of plush cushions next time he’s ordered to sweep his office floors. 

He goes to Drift first in the medbay. The ARC is still confined to bedrest until his prosthetic is fully integrated again. His file says he’d have to go through at least a month of consistent physical therapy before he can return to active duty.  

He’s lying on his stomach and speaking into a comm softly. The blinking blue light washes over his white hair with a cool glow, but the smile on his lips is warm and silly. 

Fox clears his throat once, and Drift looks back with a start.

His eyes widen, “Uh, I’ll call you back Rod-” 

Fox shakes his head, and whispers, “I’ll be quick. Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to know if you’ve seen Remedy.” 

Drift covers the comm mic with his palm and his lips pull into a small frown, “he was here about half an hour ago, sir.” 

“Any idea where he went after?” 

“He didn’t say…he didn’t say much actually.” Drift taps the metal of the comm thoughtfully, “he seemed distracted. Couldn’t really keep a conversation.” 

Now it’s Fox’s turn to frown, “Is he okay?”

The look Drift gives him is just short of, ‘are you serious?’, and Fox winces internally. Stupid question. 

Still, Drift stays professional, “he’s asked me that a lot these days.” 

He rolls the comm between his fingers, and the ‘well, are you okay?’ is on the tip of Fox’s tongue. 

Drift speaks again before he could voice it, “but when I ask him the same, he never answers.” 

He turns his bitter smile towards Fox, “you know how the doc is.” 

“Yeah, really good at pissing me off.” He says without thinking. 

Drift blinks up at him in surprise before snickering. Then he stops when the mirth turns into a grimace of pain and he sinks back into the bed, “that makes two of us, Commander.” 

“But,” Drift continues, “I don’t think he was doing it on purpose today. He was just really out of it.” 

Fox swallows, looking down at the datapad in his hands. CT-8847’s status is still glowing green for on duty. 

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No. He didn’t even say goodbye when he wandered off.” His choice of words is deliberate; Fox needs to find him fast. 

“Alright, I’ll check the other floors. Thanks, Drift.” He turns to leave.

“Commander?”

Fox stops. 

“...Will you ask him?” 

“...Yeah.”

“...Thanks.”

Fox leaves the room, catching the start of Drift’s renewed conversation on the comm. The warmth had returned to his voice, and he can hear the smile in it. 

He stops by Remedy’s office at the end of the hall first. The lights are off, and the CMO is nowhere in sight. His commlink is sitting at the center of his desk, Fox’s last three location ping requests still unread. He grabs the wastebasket, which is filled with scraps of flimsi, a few broken datapads, and ration wrappers. There were only a few, not enough to account for four days. 

Fox places it outside the doorway for the custodial droid to take in its next rotation and keeps moving.

He’s not hiding in Inventory like he usually would. The small medicinal garden on 6th is also empty. He’s not in the mess hall. He’s not at his assigned bunk on the 14th floor either. 

The crisp, artificial Coruscant air stings against his dry cheeks when he pushes open the door to the rooftop. He scrubs the dust from his eyes before walking toward the ledge. 

His city breathes with activity, hundreds of speeders whizzing by in the distance. The time of night does nothing to deter the never-sleeping planet from its endless march. 

Fox leans forward, the wind pushing against his shoulder blades with a teasing whisper. 

He looks down, not daring to take a breath while the breeze plays with his hair. 

Remedy isn’t here either. 

Fox goes back inside. 

At this point, he’s starting to feel the first inklings of worry. It’s not enough to order a search; he’s not impulsive enough to do that without considering the consequences. Maybe a Guard-wide announcement to be on the lookout? No, that would just get everyone in a panic. 

Fox rubs his eyes again, cursing the way they burn with tears. He can’t stop yawning.

The door in front of him slides open, and he jumps at the familiar scenery of the Commander barracks. He must’ve wandered back without thinking. 

He walks in, running a hand through his hair. He should send the message to at least the medics, in case Remedy decides to head back to the medbays. He’d authorize full permission for them to tie their CMO down for forced bed rest. Then, Fox will give that di’kut a piece of his mind after he’s taken a quick nap—

There’s already someone in his bunk.

For a moment, he wonders if Thorn had returned from patrol. If it had been a particularly bad one, he’d usually just flop down on Fox’s bunk because crawling up to the top one is ‘too much work’. 

Then he catches a glimpse of red hair, and the knot in his stomach loosens.

Found you. 

Fox sets his datapad down on the drawer before sitting on the edge of the bunk. Remedy is lying on his side, facing the wall. He doesn’t even stir at the added weight. 

As CMO, Remedy has code access to all their bunks in case of emergencies. 

Maybe he had come here because he had been looking for Fox as well. Before the exhaustion caught up to him the moment he felt a bed beneath him. 

Fox reaches out, hand landing on Remedy’s shoulder. 

He gives a small shake, “hey—” 

The loud smack of Remedy’s forehead against the ceiling of the bunk makes Fox cringe in sympathy. The medic swears up and down, cradling his head as he pushes away from Fox as quickly as he could. His back hits the wall, and he stays there, his entire body tense. Like he’s waiting for something to happen.

“Remedy?” Fox tries after another ten seconds. He holds his hand out but doesn’t make a move to get close. 

Wide brown eyes find him in the darkness and Remedy drops his arms.

“…Fox?” 

“Yea-“ He leans back when Remedy surges forward to grab his face, tilting it up and down, searching with a squint. Fox reaches down to pat around the mattress for his glasses. Remedy grabs his arm, feeling it from shoulder to wrist. 

“What are you—“

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” Remedy demands. 

“What?” 

“Where are you injured?” 

“I’m…not?”

Remedy scowls, looking around while still squinting, “then who is?”

“I…” Fox flounders, “I don’t think anyone is?” 

Remedy blinks, sitting back. 

“Then why are you bothering me if there’s no emergency?” 

Fox stares before lowering his hand slowly to tap his finger against the mattress, “you’re in my bunk.” 

“…what?” 

Fox finally finds Remedy’s glasses under the pillow and hands them to him. 

Remedy puts them on and scans his surroundings blearily. Then recognition sparks and he goes completely still. 

“Oh.” 

Fox uses the silence to study him. His hair is nearly freed from the ponytail; the red curls drape over his shoulders, tangled and wild. 

He can see all the lines cutting deep into Remedy’s face, seemingly multiplied in the last few days. They make the bags under his eyes glaringly obvious, even when hidden behind the frames of his glasses. His skin is sticky with sweat. 

It’s not right. This is what Fox expects to see when he looks in the refresher mirror after a blackout mission, body still shaking like it doesn’t belong to him—because it doesn’t—This isn’t how his little brother should look. He had promised Cody, Fox had promised him that he’d look out for Remedy. This isn’t—

“Remedy,” He starts—

“—I’m sorry, Commander.” His CMO straightens, face falling blank. 

The stilted formality makes Fox clench his jaw.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve,” Remedy swipes a stray white curl out of his face, and his hand trembles with the motion, “I must’ve walked here accidentally. I apologize for the trouble.” He shifts to move around Fox, “I’ll go, Commander.” 

He pitches forward, and Fox catches him by the shoulders before he faceplants headfirst into the edge of the bunk. 

“Just lie down, you can sleep here tonight.” 

“And where will you sleep then?” Remedy snorts, already leaning away from him. 

Fox answers that by lying down, stretching out his limbs with a groan, “right here.” 

“Fox, I—”

“— are an idiot that is about to pass out. You think I haven’t noticed your shift history?” He gestures to the datapad on the drawer.

Silence.

“I think you’d know a body’s limits better than most, Chief Medical Officer.” He tucks an arm underneath his pillow, “I’m tired.” He can hear Remedy’s soft intake of breath; Fox couldn’t believe he was admitting to it either, “I don’t want to have to get up and escort you back to your bed like you’re some cadet.” 

There’s the subtle creak of a clenched fist, and Fox shoots down the brief second of regret for using Remedy’s guilt like this. 

But it works. After a minute, he can hear the medic shifting to lie back down. 

Fox lets his eyes slip close, forcing his breaths to even out. The familiar hums of the ventilation system and muffled outside noise lull him into a half-asleep state. He hovers there comfortably, mentally running through his schedule next shift. 

That’s when he hears something beyond the familiar background noises. 

It’s a stuttered sort of sound, the rhythm off-kilter and pitchy. It takes him a few seconds to realize it’s coming from next to him. Then another two seconds to recognize the sound as sharp inhales being deliberately stifled. 

He turns his head, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Remedy’s hair is completely down now and covers the space between them. But Fox can still see the way his entire body shivers each time he tenses to clamp down what can only be a sob. 

Fox reaches out again, hand brushing against his hair. 

The full-body flinch he gets in return makes him pull back immediately. Remedy shoots up, slow enough to avoid collision with the top of the bunk but still hurried. He turns his head away from Fox to face the wall. But not before Fox catches the glimpse of wetness on his cheeks. 

“Remedy.” 

Remedy reaches up to swipe the tears away.

“I’m,” sharp, shaky inhale, voice still trying to appear level, “I’m bothering you, I’m sorry—”

“Kih’vod. Stop.” The blanket twists beneath Fox’s clenched fist. 

Remedy goes perfectly still. He finally turns to stare at Fox. His glasses are gone, and Fox spots them haphazardly crushed underneath a pillow. His eyes are swollen, making the bags beneath them look puffy. His nose is runny and the wet trails of tears paint his face in two neat lines going sideways from lying down. His shoulders are squared, his back straight, and his chest puffed out. 

Only he shakes. 

His shoulders shake, his chest quivers, his jaw trembles from how hard he has it clenched. His eyes shine with unshed tears but they’re not falling. Why, why is he trying so hard to—

Kih’vod. Stop.

Stop.

Stop fucking crying.

His heart drops.

Why the hell is Fox so fucking bad at this? 

“No.” He says as firmly as he can manage without falling into yelling territory, “I didn’t mean—” He takes a deep breath. 

“I mean…have you stopped?... At all? Even once? Since you came back from there?” 

“I can’t.” Remedy breathes out, as if it were the most obvious explanation, “I can’t.” 

Commander, will you ask him? 

“Remedy, are you okay?”

It’s almost funny how he gives Fox a ‘are you serious?’ stare near identical to Drift’s.

Remedy opens his mouth. To answer, to deflect, to call Fox a fucking idiot, who knows. Fox doesn’t get a chance to know.

Because the only sound that comes out is a sob.

Remedy slams both hands against his mouth, eyes wide and darting away to look at anything but Fox. The movement makes the tears finally fall.

And then they don’t stop. 

The muffled sobs wrack his frame in waves, the overwhelming emotions practically clawing out of him. Fox doesn’t know what to do. 

Eventually, the stuffy and runny nose forces Remedy to remove his hands from his lips so he can gulp down air with shuddering heaves from his lungs. He presses his palms against his eyes. His mouth hangs open in a silent scream, unable to find the breath to sob out loud anymore. 

He’s hunching over, practically curling in on himself. He looks so damn small. 

The complete image hurts Fox in ways he didn’t know could be possible anymore. Hadn’t he seen it all these past two fucking years?

The only words flashing through Fox’s mind are

Cadet. Kid. Kih’vod. Don’t cry don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry, little brother, please don’t cry.  

He pulls Remedy into his arms, one hand cradling his head and the other running up and down his back. 

“I can’t, he, I c- I’m not, I’m not o—” The words come out incoherently, and Fox just hums, nodding. 

“I can’t stop, ori’vod.” His voice is wretched and muffled against Fox’s chest.

“I can’t. If I do, I—” He trails off into a barely audible whisper, “I can’t stop seeing him. I can’t stop hearing them. It’s my fault, I know that but I can’t. Ori’vod, I can’t anymore. Please.” He begs, rambling until all his words devolve into a simple plea of ‘please’ over and over again. Each repetition digs into him like blades. 

And Fox doesn’t know what else he can do beyond tightening his grip, running his fingers through those tangled curls, and whispering “I know. I know, kih’vod. I’m so sorry. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Fox doesn’t stop the motions and words when Remedy’s sobs turn into quiet sniffles and shuddering breaths. He doesn’t stop when his breaths eventually even out. He doesn’t stop when Remedy goes slack against his hold, leaning against him completely.

He doesn’t stop when his voice is hoarse and he can only murmur the words against the top of Remedy’s head.  He doesn’t stop when his chrono tells him it’s dawn. He doesn’t even stop when Stone and Thorn return from their shifts and give him solemn, understanding stares before leaving the room again. 

Because if it meant Remedy could finally find a moment of pause—to rest, to find peace, to have silence, to stop blaming himself—

Fox would gladly keep going on forever.

#commander fox #clone medic remedy #tcw #star wars #sw mine #answered

[brown-eyedblues]

My Mind Is A Mess In The Morning

A/N: Hi! I haven’t written a blurb in a long long time, so I apologize if this sucks. I am easing back into writing again. Feedback and criticisms are welcome! Thanks xx

The song I was listening to when this idea came to mind was called My Mind Is A Mess in the Morning by Nick Leng.

*******

“‘Cause, oh, my mind is a mess in the morning

And you've seen when I break and when I fall

But somehow, it's the same, you love me through the rain

I'm amazed that you wanted someone like me”

You awoke to the sound of rain drumming on the window. You blinked as you let your eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through your curtains. The streetlight outside the window flickered ever so slightly. You became aware of an extra weight on your body and looked down at the sleeping form half laying on top of you. Your boyfriend’s head was tucked snuggly under your chin, one arm and one leg draped across your body. You remembered falling asleep like that- he claimed it helped him fall asleep faster when he could listen to your heartbeat.

Sighing, you slid out from under him, careful not  to jostle him too much. You grabbed a throw blanket that was draped over the old chair in the corner and wrapped it around your shoulders as you shuffled quietly out of the room. You made your way to the bathroom, where you blinked at yourself in the floor length mirror. You dropped the blanket, letting it pool around your feet. Your eyes scanned your reflection. You stood there in just one of your boyfriend’s oversized t-shirts. You weren’t sure how long you stood there for- totally still. But with every passing moment you hated what you were seeing more and more. 

You looked at your face. It was too round, and your lips were too thin. Your eyes trailed downward. Your waist wasn’t as thin as it used to be… wasn’t as toned as it was once upon a time. Lower still your gaze dropped, settling on your thighs. Bigger than you remembered them being- when did they start to grow? You looked at yourself up and down again. This time, when your eyes met the ones in your reflection, they glinted with tears. You barely even recognized the person in the mirror.

You sank to the floor and pulled your scarred knees to your chest. Now the tears were flowing from your eyes as you pressed your lips to your knees, hoping to muffle the sound of your sobs. You had to be quiet- your boyfriend, Will, was a fairly light sleeper and you didn’t want him to find you like this. He knew you had body image issues, but you had managed to hide your darkest moments from him thus far. You knew his heart would break at the sight of you curled up on the bathroom floor, sobbing over your appearance.

But, alas, it was too late. Between your ragged breathing you heard gentle taps on the door.

“Love? Are you in there?” Will asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“Yes, Will. I will be out in a minute. Go back to bed.” You said softly, hoping that your lowered tone would hide the watery sound of your voice. 

There wasn’t a response, but the doorknob began to turn. You cursed under your breath at the sight of it. I should have locked the damn door, you thought to yourself. The door eased open and Will’s head poked into view. His bedhead would usually make you laugh, under different circumstances. It stuck out in different directions, falling into his eyes, which squinted against the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. A flare of panic shot through your chest, and as if on queue the rain on the roof came down harder.

“Y/N, wha- what’s wrong?” Will stuttered, his eyes widening as he threw the door open the rest of the way.

“Nothing Wilbur, I’m fine…” You started, but even as the words came out of your mouth you knew they were futile. Will had already seen you, the façade wouldn’t work now.

Will, shook his head, his expression soft. Without saying a word, he sunk to floor, shifting and repositioning until he was behind you, a long leg on either side of your legs. His arms snaked around your body, pulling back against his chest. Your eyes met his in the reflection, and he smiled softly at you. He remained silent while you caught your breath, his hands gripping yours tightly. You were grateful for the silence. You didn’t feel much like talking, and honestly- Will’s presence was enough to calm you down.

“Feeling a little better, Darling?” Will asked, nuzzling his chin into the spot where your neck sloped into your shoulder. 

“A little, yes,” You nodded your head. “Thanks, Will. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t apologize! I will always be here if you need me,” He started, his voice soft. “Maybe you could tell me what had you so upset? I can talk it out with you, if you want?”

You were unsure what to say- you didn’t want to burden him with your silly body image issues, but you knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “It’s nothing really. I was just looking at myself in the mirror and I was just overwhelmed by how unattractive I am. I don’t know when I started to look like this but something has got to change…” You trailed off when you met his eyes in the mirror. For a moment, his eyes sparked with what looked like anger.

“You, my love, are the most beautiful person I have ever seen,” He nearly shouted, shock coating each word. “You have no idea how many times a day I think about how lucky I am to be in a relationship with someone so beautiful, genuine, funny, kind-”

“Alright, Wilbur. I get that you feel that way, but I don’t feel that way majority of the time. It’s hard Will… I scroll online and I just see the most gorgeous people in the world. Every other post is some instagram model with the most insane body… It’s hard not  to compare myself-” You played with his fingers absentmindedly as you spoke, but you stopped speaking when his hands abruptly left yours and he was suddenly twisting your body to face him.

“They don’t have anything on you, Darling. I promise you that.” He stated earnestly, and for some reason you believed him. It was like every doubt in your mind was melting away.

“It really amazes me sometimes, you know that?” You asked, cupping his face gently, your thumb tracing the curve of his lower lip.

“What does?” He asked, one eyebrow quirking up in interest.

“That you wanted someone like me.” You stated matter-of-factly. But before he could respond, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. When you pulled away slightly, you knew you wore the same lovesick smile he had on his face. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him close to you. He took that as an opportunity to lift you off the floor as he stood to his full height. You giggled as he carried you to the bedroom and tossed you down on the bed. He climbed onto the bed, settling half on top of you again. 

Sleep started to take hold again, but just before you gave in and let sleep take you, you heard Will murmur into your chest. It was hard to understand, but you were pretty certain it was something along the lines of “I’m amazed that you chose someone like me.” And just like that, you fell asleep under the weight of your boyfriends body, without a worry in the world.

#wilbur soot imagine #Wilbur soot #wilbur x reader #wilbur mcyt #song series