#michael kesselring/reader

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congrats on 1000! for your celly

“is this okay?” character a ask before going any further and character b simply nods their head. “use your words baby.” with Kess?

No smut but NSFW 18+ themes, inexperienced reader and Michael not wanting to rush things. All requests are closed until further notice as of 21st April 2025, while I work through the ones i've got at the moment. Writing Masterlist

You're in his room...God, he's managed to get this far with you somehow without fucking it up. Somehow he's managed to get you on a 6th date, somehow he managed to get that 6th date to go well enough that you agree to come back to his. Somehow you're in his room, nervous but here, sat on his bed. Trusting him not to be a weirdo.

You're nervous, Michael can see that, body shaking slightly, unsure what you're doing, what he's doing, but there's no expectations here...not really. He doesn't think you're going to have sex tonight, wouldn't dare, not until you're his girlfriend anyway. You're too good of a girl for that, too new to this, too sweet. He doesn't want to scare you off. But...God, he wants to kiss you, wants to lean over you and cover you with his body, feel the warmth of you. That's not a crime, right? That's normal for the 6th date...It's normal to want someone this much after 6 dates...totally normal.

He's careful as he sits next to you on the edge of the bed, not wanting to push you too far but unable to resist reaching for your hand. You let him, God...his hand is so much larger than yours, long fingers, veins across the back, knuckles still a little bruised from a fight on the ice a few days back.

Your shoulders relax a little at the way he holds your hand, enough that Michael's other hand finds your neck, soft, a gentle hold which has his thumb rubbing back and forth across the sensitive skin there.

"Can I kiss you?" Big brown eyes dip down to look at where you're biting your lip and your breath stops, held short by how much want is there, how desperate he seems to want to kiss you.

"...yes..." Your voice is small and breathy, barely able to say words from the anticipation of it all, but he hears. God, he hears it, so desperate for that one little word that it's barely out of your mouth before his own is swallowing it, slanted over yours hungrily.

He wants to kiss you slow and sweet, like you deserve, but he can't. He can't help but dig his hands into your hair, tugging you forward. He can't help that his teeth come out to nip at your bottom lip or that the moment you gasp his tongue is exploring your mouth. You're addictive, sweet and kind, willing to let him be goofy and kind of weird, and you're everything he wants.

Michael is pretty certain he could die happy like this, with your little whines against his lips, his hands deep in your hair, your hands clutching his shoulders for stability. He doesn't really think about it when he leans over you, easing you back onto the bed until he's leaning over you, hands on either side of your head. There's a moment where he panics, because he didn't mean to go too far, doesn't want you to freak out.

He pulls away from the kiss just enough to watch you, big brown eyes peering into your own as he mumbles close enough that you can feel his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

“Is this okay?” His voice is strained like it's painful for him to stop, to hold back and all it serves to do is cause you to let out a shaky breath, eyes heavy lidded as you nod at him, yeah it's okay, it's more than okay.

But, that's not enough for Michael, no. He can't just take that, he needs to hear it, needs to know 100% that you're okay with him crushing you into his bed, okay with him making out with you until he can't breathe.

“Use your words, baby.”

"It's okay..." Your words are shaky, nervous, unused to this. To having someone over you in this way, his body weight pressing down on you in a way that's oddly comforting, safe. You're not used to the kisses, the pet names, the affection and God, you know he's just a guy you're seeing, he's not even your boyfriend yet but you're filled with a deep intense want for him.

"Yeah? You sure?" Michael scans your face, eyes shifting back and forth like he's expecting to see a glimmer or a hint of doubt, even as he presses down harder on you, weight resting until you're pushed more firmly into the mattress. His arms folding, forearms resting besides your head as he lowers himself closer to you.

"Michael?" Your voice is a whisper, soft because it feels almost sacrilegious to speak too loud.

"Mmm?" He hums back at you as your arms wrap tighter around his neck, nails scratching the nape of his neck in a way that sends a shiver down his spine and you have him, oh you have him like he's a puppet on a string and you don't even realise it.

"Kiss me?"

"Yeah...yeah, I can...I can do that."

It's like you're tugging on his strings, no real thought or choice before he's pressing his mouth over yours, open and hungry. Your eyes flutter shut, hands twisting into his curls and tugging until he's shuddering over you, and pulling back, forehead pressed to your shoulder in an attempt to gain some composure.

He's rock hard in his jeans, painfully so because you're everything. Warm, sweet, mouth tasting slightly of peach chapstick and hips slotting over his so perfectly that you seem made for him.

"I don't want to rush you...you're making it really fucking hard though, baby...shit." It's the scratch of your nails across his scalp, the warmth between your thighs against him, the way you breathe out shaky and needy, it all makes this so much harder. God, since when was it so hard to just make out with a girl?

"I just want to kiss you..."

"I know, baby, but...fuck, you're killing me."

"Just...let's just cuddle for a bit, yeah?" He's falling off to the side of you before tugging you back against him and it's his hard on pressed into the small of your back that makes you understand, really understand. Because Michael's trying so hard not to rush you, trying so hard not to push you further than you're willing to go, no matter how much he wants you, no matter how hard it is.

As you curl into his arms it's a realisation that makes you feel so completely safe because Michael is putting your needs above his wants.

He's taking it slow and he'll take it slow for as long as you want.

[onlyquinns]

Can I request one where reader gets hit by a puck during a hockey game and Michael tries to leave the game early and comfort her?

the delta center is buzzing, the energy electric. you’re dressed in a cute outfit michael picked out for you, one that he’d laid out while you showered.

the game’s nearly tied, both teams giving it their all going into the third period. you watch as michael gets swapped in, easily taking over. he moves like lightning on the ice, chasing the puck with his team as the other team takes it down the rink. your eyes are locked on michael’s tall figure as he moves, drawn into the sheer power he emits rather than the little black piece of rubber zipping around the ice.

within seconds, the puck goes flying through the air, arching over the glass. you don’t know when it happens, but the moment it makes contact, you’re down.

your vision fades, gone fully in one eye, and pain lances through your body. the people around you gasp and shout as you double over, hand cupping your eyebrow. the scent of blood fills your nostril, thick and metallic as you breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. you barely hear the commotion around you as people make way for someone who you assume is medical, too far lost in your pain that you fail to notice that the game’s stopped and everyone is looking at you.

“who the hell was that?” someone on the ice yells and you faintly recognize the voice as michael’s, the deep rumble of it filling the near-silent arena.

you try your best to look up ahead of you, hands still pressed to your face to stop the bleeding. michael stands in center ice, gloves thrown off and stick flat on the ground. he fumes angrily as the ref skates up to him and asks that he calms down, that he has to either pick up his things and go to the bench or keep playing.

you watch michael argue with the man, talking back and demanding the other team just fucking fess up. he pushes against the ref as he's taken hold by him and the linesman, the two men working against his larger body to get him off the ice.

"i'm not going in there," michael growls, attempting to shove past the refs. “not until i find out who shot the puck.”

he grapples with the refs for a second until he spots the replay on the jumbotron. his eyes are glued to the screen making him compliant enough for the refs to redirect his body into the penalty box for unsportsmanlike conduct.

michael glowers while in the box, fuming and visibly saying curses toward the refs. you don’t get to see his reaction on the big screen, head ducked down and thick padded gauze pressed to your face. there’s medical staff surrounding you, ushering you out of the stands and into the arena’s medical room.

when the game ends, michael barrels off the ice, pushing past his teammates with hurried apologies. he’s out of his gear quicker than ever, stumbling out of the locker room and the player’s hallway to get to the medical room where you’re sprawled out on a hard mattress.

you sit up on your elbows and give him a slight smile, wincing slightly when your eyes crinkle. there’s a large bruise forming just below your eyebrow; it’s likely a suborbital fracture, they told you. michael is immediately at your side.

“i’m so sorry,” he says, “i should’ve been there—the stupid refs wouldn’t let me off the ice and—“

you cut off his rambling and place a hand on top of his, shrugging your shoulders a little. “it happens, mikey, i’m okay.”

michael scoffs, not at you but out of frustration. he pulls you upright and towards him, settling between your knees as your legs dangle off the side of the plastic-y bed. he pouts a little, bottom lip jutting out.

“it’s supposed to happen to big, strong hockey players like me!” he argues as he brings his hands up to cup your knees. his large palms radiate warmth through your jeans, only getting warmer when he starts to rub his hands up your thighs and then back down. “not to my precious, very cute, and sexy girlfriend.” he pouts even more and you giggle despite the throbbing pain behind your eyebrow.

“are you saying i’m weak?” you ask, reaching up and brushing your hands through his unruly curls. “because i think i took that hit like a champ.”

michael leans into your touch, “you did, but from now on you’re sitting somewhere else—preferably the wags room. otherwise i think coach might put you in if you take another hit like that.” he looks at you sternly, clear that he won’t argue with you on this.

you nod, leaning into his broad chest. “okay,” you murmur. “but don’t get mad at me if i replace you on the team.”

michael laughs and hoists you off the table, easily taking you in his strong arms. “replace me? yeah right,” he says as he helps you out the door. “maybe cools though—“

[bitchinbarzal]

Come Back To Me | M Kesselring

-

The airport was colder than you remembered. Maybe it was the nerves. Or the way your fingers wouldn’t stop tapping against the handle of your tote bag.

He hadn’t texted when he landed.

That wasn’t like him.

You spotted him before he saw you—tall, tired, shoulders hunched beneath the strap of his duffel. He wasn’t smiling. No running up to you, no arms open wide like the last few times. Just a quiet “Hey,” and a ghost of a hug.

Your arms clung tighter than his did.

You tried. God, you tried.

You cooked his favorite dinner. Lit the candles. Put on the playlist he used to say reminded him of you. He barely touched his plate.

“Long day?” you asked softly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, not looking up.

Silence settled like fog.

You sipped your wine, trying not to cry. “You haven’t really been talking to me lately.”

Michael finally looked at you. “I’ve been busy.”

That did it.

“Busy?” you repeated, laughing bitterly. “Right. Too busy to text back? Too busy to call? I’ve been sitting here for weeks feeling like I’m in a relationship with my own goddamn phone!”

“Don’t do this right now,” he warned, pushing his chair back.

“No, we are doing this right now!” you snapped, standing. “I’m always the one chasing. Always the one waiting for you to give me just enough to hang on.”

His jaw clenched. “You think I’m not trying?”

“I think you gave up a long time ago.”

The words sliced the air between you. He flinched.

“You don’t get it,” he said, voice low. “You don’t get what it’s like out there—alone, under pressure, everyone expecting something from you.”

“I’ve always understood,” you cried. “But I can’t be the only one fighting for us!”

He stared at you. Cold. Flat.

And then: “If this is too hard for you, maybe we should just end it.”

The air left your lungs.

You swallowed, jaw trembling. “Say that again,” you whispered, “and I’ll walk.”

Silence.

He didn’t say it again—but he didn’t stop you when you turned away, either.

He slept on the couch.

You laid in bed with your face to the wall, biting the edge of your pillow to keep the sobs from spilling out. It didn’t work.

You heard him get up once in the middle of the night. Then nothing.

Morning came heavy.

You padded into the living room and froze.

Michael sat on the couch, hunched over, elbows on knees. In his hands was the photo from your night at the lake—sunset, soft smiles, arms tangled.

His thumb brushed over your face.

When he looked up and saw you, his eyes were red.

“I didn’t mean it,” he croaked. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

You stayed still.

He stood slowly, holding the photo like a lifeline. “I don’t know what I’m doing without you,” he said. “I feel like I’m losing everything and I can’t keep up and I thought—if I kept pushing you away, it wouldn’t hurt as much when you eventually left.”

Your throat ached. “I wasn’t leaving.”

He took a shaky breath. “I know that now.”

You crossed the room. “But you can’t do that. You can’t keep shutting me out and expecting me to wait in the dark.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll do better. I’ll call. I’ll show up. I just—” He broke off. “I need you.”

You stepped into his arms. His whole body shook when you wrapped yours around him.

“I need you too,” you whispered.

You kissed in the kitchen. Slow. Soft. Hands trembling. He pressed his forehead to yours like he was breathing again for the first time in weeks.

When it was time for him to leave again, you drove him to the airport.

This goodbye was different.

He kissed you three times before he let go, then turned to walk through security.

But halfway there, he stopped.

Turned back.

Ran.

He dropped his bag and crushed you into his chest with a kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

“I’ll come back,” he promised, voice thick. “I swear I’ll come back to you.”

You smiled through your tears. “I’ll be here.”

Always.

[hockeyboistrash]

He's so cute and I have fallen victim to another tall hockey boy 🫣

a special guest at your apartment helps create a connection with your neighbour, michael kesselring

It was a rare off day for you, so you spent the morning catching up with housework. You opened the window, enough to let some fresh air in, but not too much that your cat could jump out. Not that she would. She was a very unbothered cat who would spend the day curled up on the couch. That's where you found her except this time there was another cat on your couch. One you haven't see before.

"And who are you?" You asked, gently walking over to the mysterious cat. You gave him some fuss which earned some happy chirps as you tried to look at the collar to see if it gave you any clue to who his owner was. It didn't.

It didn't take long before you heard commotion outside your front door that sounded a lot like a panicked owner. "Shit. Ranger! Come on bud. Where are you?"

You noticed the cat perked up at what you presumed to be his name. "Ranger, did you run away?" You asked like he could understand you. He just blinked at you before laying his head back down, clearly not wanting to move. You sighed because while the sight of your cat and Ranger curled up on your coach, the sun shining on them, was cute you had to let his owner know Ranger was in fact safe and hadn’t ran away. Being a cat owner yourself you can imagine how your neighbor must be feeling. It would break your heart if anything ever happened to your cat.

You grabbed your keys and left your apartment, shutting the door behind you so you didn’t have anymore escapees. Your neighbor was quick to answer the door as soon as you knocked. He was stressed. His hair was messy from running his fingers through it numerous times, his face tugged into a slight frown.

"I think your cat is on my couch." You told him, gesturing to your apartment behind you. Michael let out the biggest sigh of relief. He was glad Ranger only made it to the apartment next door, glad he was safe.

"Thank you so much. I don’t know how he even got out. One minute he was on the window sill and the next he was gone. I was so worried about him." Michael rambled. You thought it was cute. You thought he was cute. You’ve never had a good look at your neighbor before, only ever seeing him in passing. "Let me grab my keys and I’ll get him."

Michael followed you into your apartment, almost bumping into the back of you when you stopped. "I think he’s made a new friend." You grinned. Michael couldn’t help but also smile, the sight of Ranger curled up on your couch with your cat was cute.

"I’m so sorry he invited himself in by the way." He apologised but you brushed it off.

"It’s fine, honestly. I was a little surprised because I wasn’t sure how he got in but he wasn’t hurting anyone." You assured him before leaning down to give Ranger some fuss. "He’s such a good boy."

Michael couldn’t help but snort at that. Maybe in front of you he was an angel but behind closed doors? Ranger was a menace. He’s got scratches to prove that. "I should probably get him so we can get out of your way." He said, reaching over to pick him up. Ranger sighed as he leaned into Michael’s chest, curling up in his arms not wanting to disturb his cat nap.

You walked Michael and Ranger out, stopping by the door and watching as he opened his own apartment door with ease. "Hey, do you want my number?" You asked, bravery taking over. "You know incase Ranger decides to invite himself round again or if you need a cat sitter?"

You bit your lip as you waited for Michael’s reply, hoping you didn’t come across as weird or too eager. "I'd like that." He said, not able to contain his grin. "Would I be able to use it outside of cat related things? Like taking you out for dinner?"

"I think that could be allowed." You told him, your smile matching his.

[hischiercore]

8:32 PM

a/n: I have not written anything in *checks watch* over two years (OOF) so this is absolute garbage, but a certain michael kesselring has given me severe brainrot so here we are. this was supposed to be a short lil blurb but I can’t control myself apparently. unedited and written on my phone so…..cheers ig.

warnings: cursing, fingering, bit of a praise kink, a lil dumification bc I love to project, stupid amount of pet names, yk the drill.

you’d always had a thing for hands, and though some would probably call you biased, you swore your boyfriend had the nicest ones you’d ever seen.

everything about michael was large, and broad, and all consuming, and his hands were no exception. you never considered your hands to be that small, but his were so much bigger than yours. his fingers were mind numbingly long, and the veins that ran across the backs of his hands and up his arms could make your mouth water if you stared for too long.

just like you were right now.

you’re staring. you know you’re staring, and intently so, but you can’t seem to drag your eyes away.

there’s a show playing on the tv, you’re pretty sure something one of the guys recommended, but you haven’t been paying attention to anything that’s happened in the last 20 minutes. and really, how could you be blamed when your giant of a boyfriend has you snuggled up tight on his lap, one hand playing with your hair, the other smoothing up and down your thigh with the occasional squeeze.

you’d started out pressed up against his side, but of course it wasn’t long until that wasn’t close enough for him and you were being pulled into his lap with a sweet kiss to your temple and a quiet murmur of “missed you today, baby.”

you almost felt bad. it wasn’t often you and michael got to have a quiet night in together, without having to worry about an early morning for work the next day, and yet you couldn’t even truly pay attention and soak in the feeling of just being with him.

all because of his stupid, beautiful hands.

but any guilt you feel gets swept away when michael’s hand on your thigh slides up and squeezes none-too-gently. any higher and he’d be groping your ass.

you turn your head, only to to be met with that ridiculous, overly confident smirk.

“was wondering if you’d be able to tear your eyes away.” he grins. “my hands really doing it for you tonight baby?”

your teeth sink into your lower lip. “maybe they are… you gonna do something about it?”

his hand flexes, sliding up, up, up, til the tips of his fingers are well past the hem of your thin sleep shorts, and brushing along the edge of where your panties would be, if you were wearing any.

his head tilts, questioning. “are you…” michael’s voice trails off as his hand slides even higher up, now fully under your shorts and resting on your ass. “fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, nipping at your jaw. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“what, not a fan of easy access?”

he shakes his head, smiling. “you’re such a brat.”

“oh please, you love it.” you brush your fingertips up his arm before settling your hand on the back of his neck, playing with the curls there. “if anything you encourage it.”

he buries his head in your neck, placing soft, wet kisses up the column, across your jaw, and along your cheek before oh so teasingly brushing his lips against yours.

“you got me there. but the question is,” michael pauses, adjusting you until you’re properly straddling him, your hands resting on his shoulders while his slide down your waist and you feel the gentle brush of his fingers along the skin right above your waistband.

“are you gonna keep being a brat? or…” he trails off just as his right hand slips into your shorts and two of his fingers sweep across your slit, groaning at how much wetness he finds from that alone. “are you gonna be a good little girl and let me play with your pretty pussy?”

your breath hitches and you can only manage to nod rapidly, nails digging into his shoulders and trying to scoot even closer to him, as if you weren’t already pressed as close as possible.

“yeah? you gonna be good for me baby?” he smirks, sliding his fingers deeper and circling your entrance. “this all it takes to get you to behave?”

you open your mouth to respond with something, anything, but all the manages to escape is a choked whimper, as michael chooses that moment to plunge his fingers in to the hilt. the sudden stretch burns just the slightest, but any other thoughts you may have had get completely tossed out the second his thumb starts rubbing slow, hard circles on your clit.

“look at you,” his tongue flicks out against your top lip. “so dumb for me already, and i don’t even need to get my cock out to do it.”

his fingers start moving, rubbing, pressing, thrusting in and out shallowly. you swear they’ve never been this thick, this long, or felt this good.

he presses against an extra sensitive spot and you can’t help the way your hips jerk forward, or the way your hand flies up to fist his hair. “fuck, michael,”

“right there?” he coos. “is that the spot sweetheart?” and then, because he’s a dick, he presses against it again, and again, and again, all while maintaining that mind numbing pressure on your clit.

“i- i- i’m gonna- gonna-“ you give up on whatever it is you’re trying to say, not even totally sure what it is you’re trying to stutter out, and instead nuzzle your face into his neck. kissing, biting, and marking up your boyfriend’s neck seems more productive anyways.

“gonna what baby? c’mon, use your words.”

you shake your head, biting down even harder on a spot just underneath his jaw, and it takes all of two seconds for michael’s hand that was on your hip to be gripping your jaw and pulling you away. you try to look anywhere but his face, but a finger tapping none too gently on your cheeks has your eyes snapping to his.

“there’s those pretty eyes,” he grins. “i love how empty they get when you’re like this, baby. just feels too good, doesn’t it? can’t help yourself?”

michael’s fingers press harder, the circles on your clit get faster, and your voices gets higher and higher the closer you get.

“michael, michael, please- please i’m gonna-“ you cut yourself off with a whine, rocking your hips harder against his hand.

“gonna come for me?” the hand on your jaw slides down to your neck. not squeezing, not applying pressure, just holding. “gonna make a mess all over my hand?”

you lean into his hold, desperate for anything to stabilize yourself. “yes yes yes yes, please- please don’t stop i’m so close please-“

he cuts off your mindless pleas with a gentle squeeze to your neck. “not stopping sweetheart. not until i feel this sweet cunt come on my fingers.”

he drags your mouth to his for a filthy kiss before pulling away murmuring against your lips, “c’mon baby, do it. empty that little brain of yours and come on me. you can do it, be a good girl for me.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm crashes over you, chanting his name like it’s the only thing you know how to say.

michael works you through it, only stopping when you hiss in discomfort, but keeping his fingers buried inside you. the two of you sit in silence as you come down from your high, your head resting on his shoulder as his unoccupied hand plays with your hair.

eventually, he breaks the silence.

“definitely a fan of easy access.”

[perreqult]

‘LOVE ME ALL THE TIME ✶ michael kesselring

summary: michael’s drunk from a party you went to earlier and is extra annoying when you’re trying to get ready for bed

word count: 0.8k

contains: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, kissing, drunkness (reader is sober), being jokingly mean, think that’s it

notes: unedited so expect mistakes

You’re wiping your makeup off at your vanity mirror when you hear a deep, slurred voice say, “We should fuck.” Michael tells you from the bed, sitting up, drunkenly giggling through his words. “No.” You tell him plainly. “Love ya, but you’re drunk out of your mind.” You continue.

“I’m really not. I’m only.. this much drunk” He air pinches his fingers almost together, only leaving a small gap. You roll your eyes, letting out a soft giggle.

“Please?” He asks you, looking over to you with soft eyes and giving you a pout. “Yeah, no.” You tell him, jokingly stern. “You,” You point to him, “Are way too drunk. Go. To. Sleep.” He groans at this and tries to walk over to your vanity and stumbling along the way, tripping over your shoes.

“Why do you hate me?” He wails out, standing over the back of your chair. “Oh my God, Michael.” You groan, rolling your eyes at him. He crouches down reaches his arms around the chair to rest his arms around your collarbone.

“Go to bed, Michael.” You say sternly, looking at him through the mirror as you wipe off your mascara. “I don’t want to if you’re not gonna be naked in it.” He says, giggling as a grin spreads across his face. “Look, I love you, but i’m not going to have sex with you when you can barely function.” You say, turning your head around to look straight at him. He just pouts.

“I can function!” He tells you, determined like he’s trying to prove a point, lifting his arms off of you and crossing them over eachother. You look him in the eyes and shake your head because you know, that he knows, he’s lying.

“So you hate me?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. “No, I never said that, babe.” You say, turning back around so you can apply moisturizer to your face. “You implied it.” He says with a smile like he just said something smart and unarguable. “You don’t even know what that word means!” You say, spinning your head back around with an over-it look on your face.

“Irrelevant.” He says plainly with a smirk on his face. “I’m ignoring you now.” You tell him flatly as you get back to your skincare routine.

“Wait no.” He says worriedly, wrapping his arms around you again and leaning down to pepper you with kisses. When he realizes that strategy to get you to talk to him again isn’t worth his he sighs and yells out, “Fine. I’ll go to bed.” And grumbles something with a pout as he walks over to your shared bed.

You can’t help but laugh, picturing his mad face under the covers. He waits there in the bed for a few minutes before calling out, “Are you almost done? ‘Miss you.” You can practically see the face he must be making.

“I’ll be there in a sec.” You tell him, almost finished. “Okay.” He says somberly, almost whining out. When you finally make your way to the bed beside him, he immediately yanks you closer to him.

“Can’t believe my own girlfriend hates me. It’s a tragedy.” He wails into your neck. “Do not start.” You mumble tiredly. He continues though. “She just hates everything about me. She thinks i’m a drunk and a loser.” You roll your eyes and groan. “Shut up before I go sleep on the couch.” That seems to stop him.

“What? No. No, don’t leave.” He says worriedly, pulling you tighter as if to make sure you don’t leave. Now you really couldn’t leave, even if you wanted to, he’s got all his grip strength placed on making sure you can’t go. And it’s pretty hard to escape from a 6’5, 215lb, muscular man using all of his strength to keep you in one spot.

“Alright, can you shut up and let me sleep now?” You ask, sleep creeping up on you. “Okay.” He says sadly like he wants to keep you up and talk to you forever.

“Love ya.” You mumble to him. “I love you, too. Even if your mean to me sometimes.” He replies. “Okay I take it back now. I hate you. Especially when you’re drunk.” You joke to him. “No you don’t, you love me all the time.” He says and you know he’s right. “Just.. Just be quiet.” You tell him before finally drifting off to sleep after dealing with his antics.

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

stupid fucking Michael Kesselring and his stupid fucking hands.

this stemmed from a gif @captain-huggy-bear made

more specifically i’m thinking about him having you on your knees between his legs. one hand settled on your cheek, rubbing softly. the other? pushing his pointer and middle finger slowly into your mouth.

mumbling on about how “he just knows you can take it. my sweet girl, always does so good for me.” while he’s listening to you gag around his fingers.

slowly getting himself more and more worked up. where his praises turn mocking.

“can’t even take my fingers, poor thing. gonna have to work on that before you can even have my cock.”

[cuteandhughesy]

34 with micheal kesselring please!!

prompt no. 34: "look at that shiner" "have some sympathy"

michael sends you a guilty smile, which only makes you glower more. it’s well passed the time you usually fall asleep—you’ve never been a night owl, and most of the time once your head touches the pillow, you’re out. but tonight you made sure you’d be up when michael gets home.

you watched his game, like you always do, from the comfort of the apartment couch. which means you got a pretty nice view of michael’s fight. it was an even tilt, where your boyfriend got a few good punches—but that also means he got hit a few times too.

the thing that concerned you the most was the black eye blooming under his brow bone, purple hues slowly leaking down to envelop his entire eye socket. you know that the utah hockey club has some of the medical staff, and they’d do anything and everything to make sure michael was okay.

but it still made you anxious, and you needed to check him out yourself—hence why you waited up for him.

untangling the blankets wrapped around your legs, you climb off the couch. you mute sportsnet playing on the tv before making your way across the room—stopping right in front of your boyfriend with a curious glint.

your fingers touch his cheeks gently, gaze never starting from his injury—which has only gotten darker since the last time his face was shown on your tv.

“i’m okay,” michael tells you firmly, hand squeezing the back of your neck before his fingers slowly trickle into your hair—scratching at your scalp.

you stay silent for a beat, too busy checking over his face like you’re waiting for more injuries to pop up. eventually you let out a long, deep breath, gnawing on your bottom lip as you come to terms with michael’s new look. “look at that shiner, babe. jesus christ.”

michael snorts, hand sliding back down to hold the back off your neck. he pulls you into his chest, “have some sympathy. it hurts.”

“no shit,” you mumble, voice muffled by his shirt. “but may I remind you, that this mess on your face is the consequence of your own actions.” you look up at your boyfriend tenderly, a playful smile pulling at your face as your chin rests between his pecks.

michael smirks, “I thought I was going to be greeted by a kisses and cuddles, but instead my girlfriend wants to bully me.”

“whatever you big baby,” you mumble before pushing up onto your toes and gently kissing his lips.

—

(unedited)

[verycoolusername1]

Other players

These are other players that I write for(not all the time but if people request for any of them I will do it.) - A/N

Jack Hughes(NJD86)

You laugh exactly the same(platonic!)

???

Matthew Knies(TOR23)

Nothing here yet!

Michael Kesslering(UHC7)

Nothing here yet!

Victor Mancini(VAN90)

Nothing here yet!

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congratulations on 1,000 followers! Can you please do Michael Kesselring + “I'm sorry I was so grumpy last night.” can I also request that the reader is pregnant in this prompt?

Dad!Michael makes me happy <3 He's also looking so good lately...don't tell Clayton. 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 (please read the rules) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You wake to kisses being pressed across your face; little pecks to your cheeks, your nose, your chin before Michael's hand grasps your chin and pulls you into a kiss. It's the sort of wake up that has you smiling even as your back hurts and your baby kicks you like she's trying to decide whether to be in the NFL or Rugby Union.

"Morning, baby," He mumbles against your lips, sugary sweet, as you blink your eyes open to take him in. He's gorgeous in the mornings; curls across his forehead, chain swinging towards you, chest bare and tattoos on display.

"Morning..." You sigh as he leans over you, waking up a little more, smile dropping as you remember that night before, how grumpy you'd been, how snappy. “I'm sorry I was so grumpy last night.”

Michael helps you to sit up, pillows being plumped behind your back to support you as you move. Your belly making everything 10 times harder as you get closer and closer to your due date.

The grin he gives you is a little goofy, forgiving and sweet as he pulls one of your ankles into his lap, long fingers massaging the swollen area without being asked, without being told.

"'s okay, baby...you're kind of carrying an entire human in you right now. I'd probably be grumpy too." If anything his forgiveness and understanding makes you feel guiltier, like you need to explain your behaviour because you were a real terror last night and Michael's been nothing but wonderful the entire pregnancy.

"I just... she was kicking real hard last night and I was tired and hungry but I can't have half the things I'm craving because it makes me sick..." Your favourite foods had become inedible, even the smell of some of them made you queasy. An unfortunate symptom of your pregnancy and Michael had promised to bring you all your favourite foods for your first meal after giving birth.

Your eyes shift away from him out of guilt, Michael's hand stills on your ankle, "Hey, look at me."

You flick your eyes back to him, rewarded with your ankle massage ongoing, pressing into the tightness there, "You don't have to explain, I get it. I mean, I don't get it because I'm not pregnant, but I understand. You feeling better this morning, mama?"

"A little...I'm just really tired." You feel like staying in bed all day, not moving, just curling under the covers for an entire day until you feel like maybe you have some energy again.

"I know, but you've got to get your body moving, baby, the doctor said you can't be lying down too much."

"I know..." You hate that he's right. You'd been told to stay active, that not moving would make birth ten times harder on your body, but it didn't make it any easier to keep active when you were so goddamn tired all the time.

"What if you came to the rink with me? To see the boys?" He's pulling out the big guns because Michael knows you love going to the rink, you love watching practices and most of all you love the team. The guys treat you so well that sometime Michael has to remind himself that you're married to him, that he doesn't need to worry.

"Yeah?" He considers it a victory the moment you start smiling at him even if you haven't agreed yet.

"Mmm, and after at least 5 of 'em will try to buy you lunch but I'll do it because I'm your husband and that's my job," You can already imagine the scramble to pay for your lunch, the rush to hold doors for you. Each of the guys has been overly considerate of you since your pregnancy was announced, attentive to the point of overbearing like having a hockey team of brothers, uncles and fathers.

"Yeah? Subway?"

"If that's what you want or Wendy's or Taco Bell or anything you want." Michael scoots up nearer to you at the head of the bed, hand reaching out to cup your cheek and brush a few strands of your hair behind your ear.

"Do you think Logan will wear those stupid sunglasses for me?"

"Do you want him too?"

"Yeah, he looks silly in them, makes me smile."

"Give me a sec..." He's already reaching for his phone, shooting off a text message to Cools to demand he wear those ridiculous shades to make you smile. The response is quick, one word, a simple yes because Logan Cooley has no issues having a bit of fun if it makes you smile.

Michael grins at you, thumb brushing against your jaw, "Yeah, he's gonna wear 'em for you...should I be concerned that you have my entire team wrapped around your pinkie?"

"No, cause I only want you." You try to lean over to kiss him but barely move before Michael's doing the leaning for you, to ease the strain on your neck and back. You kiss him brief and soft, barely moving away, just enough so both of you can talk.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm, love you the most." You do love the entire team, but it's different, oh it's different. They're the mad group of gremlins who make you smile but you're not in love with them like you are Michael. You'd pick him any day of the week.

"Uh, so you love them?" There's that little jealous pout that brushes your lips, a reminder that Michael ultimately loves you so much that the idea of you loving anyone else even platonically sets his hackles rising.

"Well, they do buy me food..." You tease knowing he'll bite, he always does.

"Okay, but you love me most, right?"

"No doubt about it."

"Good, cause I love you the most too,"

"Even more than Logan and Josh?"

"Oh, fucking 100% more than those two idiots."

[onlyquinns]

soft jealous kess

michael’s cat sits in your lap, purring and kneading into your thigh. you giggle happily, scratching her behind the ears and down her back. the cat’s content, enjoying your attention while you sit on the couch with a show on in the background.

you and michael had been watching severance, a show that one of your friends had recommended, when he’s suddenly got up to use the restroom. when he got back, one of his cats had already stolen his spot on the couch and left him to sit on the loveseat.

alone.

michael let out a dramatic sigh, folding his arms over his chest. he pouts, jutting his bottom lip out. you don’t look over at him, busy cooing at the cat in a baby voice.

he groans and flops onto the arm of the loveseat he’s on, draping the upper half of his body over it so his arms are touching the floor. you look up at him, a small smile on your face and fully amused.

“is something wrong, mikey?” you ask, and his cat looks up at you with squinted eyes as if to ask why you’ve stopped petting her.

“you’re supposed to be my girlfriend,” he grumbles, voice muffled against the upholstery. “this is cheating.”

you roll your eyes, lightly pushing the cat off your lap even as she meows in protest. “you’re so dramatic, mike,” you say softly with an amused huff.

michael pouts even more, “you’re not supposed to say that; you’re supposed to say ‘oh my poor baby—come here!’” his voice raises to a painful pitch, a poor mockery of what you sound like.

you laugh and pat the seat next to you, lifting the throw blanket to welcome him in. “come here, you big baby,” you tease and he perks up immediately, sitting up to sit next to you and lay his head in your lap.

michael hums softly, his equivalent of purring. you giggle and run your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with your nails—nails that he’d paid for earlier on in the week.

“is this better?” you ask him, and he nods.

“much.”

[bitchinbarzal]

Jealous | M Kesselring

It started with a laugh. Yours.

Michael heard it from across the room—sharp, sweet, unmistakable—and when he turned, you were smiling at some guy he didn’t recognize. Not a threat, not really. But you looked happy. Relaxed. Flushed in a way that made his chest clench.

Then your hand touched the guy’s arm. Just a second too long. Just enough to make Michael’s jaw tighten.

And that was it.

He didn’t cause a scene. Didn’t bark or growl or fight.

He just walked—slow, deliberate—right to your side. Slipped a heavy hand around your waist and leaned down so only you could hear.

“We’re leaving.”

You blinked up at him. “Michael, I—”

His hand tightened. Not painful. But firm.

“Now.”

Something in his voice told you not to argue. You said a quick goodbye and let him lead you out of the room with a hand on your lower back that never lifted.

The second the door to your place shut behind you, the tension snapped.

“You think I didn’t see that?” he asked, voice low. Controlled. Too controlled.

“It wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. “You think I don’t notice the way guys look at you? Like they’d do anything to take you from me?”

You frowned. “Michael, no one could take me from you.”

But he didn’t hear it. Not really.

His eyes were dark, jaw clenched. You reached for him, and that’s when it cracked—he grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you. Not soft. Not slow. Just desperate.

And then he was moving. Walking you backward, tugging your dress up with rough hands, until your back hit the wall and your legs wrapped around his waist. He didn’t speak. Just breathed hard against your neck as his hands gripped your thighs, holding you there like he needed to feel you.

“I can’t lose you,” he muttered. “You don’t get it—I couldn’t handle it.”

“Michael…” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair.

His forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, voice breaking. “And I’m just… me. I don’t have the charm. Or the flash. I just—fuck, I love you.”

You cupped his face. “I didn’t marry you for flash, Michael.”

His eyes shut. And then he moved.

He pulled your panties aside and slid into you in one long, slow stroke. His breath caught in his throat like it hurt—like finally being inside you was too much.

You gasped, body arching, hands fisting in his shirt. He was thick, deep, stretching you open just right.

“Tell me,” he whispered, still buried in you, not moving yet. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you said instantly. “God, I’ve always been yours.”

He groaned—low and wrecked—and started to move. Not rough, not yet. Just deep. Deep enough that every thrust punched the air from your lungs. He held you tight, hands gripping your ass, mouth open against your throat.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said. “When I see you smile at someone else, I—I can’t breathe.”

You kissed him. Soft. Slow. The kind of kiss that told him everything he couldn’t believe.

“I love you,” you whispered. “Only you.”

That’s when he lost it.

His rhythm turned hard. His grip bruising. He fucked you like he was burning—like he could crawl inside you and stay there forever. But in between every thrust was a kiss. A whispered I love you. A hand smoothing over your hip or cradling your face like you were made of glass.

And when you came—shaking, sobbing his name—he held you like you might disappear. Followed you seconds later with a groan ripped straight from his chest, cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled everything into you.

He didn’t pull out. Didn’t move.

Just pressed his forehead to yours, still breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have gotten like that. I just… I get scared sometimes. That I’m not enough for you.”

You kissed him again.

“You’re everything.”

And when he carried you to bed, cleaned you up, curled his big body around you under the sheets—you could feel it. Even in his silence.

The jealousy wasn’t anger.

It was love.

And it was real.

[captain-huggy-bear]

michael in his gf’s tiny dorm bed?

Trying to fit this man in a normal sized twin bed? Practically impossible, but i'm sure we're all willing to try <3 Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

"Michael...this is ridiculous, you're not going to fit." You're watching him stand next to your stupidly small dorm bed. Twin sized, barely 6ft long in length and stupidly small compared to your boyfriend. 6ft 5, 217lbs and definitely not what your dorm room bed was designed for.

"I'll make it work, baby." He's sizing up the bed like he can find a way to make it bigger, a way to make it work for him when it clearly doesn't. It has you crossing your arms and shaking your head with a sigh because the last thing you want tonight is for Michael to try to shove himself into that bed, to be uncomfortable just because of you.

"Just...we can just go to your place instead, you're not going to be comfortable." Your already moving to grab your shoes, ready to just go to his place in your pjs because quite frankly it's ridiculous to expect Michael to cram himself into a bed that's 5 inches too short.

But, Michael won't have it. He's already clambering into your bed, head as far back onto the pillow as he can get, side pressed into the wall...and his legs...his feet and then some are hanging off the edge of the bed, toes exposed to the elements...to the demons.

"My place is across campus, it's like midnight and you have an exam in the morning. It'll be fine. See," The grin he sends you is light-hearted, unbothered by the possibility of monsters nibbling on his toes in the night.

"Your legs are literally hanging off the edge..."

"Baby, I'm fine, or I will be when you get over here." It's the grin combined with the grabby hands, mixed with your own exhaustion and desire to just curl up with Michael that has you accepting defeat.

Squeezing yourself in next to him, you accidentally elbow him as the two of you try to make it work. Michael turning onto his side to spoon you, tugging you back flush against his front. His toes come up onto the bed, only because his legs bend around yours, trapping you into his embrace.

But you love it. The feeling of safety, security, as he curls around you. As his breaths puff out against your neck and his cologne swirls around you. The way his hands press against your stomach to hold you near and his hair tickles your cheek.

The only reason he's over is because you've been stressed about your exams and this? God, you needed this. Michael always makes your brain quiet when he holds you, it's like he's pressed a mute button and all those worries, all those concerns just fade away until all that's left is Michael, just Michael and this moment.

"You comfy, baby?" He's softened his voice until it's sweet and low, the sort that's designed not to disturb the peace and quiet that surrounds the two of you.

"Mm, very, you?"

"Yeah, got all I need right here in my arms." Michael squeezes you tight against him, a kiss pressed to your shoulder.

"Sap."

"For you? Yeah."

[captain-huggy-bear]

When I was in first year of uni my hall's bed was a 7ft mattress and I can say from experience that being 5ft3 and having a mattress that long is the best thing in the world because there is no possible way for your feet to fall off. I could lay in the middle of the bed and have space on both ends. Even if you were 6ft, you'd still have decent space. Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

It's not really something you ever considered. The size of Michael's bed, more specifically the length of it. It made sense to you, of course, that someone as tall as him, 6ft 5 to be exact, would need a long bed, a significantly larger mattress than the average person. You just never really considered that those were in fact a thing. That you would be sleeping in a bad made for someone most definitely not your size.

Until now. Staring at a 7ft long mattress, the largest bed you've probably ever seen. Big enough to accommodate all of Michael, his arms, his legs, and still leave some room. Not like your bed, where his feet hung off the end unless he curled up into a ball.

"Go ahead, angel." He doesn't even wait for you to ask, can see the way you're looking at the bed like you want to jump on it, to see what a bed that large feels like when you're not as large as he is. It's all the permission you need, that and the way he grins at you all goofily.

You take a running jump at his bed, landing face first, arms spread out as you land in the middle....or not so much the middle as landing half on the bed because you don't get much leverage. It's Michael who moves to the side, grabbing your hands and dragging you up the length of the bed until you're in the middle properly.

You turn over onto your back, staring up at his ceiling as you take in just how much room you have.

"Oh wow!" You can't help it, the way you practically try to make a snow angel in the bedding, head not on the pillows and still your feet are far from the end of the bed, fingertips nowhere near touching the edges of the mattress.

There's something amazing about it, just how much space there is, how secure you feel like you could roll over a million times and still not leave the bed.

"Oh, I'm never breaking up with you." You grin up at him, toes curling into his bedding as you snuggle down into the mattress. It's actually adorable the way you burrow down, the way you try to reach the edges of the bed with your finger tips and still fail.

"Because of my mattress?" His goofy smile is almost permanently attached to his lips around you, he can't really help it. The idea that he could be anything but happy in your presence seems so bizarre at this stage in your relationship, the honeymoon period in full effect still.

"Yup!"

"Can't believe you only want me for my bed...guess I'll just have to join you!" Michael all but throws himself onto you, large body squishing you into the mattress, face pressing into the crook of your neck. His weight is heavy, but there's something reassuring about it even as your breathing becomes more shallow.

"Michael! You're heavy! Get off," You protest even as you laugh, even as you smile because you can feel his own goofy grin pressing into the skin of your neck and the way his hands press into your waist.

"Nope, gonna stay right here. I thought you loved my mattress?" Michael lifts his head just enough to talk to you, reaching forward to kiss your chin before plopping back down, cheek against your shoulder. His lips lay kisses across your skin and no matter how much you try to wiggle, to dislodge him, he seems immovable.

"Michael..."

"Shhhh, angel...let me have this?" You're conceding a little almost immediately, melting a little further into the mattress, fingers coming up to comb through his dark curls even as you say you want him to get off you.

He's practically falling asleep with the way your nails scratch at his scalp, down the back of his neck and up again in rhythmic motions, every now and then catching in his curls and carefully detangling them. You've stopped caring so much about his weight on you, sure it's harder to breath, but you feel safe under him like this, in your own little peaceful bubble.

"If we break up do I get the bed?"

"Sure." He's not really listening to you at all, clearly not even aware of what he's agreeing too because your nails against his scalp, fingers running through his hair is his main focus. Because Michael is half-asleep already and if you want his massive bed that's fine, he can always get a new one, but it's also fine because you're never breaking up so win-win either way.

[captain-huggy-bear]

“I was really trying not to wake you” with kesselring if you feel like it!! 💛

He's just a big, giant clumsy giraffe. A handsome one though. Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You're cosy, warm in the way you only get when you're wrapped up in blankets that have taken on your body heat overnight. Cheek pressed into your pillow, arms wrapped tight around it, in that stage of sleep where the smallest thing could wake you. On the edge between dreaming and awake.

It's the sound of crashing that first starts drawing you from your sleep, the sound of Michael tripping over a pair of shoes he'd left in the middle of the floor, body going flying and slamming into the corner of dresser. The pointed edge landing solidly in his thigh.

"Shit, fuck! Ow! Fuck," You become more lucid, eyes blinking open, bleary and tired, as you push yourself up on one arm. Michael's holding his leg where he ran into the corner of the dresser, tripping backwards over a pile of his clothes he'd dumped there last night saying he'd deal with it in the morning, arms pinwheeling before he manages to right himself. Heaving a big sigh and dragging a hand down his face. He has yet to notice that you are awake and staring at him in the dark, the alarm clock displays big red numbers declaring it to be 5am.

"Michael?" Your voice is sleepy, so tired and the guilt hits Michael instantly when he looks over to see you staring at him. You're holding yourself up by one arm, other hand rubbing at your eyes to wake yourself up further. He had planned to sneak out to morning skate without waking you, so you'd get to sleep a little longer, it being a Saturday.

"Shit."

"Mike, are you okay?" You're starting to get up, pushing yourself to a seated position and he knows that if he doesn't stop you you'll swing your legs around and get fully out of bed to check on him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good! Go back to sleep, honey" He's already advancing on you, nearly tripping over his shoes again. Hoping that by getting closer you'll stay in the bed, where you belong, because its 5am on a Saturday and you don't have work.

"Mikey?"

You watch him as he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you, large hands coming up to your shoulders to gently push you back down from your seated position.

"I..I was really trying not to wake you, sorry, baby, promise I'm good. Go back to sleep.” Michael pulls the covers back up over you, tucking you in as he tries to convince you to stay in bed, that it's not worth waking up with him before the sun has even risen.

"I can't if you're not here..." You hate falling asleep without Michael, roadies are particularly tough. You often struggle to fall asleep, tossing and turning and while you'll probably be fine right now, half-asleep as you are, you really don't want to go back to sleep without him.

"I've got morning skate, honey, I have to go...I'll be back in a few hours, promise." Michael's long fingers push your hair back behind your ear, stroking the hair by your temple slowly, gently. It's soothing enough that you can't help but close your eyes again, snuggling back into the pillows, the mattress, your bedding.

"You promise?" Your voice is already getting sleepy again and Michael can't help but smile at the way you snuggle back into your nest and he strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers, the motion repetitive and soothing.

"Promise, sweetheart. Go to sleep."

He stays there longer than he really should. Stroking your hair, your cheek, until he hears your breath even out, until he knows you're asleep again. Then he creeps away, this time avoiding each and every obstacle that had caused him to wake you in the first place until he reaches the door to your bedroom.

He can't help but stop in the doorway, chin turned over his shoulder to watch you one last time before he leaves even when he knows he'll see you in a few short hours.

Even that feels too long sometimes.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congrats on 1,000 followers! Could you do Michael Kesselring + “test came back negative” please?

Oh, he'd get his hopes up too. That man is built to have a hockey team of kids who are all giants who terrorise the league and constantly end up in the penalty box cause they're too tall. This is....how to describe: starts as angst, ends up mildly nsfw 18+ MDNI, rollercoaster. TW: Fertility issues/struggles getting pregnant 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 (please read the rules) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You're already dreading breaking the news to Michael. It's no secret that the two of you have been trying for a baby, and each negative pregnancy test felt like a blow, a physical hit to you both. You hated it, but you could handle it, it wasn't either of your faults...it was just the way things worked out. Getting pregnant wasn't simple, it was a science of sorts to maximise your chances. It would happen, it just might take a while.

But Michael? Michael took it hard each time like it was somehow his fault that you weren't pregnant yet. He wanted so badly to be a dad and you knew he was worried, wondering if it would ever happen. You couldn't pretend that you didn't have some of those worries too.

So to see another negative result staring at you from the bathroom sink? That was the worst news of your day.

He's waiting where you left him outside the bathroom, sat on the edge of the bed, knee bouncing up and down nervously. The moment he spots you he's on his feet, rising to meet you, that glimmer of hope in his eyes that you know is about to get crushed again.

“The test came back negative...”

You watch Michael's face drop as he sits back down on the edge of the bed, face falling into his hands as he hunches over and you know it's more than just disappointment before he even says a single word.

"It's my fault..."

"Michael..." You move to sit next to him, tugging at his arms until he looks at you, eyes wet with tears, guilt swimming in them like he's done something unforgivable.

"No, they keep saying male fertility is like declining or whatever...we know you're ovulating, you still get your periods...it's me. It's got to be me...I'm the problem. It's my fault..."

"Most couples struggle to get pregnant, it's not as easy as one time and we're done...even if it is your fertility it's not your fault, it'll happen when it happens." You brush some dark curls away from his forehead, pushing them back and out of the way. Maybe it might seem backward to some that you're comforting him, but you know how much this matters to Michael, you know how much he worries about it, how desperately he wants this. He's not immune to those feelings just because he's the man in the relationship.

"Then why do I feel like I've fucked up?"

"Because you care, because we both want this so badly...look on the bright side?" You smile at him, fingers brushing the stubble starting to grown across his cheeks as he looks at you like you've gone insane.

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" You choose to ignore the eyeroll, to forgive it knowing how he's feeling right now.

Instead you throw a leg over his lap until you're straddling his hips, grinning down at him as you whisper, "You get to keep fucking me until it takes..."

You watch the way Michael's eyes widen before darkening, how his tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip. You feel his hands reach to grip your hips tight, tugging until you're sat flush on his lap, his cock hardening underneath you.

"Oh..."

"Oh." Your grin only widens when you rock against him, his eyelids fluttering shut, eyelashes long against his cheeks at the feeling of you against him. It doesn't take much for him to become hard and hot between your thighs, already thinking of how it'll feel to sink in you again, to cum in you again until it takes, until you're finally carrying his baby. He can keep doing this a million times over, not a chore at all, maybe you're right...maybe this is a bright side, a silver lining.

"Cool, cool...fuck, baby, you trying to kill me?" You're kissing his neck, teeth nipping at his Adam's apple as he swallows, sucking hickeys under his jaw until his eyes are rolling as much as his hips, until he's gripping you so tight that you're going to have bruises.

"Not before you give me a baby, no."