#probably sweat out like 20 pounds

[sunflower-lilac42]

✧ 𝟔𝟎𝟑 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 || luke hughes ♔

summary: exam season is the worst season ever for y/n and the only person who can calm her down is 603 miles away from her

warnings: finals, essays, stress, crying, long-distance

publish date: 02/10/24

notes: i think i'm entering a new luke obsession phase because that's all i wanted to write yesterday and today. oh right! based off of this request -> idea! there is a point of me saying 603 miles a million times in this, (it's like four times) it's literally the name of the fic... so if you're annoyed then oh well, don't read it (apologies for mean emma today, i'm tired). add yourself to the taglist ➺ taglist!

nhl masterlist | main masterlist

She expected this to happen, the pounding in her head, the 20 tabs open on her computer, the dozens of resource articles and research strewn about in her room, the five packets of review guides sitting in a stack on her desk, the half drank cup of coffee, and the tears springing in her eyes. The white noise coming from her earbuds was starting to bother her causing her to rip them out of her ears and throw them somewhere where she probably wouldn’t be able to find them again.

She could hear voices in the living room, just outside her closed bedroom door. They were laughing about something, what it was she had no idea. Her three roommates all had presentations tomorrow and that was it, no more studying, no more writing, they were done. She, however, still had three papers to write and two exams to take. She had regretted her decision to take this many classes this semester but she was preparing herself for her future.

She had gone to stand up, feeling dizzy immediately as her feet planted flat on the floor. She held a hand to the wall, bracing herself from toppling over. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the blurry sight of tears, dehydration, and lack of nutrition. She knew people would be worried about her if they were to see her like this, her hair matted and pulled into a bun as best as she could, and mascara dried on her face that highlighted the dark circles and bags under her eyes. She was wearing Luke’s sweatshirt, the Devils logo plastered over it in the center, mocking her, reminding her that her boyfriend was 603 miles away from her.

At the thought, she allowed herself to tear up more, letting tear after tear fall. There wasn’t much she could do, he was in the middle of a game right now. When she realized he had a game, she turned it on and watched with a soft smile whenever he would show up on the TV. Despite knowing the fact that he would not answer his phone, she called him, hoping to just hear his voice through his voicemail. 

When his voice reached her ears, she could feel some of the tension release from her body. However, the feeling was short-lived as the beep from the end of his voicemail was heard. She didn’t leave a message, she just hung up and watched the remainder of the second period. When the horn blarred in the arena and through the tv speakers, she shut off the screen and returned to work, making her head hurt more. 

She didn’t notice the multiple attempts Luke had made to call her, her phone having died 20 minutes prior when she was writing her essay. Her headphones laid atop of her earbuds, trying to create a total noise blocker from her apartment’s noises. She had been ripping off post-it notes after post-it notes, scrambling to write down as many ideas as her brain could process. 

Meanwhile, Luke had been minorly, no majorly, freaking out. She would never call him if he was at a game, not even if it was super important. He could feel himself start to sweat again as he rushed to put his suit jacket on, wiggling his feet into his shoes. He had gone home by himself, not feeling the need to celebrate when his girl could be suffocating 603 miles away from him. 

Ever since they’ve known each other, Luke has known about y/n’s tendencies to throw herself into her school work. He remembers the first time he saw her during exam season. It was the end of their freshman fall term, they had been dating for four months at the time. They had just gotten back from their games in Ohio, he was exhausted from the trip and their 6-1 loss following their win the previous day. All he had wanted to do was go over to her dorm and lay in bed with her. 

✧༺✎༻∞

He knocked on the door, waiting for an answer but nothing came. He felt saddened and knocked again. He received the same answer, none. He turned around and slid down the wood door, hitting the ground with a thud. He put his hands on his head as he waited, kicking his bag to the side. It was only then he heard the footsteps come rushing down the hallway and looked up to see her. She had her backpack that looked as if it weighed 10 pounds, she was clutching five books in her arms and a coffee cup rested on top of them. She had been mumbling when she noticed him and her eyes lit up, “Hi!”

“Hi pretty girl, whatcha doing?”

“Studying.”

He looked at the way her eyes were hidden by the circles underneath them and frowned. He reached out to grab the books from her grasp and she gratefully accepted the offer, going straight to dig the keys out of her bag, “How were the games? Did you guys win?”

He felt heartbroken and confused, she always watched his games when they went away. She would always be the one to point out his goal or an assist that he got, sometimes she even pointed out if Dylan, Mackie, Ethan, or even Owen got a goal. He watched as she pushed the door open, removing her hand from her side to run it through her hair, “You didn’t watch?”

She turned to him, dropping her bag on the ground and reaching out for her books, “No, I was studying. Sorry, Lu.”

Studying? At that time? He did nothing but let her take the books, watching as she started to clean up her dorm. It was only then that he had noticed the state her dorm was in. There were empty boxes scattering the floor, paper plates and bowls on any surface possible, and some of her clothes were mixed in with her roommate’s, it was a mess, to say the least. He made no effort to say anything about it, though. 

She cleaned as much as she could in a matter of five minutes, looking at him with a small smile on her face, “I’m sorry I didn’t watch. I was going to watch the highlights when I got back tonight.”

“Back from?”

“Library. I think I’m starting to become a regular for everyone who works there.”

The thought of her being a regular was somewhat concerned, “How often have you been going?”

His voice was a mixture of stern and worried, his eyes somewhat squinted in a glare. She looked as if she had committed a crime at the tone of his voice, “Every day… from the time class was over until they closed.”

His eyes widened, “Jesus y/n.”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to study. I need to do well.”

“I understand that but you can’t work yourself to the brink of death.” He grabbed the coffee out of her hand and emptied it into the sink, getting rid of the cup afterward.

She whined at the motion, watching him in horror as if he just hit a bird with his car. He walked back over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, “Tomorrow you are not going to touch a single book, I won’t even let you touch your computer.”

“But-”

“Nuh-uh, nope. No computer, no books, no papers, no anything school-related. We are going to stay in your bed and watch movies all day and eat properly.”

“I eat properly!” She exclaimed in offense.

He gave her a look that said all the different, “Sure. Now I can only hope you still have some of my clothes here somewhere because I do not want to talk to my dorm right now.”

She pointed in embarrassment to one of her draws, “In there.”

He kissed her forehead and grabbed the clothes before heading for the bathroom, “I’ll be back and I better not see you do any work when I get back.”

She nodded but as soon as he left she ran to her backpack and grabbed her computer. She rushed to finish the last two paragraphs of her essay before he got back but luck was not on her side as she was halfway through her last paragraph and the doorknob turned. She had been so focused on writing that she didn’t care that he entered, “Just let me finish my last paragraph.”

He sighed, dropping his clothes into her laundry basket. He walked back to her bed and looked at her, “Last paragraph?”

“Mhm.” She nodded and scooted over so Luke could sit next to her, “Fine. I don’t want you to lose your train of thought.”

She beamed up at him and kissed his cheek before returning to her work.

✧༺✎༻∞

Ever since then, he had been careful with how much he left her alone in exam season. He always called on road trips, always went to the library with her to make sure she didn’t overwork herself, always made sure she was eating properly and always made sure that she was okay. But now being 603 miles it was hard to do that for her. 

Luke was packing a bag as fast as he could, looking at his laptop for the earliest flight out of there which wasn’t until early the next morning, leaving at 7 and not arriving until 9. Then he would have to wait to get a car and do a 30-minute drive to Ann Arbor. He groaned at the time and went to throw something, at that point he could drive there and be there before getting a plane but he was in no state to drive. 

He continued to try and call her for 30 minutes, on the brink of giving up at that point. Her phone was still dead and she had yet to realize it. She had music playing through her earbuds attached to her computer, typing about something that she considered stupid and unnecessary. She only took breaks to take a sip of coffee or to groan and throw her head back in exhaustion and frustration. 

Luke threw his phone on the bed, running his hands down his face, falling asleep not even five minutes later. Y/n was the same way, she closed her laptop as she finished her last sentence, finally allowing herself to take a break. She got up to go make a burrito in the kitchen, waving to her friends who were also still awake at the time. 

She went to turn her phone on and that was when she realized the lack of battery it had. She shrugged it off and put it down on her nightstand before walking back out to eat and finish watching the movie with her roommates.

✧༺✎༻∞

She didn’t go to bed until almost three in the morning despite finishing the movie four hours ago. Once they finished, she looked at the piles of paper and study guides she still had to do and sighed. Deciding that her first class wasn’t until noon, she could easily get done with one or two study guides or an essay in three. 

She curled up on her bed when she was done and wrapped the blankets around her tightly. When she woke up and went to look at her phone and saw a tweet from Amanda from an hour ago, “Luke is not at morning practice due to personal reasons. Should expect him back for Saturday’s game in Columbus.”

She immediately woke up at the fact, looking back at her other notifications. There must’ve been at least a dozen missed calls from Luke and 15 text messages. She could only think about the worst, if he had gotten hurt but just didn’t want to tell someone, if he had been so drunk that he couldn’t think straight, if he had a panic attack last night. Her thoughts raced but halted when there was a knock on the door.

She went out to the living room, still clad in her sweats from the previous night. Her friends must’ve either already left or were still sleeping. She walked to the door, peeking through the peephole and gasping. She all but ripped the door open, “Lukey?”

He smiled when he saw her, immediately feeling better. Her eyes were still the same from the first time he had experienced her like this and he knew there would probably be a coffee pot brewing in the next few minutes, but he was here now and that was a wave of relief, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering my calls and I know you were studying last night so you probably wouldn’t have answered them anyway. But when I saw you called during the game I got worried because you never call. And I just wanted to make sure you were okay and that you weren’t overworking yourself but i can tell that you are.”

She frowned at his words but also felt butterflies in her stomach at the thought of him flying out just because he wanted to ensure she was okay. She stepped aside to let him in and then led him to her bedroom. It was cleaner than what he had witnessed in the past years.

“You can’t just fly out every time you think I’m overworking myself, Luke.”

“I know but I wasn’t thinking. I was worried, really worried.” He held her hand, playing with her fingers as a form of comfort, “How long were you up to last night?”

She hesitated before responding, “3…”

He only sighed and tugged her closer to the bed so they could lay down, “Luke I have class in two hours.”

“I know but just for a little bit, and then I’ll take you to class.”

“You still know you’re way around campus?”

“Did I ever know my way around campus?”

She shook her head and laughed, “No.”

He smiled at her laugh, “You do realize I’m only going to be allowing you to rest while I’m here right?”

“But I have one more essay to finish.”

He glared at her, “Fine, but after that, you are going to be right here, in my arms, and not thinking about school at all.”

“Deal.”He kissed her before allowing her to get up and get ready for class. They both walked on campus to her class with the same thought, grateful that Luke had come to see her. Even with being 603 miles away from each other, they would do anything to be there for one another.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

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[sameschmidtdiffname]

Princess

Mike Schmidt x Female! Reader

Summary: You detest having a roommate. You enjoy cheap rent. One of these things is going to have to change at some point, and with the week you're having? There's only so long before people reach a breaking point.

Tags: Smut. Filthy smut. (This is the first smut I've published too, so enjoy that.) Enemies to lovers, mocking, Mike is so OoC at some parts you could really shove anyone into this role, I'm going to be so extremely for real. (I'm honestly just feral for the actor. Sorry.) Hate fucking, dirty talk, cursing, cucking(??), listening in, masturbating, dumbification, slight dacrophillia(??), Abby's out of the equation for this scenario. Imagine like, early 20s Mike, he's not caretaker yet. Praising, pet names (good girl, princess, whore, pretty girl), no use of Y/N. Dom! Mike, teasing Reader, Brat (??) Reader, phone sex, walking in on masturbation, walking in on sex, possessive! Mike, hickies/bite marks, finger sucking, hair pulling, slut shaming, probably missing some things imma be honest. Just assume this is depraved.

Notes: I'd like to apologize to God and Josh Hutcherson. This is filth and I recognize my eternal soul is indeed damned. Anyways, bone apple teet.

▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

I didn't mind Mike when I met him, you know.

He's quiet. Shy. Keeps to himself. Those traits should make for a good roommate. If he'd kept his mess confined to his room, maybe the music that he blares just a little too loudly wouldn't be so headache inducing.

My fingers rap on the thin door, demanding his attention which is never given to me unless I make a production out of it. We both know that.

"Michael," I say.

Silence.

"Mike."

Nothing.

I open the door and there he is, peacefully asleep on his bed as the bass shakes the water in his glass. I sigh and click off the stereo, then turn to leave. It's incredible how quickly I hear him shift on the bed, scrambling to stand.

"The fuck?" He croaks, wiping sleep from his eyes.

"Your music was blaring. I already heard it from Mrs. Jones upstairs about you waking her kid up, I'm not dealing with that again," I say raising my hands up in the air defensively.

"I don't sleep well," he says.

"Neither does the baby," I say.

Mike rolls his eyes, turning the music back on and turning his back to me.

"Michael-"

"Don't call me that," he interrupts.

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "Schmidt, can you at least turn it down? I'm asking nicely," I say. He stands there for a moment and though I can't see his face, I know he's thinking.

Finally, with a sigh he says "Fine, princess."

"Don't call me that," I say. I hear a small huff of laughter from him and he turns to look at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hit a nerve?" He asks with false sympathy.

"It's a simple request," I say. My eyes narrow at him in irritation.

"Which one?"

"Both."

We stand there for a moment, both of us sizing the other up, taking each other in.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

With the agreement having been made, I turn to leave, shutting the door behind me.

Year long lease. Joy.

-Tuesday-

"Hurry up!" Yells Mike, pounding on the bathroom door.

"I'm fucken hurrying!" I yell back, my hands working as fast as they can to wash off my body. Late alarm, fever dreams causing me to wake in a pool of stinking sweat, and one bathroom make for a horrendous cocktail of repeated 'fuck you's through the cheap door.

"I'm gonna be late!" Mike yells.

"So am I, I'm sorry!"

There's a moment of long silence and I think maybe Mike has finally found a spot of pity, realizing that maybe we aren't enemies but simply humans who unfortunately have to coexist in this world together. Then the water turns freezing, and I realize I hate him.

"Michael!" I practically scream. Traces of soap still reside on my body, but the cold and my alarm both force me out. Angered and not thinking clearly, I wrap the towel around my dripping waist and swing the door open.

"Are you fucking happy?" I sneer, face inches from his.

His expression is initially satisfied, but as his eyes flicker downwards he and I both realize my mistake. His eyes widen, lingering for a moment on my bare chest as he processed what he was seeing, then returning to meet my glare.

"What?" I ask sharply. "You've never seen a pair before?"

He stammers. "I-I have."

"Don't act like it," I say. "Take a fucken photo, be the only pair you'll probably ever see in your life, dicksmack."

As though he remembers himself, his eyes narrow. "Move, princess."

I slam past him, walking quickly towards my room and slamming the door behind me.

"Don't wake the baby!" Mike mocks down the hall.

Oh, motherfucker. It is on.

-Wednesday-

It's hard to break a lease. It's harder when nothing as cheap exists in the area. This is a problem for both Mike and I. I know it's true for him because apparently even his bills are too troublesome to keep on the floor of his room. But despite his mess, it's him that comes barreling down the hall, bursting into my room with no warning.

"Jesus, Michael!" I start, spinning around in my chair. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"

"Have you ever heard of washing a dish?" He sneers. "It's not hard. My baby sister could do it."

"Oh, is she available? I'd love to see how she'd handle your laundry situation," I retort.

"Why is it impossible for you to actually wash something? You'll put water in it, let it soak. I respect that, but then you never come back to it. Do you enjoy flies? I think you enjoy flies," he says with hate dripping off of his words. I roll my eyes, but he's not entirely wrong either.

"Fine," I mutter. "I'll do the dishes. Sorry."

"See? Look at how hard that was, princess." He begins to turn away.

"Will you quit fucking calling me that?" I snap.

"I'm following our bargin. You're the one who slips first, princess," he says while laughing, raising his hands in defense.

A long moment passes, neither of us willing to back down.

"Do the dishes yourself," I say finally, turning back to the computer.

"Not my mess," he says.

"Too bad. I'm too delicate," I say with a faux breathiness to my voice. The door slams behind him, which has me instantly rising from my chair to race after him.

"Don't slam my door!" I say.

"You did it the other day!" He says, spinning around to face me and almost slipping on one of his shirts littering the hall. I can't help but smile at that.

"Problems?" I ask.

"Yeah, they exist in whatever demon spawned you," he hisses. His eyes catch on something though, narrowing as he leans slightly closer. "The fuck is on your neck?" He asks.

"The fuck you mean 'the fuck is on my neck?'" I ask.

"I mean you've got something on your neck," he says.

"No I don't," I say. "Move." I shove past him to enter the bathroom beside us, flicking on the light and feeling my irritation rise as he reaches to do the same thing simultaneously.

"See?" He says, pointing at a small, dark mark on my neck.

Fuck.

"I don't fucken know what that is," I lie, covering it with my hand.

"You liar, that's a hickey!" He says still pointing at it.

"Is not!"

"Is too. What, are you fucking some high-schooler?" He scoffs.

"Adults leave hickies too, Mike. It can be enjoyable. You'd know this if someone ever wanted to fuck you," I spit back.

"Who on earth would enjoy having sex with you?" He asks. "The only loads you leave attract flies I don't want to have to deal with come summer."

My jaw drops in shock.

"And the only loads you leave smell like menthols and depression!" I retort.

Staring. Always staring with this guy. Jaws clentched, eyes narrowed.

"Just don't bring this guy around here," he finally says. His voice is quieter but the edge is still there.

I blink. "What?"

"You heard me," he says. "I don't need to hear your shrill voice like that."

Am I imagining things or is he blushing? No, I'm definitely imagining things. It's the florescents.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I taunt. The fuck kind of response was that?

His eyes widen slightly. "No," he says a little too quickly.

"What, you get one look at my tits and now you're thinking about that degenerate shit?" I press, stepping closer.

"I don't- this-" He's blundering. I've got him now, I've found his weak spot.

Without a word, I slip out of the bathroom and return to my room, shutting the door and beginning a plan that will guarantee I won't have to worry about being the roommate that breaks lease and looks for a new apartment.

-Thursday-

"Are you close, baby?" The sweet voice on the phone asks me. The battery on my toy is flashing, showing one of us needs to finish soon. And while I like Nick, there was just something lacking in him that kept me on this irritating edge, hiding my release from me.

"I'm close," I confirm, switching hands to try and hit a new angle. The video on the computer is doing nothing to help with this at all, and I'm so bored I'm tempted to just fake it and seal the deal.

The plan was simple. Establish dominance over my roommate via fucking a guy I'd met at some party the week before. Nick was an easy target, too busy thinking with his dick to question why I was suddenly insistent on him coming over. And to guarantee his presence at the apartment, I would have to put in work. Not that I wasn't fully uninterested. He was alright, I was single. Beneficial for everyone involved.

The vibrator finally found that sweet spot, the one that made me cry out softly into the receiver as my wrist pumped with newfound vigor.

"Close," I told Nick. "Isn't as good as you though."

Nick chuckles softly. "You're sweet," he says. Then he's prattling sweet praises, whimpering into the phone breathily along with me as I finally begin to tip over the edge, moaning loudly and clearly. It's my luck that Mike should be at work at this moment.

Should be.

Wasn't.

The door opens as Mike walks in, his mind obviously focused on something else but immediately taken aback at the sight of me sprawled upon the bed, legs open, toy in hand, Nick on phone, porn on computer. Shit.

"Jesus!" Mike shouts. "It's the middle of the day!"

"Get the fuck out!" I shout back, my voice less vicious than I'd like given that I was mid-ruined orgasm. Mike covers his eyes, trying to stumble out of the door without looking, muttering a dozen apologies a second before finally reaching and slamming the door shut behind him.

Nick and I are both silent for a long while, neither of us sure what to say.

"So... I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask finally.

"...yeah." He says. And with the click of my phone, the plan is solidified.

-

I don't see Mike that evening until about three hours later when he finally emerges from his room with pink cheeks and clothed in a large hoodie he seems to wish would swallow him whole.

"Hey," I say to him. I chew on my cheap food slowly, flipping through my novel at the cluttered table.

"Hi," he says quietly, not really making eye contact with me. He crosses to the cabinets, taking out a glass and filling it with water. We listen to the tap for a moment before I finally say "I didn't mean for you to see that."

His eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "I got that."

More silence. The tap shuts off and he leans against the sink, taking a long sip.

"So... hickey guy?" He finally asks. And I can't help the snort that escapes me.

"Nick," I say.

"And he's...?" Mike is testing the waters, that much is obvious.

"Canadian," I say.

Mike nods. Sip. Silence.

"Nick, from Canada," he says slowly.

"Yep," I say, popping the 'p.'

Mike looks at his drink in thought.

"So you're into Canadians," he finally says. I think for a moment.

"No," I say. I mark my book and close it. "Just bored."

"Just bored?" Mike asks.

"Just bored," I confirm.

Sip. Silence. Thinking.

"You... do that regularly?" He asks.

"I mean... I like sex," I say.

His cheeks redden at that, and he takes another sip as though to hide that.

"He's coming over tomorrow," I say casually. Mike's eyes dart to mine, dark and wide.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Another sip. He finishes his glass.

"Should I find plans for tomorrow?" He asks finally.

"No," I say a bit too quickly. Both of our cheeks redden at that. "I mean, we won't... shouldn't...." I don't know what I mean.

Mike stares at me thoughtfully for a moment then looks back to the glass in his hand.

"You're pretty loud, princess," he finally says quietly.

There's a new tension in the air. One that isn't brought on by hate or dirty dishes. One that I don't mind strangely.

"You could join us, if you'd like," I offer. Mike's grip on the glass tightens so suddenly I'm almost surprised it doesn't burst.

"I- I'm pretty sure I'd get in the way," he stammers. Then his eyes darken, a strange look in them. "Besides, I don't like being a whore."

This comment stings. Deeply.

"I'm not a whore," I say defensively.

"Oh?" Mike asks.

"He's the only guy I've fucked in months, so yeah," I say.

"Oh, is that why I hear you moaning late at night all the fucking time?" Mike says. "Seriously, you're fucking loud."

"And you're a fucking virgin," I snap.

"Says who?" He asks.

"Forget it," I say. I gather my things and rise from my chair. "Don't fucking talk to me."

"Fine," he scoffs. "I'll wash this dish too, princess," he calls after me.

I spin around. "You would be so much more fuckable if you were easy to swallow," I snapped, stomping my foot like a child.

Both of us stare at each other in a bit of shock at what I just said.

"Most girls swallow just fine, thank you," he retorts.

"Who's the whore now?" I say. I don't wait for him to respond, slamming the door shut behind me.

Fine. Let him hate me. That's the whole point of this anyways. Then it'll be me and someone else in this terrible fucking apartment. Maybe it'll be Nick. Anyone would be better, I tell myself.

...

...how easy is Mike to swallow?

-Friday-

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't struggling to remember the correct name right now.

Nick is underneath me, pumping his cock in and out like no tomorrow as I grind against him. My jaw is slack, my hands buried in the blankets fabric underneath of us. I'm staring at the thin door though, the thin door that I know leaks every little noise whether there's a towel under the enormous crack or not. And the shadows of footsteps that I see make it all the easier for Nick to continue his shallow rhythm, edging me closer and closer.

"Mi-Nick," I moan loudly. It sounds endearing, thankfully. But my heart races at how close I've come to fucking things up in a few different ways. "Fuck, you're thick," I moan. It's not particularly true, but his size is fine, so what's an ego boost to help him along the way?

Nick is sweet underneath of me, moaning that I'm his, that we're each others. That's great and all, but God. There is this missing edge. And it isn't until I hear pounding on the bedroom door that I finally feel real excitement begin to flow through me.

"We need to talk," Mike's voice says firmly.

Nick looks guilty, his eyes wide and asking for silent guidance. I don't respond, simply continuing to slide up and down Nick's cock and moaning while doing so.

"Hey, princess," Mike says firmer, pounding on the door again. "Think you can stop Oh-ing Canada and come talk to me like a fucking adult?"

I don't stop, grinding harder against Nick's base. My hands find my clit, rubbing it as I respond.

"I told you you were welcome to join us," I moan. Nick looks at me like I've gone utterly insane, and maybe I have. Maybe I'm completely delusional about all of this, but I couldn't care less as I feel my dripping cunt tighten to the point even Nick doesn't care what happens so long as he comes inside of me.

"Mi-Nick," I moan. "Mi-ne, mi-ne." Come on, Schmidt. Catch the fucking hint.

All night I had been plauged with dreams about Michael fucking Schmidt. I'd noticed when we met he was attractive to me. I liked his hands, his stubble. God, his shoulders made me think things that will probably send me straight to Hell. But hate usually kept these thoughts at bay. Last night however, the dreams wouldn't stop coming. Over and over, a new fantasy of him emerged in my head. Him underneath of me as a writing mess, him begging for more, my tits in his mouth as he finished inside me. It was depraved. I wanted it.

The door bursts open just as Nick is finishing inside of me. It's the look in Mike's eyes that causes me to finish, all while keeping eye contact with him as well.

Nick is quick to flip me on my back, covering my body haphazardly with a blanket prattling excuse after excuse. Apparently we're sorry. Apparently we had gotten too wrapped up in the moment because apparently, you know how it is, right man?

But it doesn't matter. Mike isn't looking at Nick, who's pulling on his shirt above me. Mike's looking at me, watching my fingers that trail gently along my areolas, flicking lightly at my hardened nipples and clearly longing for more.

"Mike wouldn't know the first thing about pleasing a woman," I say with little thought.

"Oh?" Both of them ask me.

"I think you should leave, Nick. Mike and I are going to have a little talk, and I don't want you to see how ugly this may get," I say without breaking eye contact with Mike.

The sudden shift in the air is not subtle, so maybe that's why Nick doesn't really hesitate to listen to me.

"I'll call you later," he says as he stumbles past Mike.

"Don't bother," Mike calls after him. Mike slams the bedroom door shut, locking it before turning to me and raising an eyebrow.

"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" Mike asks, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms as his stands tall.

My hand dips to between my thighs where Nick and I's cum pools out, coating me in the thick stuff.

"Sorry," I say in a spoiled tone, smiling.

Mike's eyes scan my entire body. From the hickies coating my neck, to my breasts and even my thighs, I can see a new wave of anger washes over him. At least, it looks like anger. There's something else mixed with it too, something I desperately want to play with.

"You're not sorry for shit," he says. He's correct.

"I told you last night, I like fucking people," I say as my fingers circle my clit.

Mike's jaw tightens. "You like fucking people," he repeats.

I can see him grind his teeth. He's silent for another moment. "And do you like... him?"

I giggle. "You tell me," I say with a soft and low voice.

His eyebrows twitch. "You're still... going?" He asks with an unsure edge to his voice.

"Yes, Michael. This is what a woman looks like when she's turned on," I say in a mocking tone, batting my lashes as my fingers dip into my entrance. "Would you like to try?"

He steps closer, bending down ever so slightly to stand over me.

"Don't call me that," he says in a low growl.

"Make me," I taunt.

He blinks.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

A startled yelp escapes me as Mike grabs my hips, dragging me roughly to the edge of the bed. He spreads my legs, stepping between them and slips his rough thumb inside of me with no hesitation.

"Fuck. You do like him," he groans, his other hand fiddling with his belt. I can see how hard he is underneath his jeans, his fingers clumsy but working quickly at the items covering him.

"He's oka-ay," I say quickly, my voice trailing off into a soft moan. His thumb explores the inside of my cunt, probing the wet muscle and massaging inside of me spots a man had never taken time to look for before. "Your finger's thick," I moan.

Mike chuckles, freeing himself and pumping into his hand slowly as he presses his thumb deeper inside of me.

"You told Nick he was thick too," he says. "That just your line with guys?"

It is, but this time I actually mean it. So I shake my head. "No," I say quietly.

"I don't believe you," Mike says. He slips his thumb out of me, making me clench around nothing. I open my mouth to protest only for Mike to quickly shove his thumb into my mouth, touching the back of my throat while he sinks his cock into me.

"Go on, pretty girl," he moans. "Take it like the proud whore you are."

I gag around his thumb, both from the sudden intrusion and from the taste. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't like this, if I said that his actions didn't make me even more wet and that I didn't suck his thumb greedily, wrapping my tongue around it and sucking it clean until I can only taste his rough flesh. I swear it makes his dick twitch.

His cock slides in and out of me with ease, taking his time to feel how I wrap around him.

"Fuck," he drawls. "It's been awhile."

I moan around his thumb, running my tongue along the underside and trying to rock my hips against him to tell him to speed up. Instead, he presses a hand down on my lower stomach, pinning me down as he sinks in fully. At first glance his size is average, but inside of me it's overstimulating how he fills me just a little too much.

His thumb presses further into my throat, making me gag as he tilts his head back in pleasure.

"You are just demanding. Do you know that?" He asks. I try to respond, but he simply presses his thumb against a spot that makes me gag once more.

"Nothing's good enough for you. Not even Nick. You didn't even cum until I came in here," he laughed cruelly, looking down at where we connect. His other thumb trails down to rub my clit slowly, making me writhe underneath him and clench around his still cock.

"Never shutting up. Till now. I like it when you're quiet, princess. Makes you easier to swallow." He presses deeper inside of me, making me whine in overstimulation.

"You're mine now," he says, slowly pulling out. "You can call Nick all you want. Call him, fuck him. But we both know he's not gonna make you cum like I will." Just his tip remains in me, barely staying in before he slams back into me so hard I scream.

"So what's the point?" Mike asks, slowly slipping out once more. "Do you like pitting men against each other like that?" He slams back into me. My eyes water, but I don't protest.

This time when he pulls back, he stays there. I wait for him, trying to he patient. But then he removes his thumb and wraps his hand around his length instead.

"What?" I ask, my voice raw.

"Say it," Mike says as he jerks himself off slowly.

"Say what?" I ask.

"I'm not gonna fuck you like you want unless you say you're mine," he says casually. His tip is bright red and leaking precum, his length coated in Nick and I's milky cum.

"Fuck you," I say. Mike just laughs.

"You're the one laying here crying over some dick," he taunts. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page here, princess."

I try to hold strong, I really do. It'd be more fun if I did. But fuck. The way he stands over me, his shoulders broad. I could never deny I liked the sight of his hands either, and seeing them tug as his pulsing cock while he stared down at me with that stupid fucking smile?

It's not fair.

"I'm yours," I say quietly.

"Hmm?" Mike asks, pumping his dick quicker now. I can see how hard his veins are, and the sounds of him fucking his own hand make me want him more.

"Yours," I repeat slightly louder.

"Use proper English," he says. His face has this stupid blissful look on it, his mouth slightly open as he pants, fucking himself and watching me as he does.

"I am yours," I hiss through gritted teeth. It doesn't even take a full second before he's buried in me once more, his hands pinning my knees to my shoulders and fucking me with enough speed I'm genuinely scared he'll hurt me. And I love it.

"I'm going to make you mine," he grins, his voice suddenly turning feral.

"I'm going to make you mine so much that you won't even be able to remember what Nick's name is, let alone what he looks like. Or what he feels like."

"Uh huh," I whine. My voice is so unusually high and ragged, my mouth slack and eyes rolling back in pleasure. I rock against his hips, trying to find my second edge. I'm babbling, whether I'm asking for mercy or more is anyone's guess.

He laughs at me, and it's a harsh and cruel laugh - not at all like the usual sarcasm and mockery he displays. Instead, his laugh comes from a place that is raw and angry and vicious, the kind of laugh a wolf makes when he's about to go for the kill.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mocking. "Not quite the big, bad man that he's made you think he was, is he? How disappointing," he continues, his hips thrusting into me repeatedly.

I cry loudly with each new thrust. His movements are cruel, borderline abusive. Christ, I love it.

"Bigger," I whine. "Bigger."

He teeth nip at my throat, sinking in hard enough I'll be wearing sweaters and scarves for weeks. Makeup won't touch the color.

"Bigger?" He asks in a mocking voice. "What's bigger?"

"You're bigger," I moan. My voice is broken, and there's no way the neighbors don't hear the degeneracy occurring around them. Sorry, Mrs. Jones.

"What are you going for?" he snaps, his eyes narrowing and his voice growing more and more vicious. "Big bad Mike?" he giggles, his grip tightening on my ankles as he continues plunging into me.

A loud scream escapes me as Mike finds my g spot. He doesn't relent, focusing on the spot and abusing it while I sob and try to wiggle away, completely overstimulated from pleasure and unable to handle it.

His hands pin me against him, trapping me where I am and forcing me to take him however he wants me to.

"You want more?" he asks, taking one hand away from my ankles, grabbing and pulling my hair harshly, forcing me to stare into his eyes. His pupils are so blown out I can't even see his pretty hazel irises. They're dark and predatory, his breath hot and heavy with rage.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, pulling back and plunging into my aching cunt again.

"Yes!" It's a violent scream that escapes me, feeling myself begin to tip over the edge. His eyes sparkle, his lips in a smile that shows he knows he's won.

"And what would Nick say if he could see you like this? All mine, all mine..." he taunts.

"Huh?" I'm completely stupid, my body coming undone so suddenly around his dick with cries, screams, whimpers and everything inbetween. Nick was foreplay and I've no mental energy to remember any detail that isn't Mike's.

"Don't even know his name?" Mike laughs. "You can't even remember his name, can you?" he grins, his eyes narrow again as he tugs my hair and shoves himself in further.

"Uh uh," I pant in a high voice. My body shakes terribly, his pounding length already edging me once more as he continues abusing my spot. How on earth am I supposed to walk after this?

"Then let me help you remember his name," he says. "Say his name."

"Mike," I moan pathetically. I'm right back on that edge, crying and feeling as though I'll burst from overstimulation.

"Louder," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mocking. "Say it louder. Say his name loud enough for him to hear you."

"Mike!" I scream it religiously as I come undone a second time, gripping him to the point I can feel how close he is too. I hear him laugh above me, his other hand now wrapping around my throat and choking me slightly.

"That's my name," he says with mocking gentleness. "Say his name or I won't finish."

"I don't remember," I sob. Jesus Christ, do I have problems? "Just want you!"

His face glows, his lips split into a wide grin of satisfaction.

"So you want me, do you, princess?"

I nod pathetically. He's throbbing, slamming into me hard enough it may draw a third climax in a row.

His laugh is cruel above me, his lips landing on top of mine in a wet, possessive kiss. His tongue fills my mouth, forcing me to take him as the sounds of him fucking me like a depraved animal makes me whine in desperation.

He pulls away, a long string of spit between us connecting our lips.

"Then I'll give you what you want, princess," he says. "But there's a price."

"Uh huh," I agree. My eyes roll back as my body twitches, barely able to focus as he thrusts into me.

"Look at me," he says patiently, tugging my hair once more. When I manage to remember how, he let's out a long 'aw,' smiling down at me with false sweetness as I stare dumbly into his eyes. I suppose I'm staring into his eyes. God, I'm stupid.

His thumb grazes my jaw, tutting as he examines my face closely.

"Your eyes are pretty...*" he says, his voice sweet and tender, almost like I've made him soft and vulnerable, but his cock pounding into me causes the beginning of a headache that won't let me forget how much we hate each other. "Your eyes are pretty, your mouth is pretty..."

I lick my lips and nod lightly.

"You are just such a pretty girl, aren't you?" He asks. I nod, my body twitching uselessly as my third climax washes over me.

"Good girl," he praises. "All fucked out over me. That's good."

Suddenly and without warning, he pulls out quickly and shoves my face down close to his cock, coming all over my face. It's thick and everywhere. In my hair, my mouth. I can't even open my eyes.

"Stay like that," Mike commands as he lays me on my back. His softening cock reenters me and pumps lazily, his purpose to make sure he's fully emptied.

"Any new thoughts?" He asks me in a strange tone, light and amused. I simply moan, relishing the moment. He chuckles and spreads my legs so he can better see what is happening between us. It isn't until I hear the chime of his camera confirming a recording that I realize what he's done.

"Mike?" I ask, barely able to think straight.

A low laugh escapes him, cruel but warm.

"I want to show your new boyfriend the real you," he says. "Make sure we're all on the same page here, right?

...Fuck me, I have problems.

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

Thanks for reading, pookies. See y'all in hell.

Masterlist

[roosterbruiser]

For the requests: Hangman's girlfriend (also a pilot) overworking herself and passing out and he just takes care of her? There's not enough soft hangman out there

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

When you come to, you're laying on something hard. A groan falls from your chapped lips as you throw your arm over your face to shield yourself from any onlookers.

Before you even open your eyes, just between that strange blackness and the blinding sun seeping in from the windows, you remember what happened. You achingly, embarrassingly remember what happened.

You fainted. You fucking fainted like one of those ditzy girls in the movies from the 40s. You, a Lieutenant Commander and Top Gun graduate and permanent member of the Dagger Squad, fainted in front of everyone.

It's enough to make your cheeks red.

You've been a bit overworked as of late.

You're the maid of honor at your best friend's wedding and it is rapidly approaching, practically licking at your heels at this point. You're also teaching a new course at the academy that has proven to be rigorous--especially when you're in a room with 20 beta versions of Jake Seresin, who you already get enough of between base and your shared home. Additionally, Jake has been talking about the two of you moving out of your house and into something with more space. You know that he isn't just talking about space for your stuff, either. And although the prospect of sharing a life with Jake is downright butterfly-inducing, you've just got a lot on your plate.

You're spread thin. Entirely too, too thin.

You'd simply been strolling along the tarmac after a successful training simulation, listening to Bob talk about the most recent Ted Chiang book he'd just finished. You were hungry, having not had lunch yet, and you were probably a touch dehydrated, too. You'd accidentally left your water bottle at home that day and didn't care to buy any plastic bottles from the vending machine. And you hadn't slept very well on account of planning a road trip to Las Vegas for the bachelorette party after the bride had a change of heart. You'd also just pulled a solid 8-G's in your craft. No big deal, you could handle it all. You always did--Hell, it was your duty to handle it all.

Until you couldn't. It wasn't even a slow decent into it--one minute you were listening to Bob's sweet voice underneath the San Diego sun and now you're blinking up at the ceiling in the infirmary.

"Fuck me," you grumble, shaking your head.

"Not in front of Nurse Bledso, angel," you boyfriend murmurs. You know without even glancing in his direction that he's grinning at Nurse Bledso. "How you feelin'?"

You realize, suddenly, that your head isn't lying on a pillow. It's lying on his lap--that hardness beneath your head is the powerful muscle of his thigh.

You're still getting your bearings as you blink at the tiles on the ceiling and the crisp white walls and the bright lights. You feel moderately okay besides the headache pounding behind your eyes and a tender spot across the knuckles on your left hand.

But then you see Jake. He's looking down at you already, calloused fingers carefully raking through your hair. His face is very soft, eyes swimming with concern and brows knit just slightly.

"Like I fainted," you mumble, frowning.

He looks up at Nurse Bledso, who's watching the two of you from her desk, shaking her head softly.

"She's still got her wits about her, nurse," Jake says, mockingly wiping sweat from his brow. "Thank God!"

You just shake your head softly, biting your lip when he smiles down at you again.

"Did everyone see it?" You ask.

Embarrassment is what you feel most predominantly. Sure, there are still knots in your shoulders and there's still a stone sinking in your belly and you have a sheen of cold sweat over your pasty skin, but what's really bothering you is the thought of collapsing on the tarmac in front of all your fellow Navy-members.

"No," Jake says quickly, seriously. He understand you--he knows you better than anyone in the world, probably--and knows that he shouldn't chide you about this. "Promise, angel."

You sigh in relief, swallowing hard.

"Feel like my head should hurt more than it does," you say, reaching up to check for tender spots. There are none--at least not on your scalp or face. You'd assumed you were going to wake up with stitches in your face or on a little patched of shaved hair on your head. "Did it bounce off the tarmac?"

Jake's cheeks grow a bit pink as he shakes his head, continuing his soothing motion of combing your hair. He must've taken it out of your bun for you and worked all the gel out of it knowing that a tight hairdo would do very little to help your headache.

"I caught you," he says, shrugging gently.

He's a little bit embarrassed about it. It surprises you, because if your boyfriend has been anything in the years you've been together, he's been cocksure and corny. Always very sure of himself and in control, Jake loved to be chivalrous and do things like pull your chair our or open your car door--and he did it all with a mega-watt grin. But right here in the infirmary, holding your heavy head on his lap, combing your hair carefully--he feels that it's a vulnerable thing to admit to you.

Jake had been watching you from the moment your jet landed. He was always watching you--it was just something that happened naturally. He'd always listen to the comms when you were in the air, he wandered out to the tarmac when he know you'd be landing soon, and he was always angling his face towards the sky when you were soaring inside it. It wasn't an accident that he was servicing his plane as you were due to head back on base.

He knew something was wrong as you walked past him without even glancing in his direction. It was like you had tunnel vision (which you legitimately did). He wasn't a fan of the paleness of your face in comparison to the flush in your cheeks or the little stumble in your step. Already he was walking towards you, meaning to innocently ask you if you were doing okay, when you dropped like a goddamn sack of potatoes.

He didn't even realize what he was doing, his body just responding all on its own, until his knees were scraping against the concrete and he was cradling your limp form in his arms. Bob turned around just in time to see it, gaping at you and Jake.

"Jesus, Jake! Is she okay?" Bob asked worriedly, dropping his helmet on the tarmac.

Jake looked down at your parted lips and slacked brows, assessing you for any external damage. He was worried he had been just a fraction too late--that maybe your head had scraped the concrete or your face had collided too hard against his elbow. But you looked fine--well as fine as you could when you were unconscious.

He carried you to the infirmary, both his knees throbbing. He knew as soon as he felt a sticky warmth on his calves that his knees were scraped through his flightsuit. But it didn't matter to him--not when you were so entirely limp in his arms. He hated to see you so helpless.

"You caught me?" You ask quietly, knitting your brows.

He playfully pinches your nose, still being very gentle with you as he mockingly rolls his eyes.

"Is that so hard to believe, angel?"

You're at a loss for words. An overwhelming feeling is washing over you, one that is choking you up and inducing tears on your waterline and making a puddle of something sticky-sweet settle in your belly.

"No," you whisper, voice cracking. "That's not hard to believe."

If you two were alone, Jake would have no issue leaning down to kiss you. Hell, he wouldn't even mind kissing you in front of Nurse Bledso. But he knows that you care about professionalism--being a woman in the Navy, you worked hard to get the respect you should've just been given--so he refrains. But he knows--and let's face it, you know just as well--that you're in for a proper spoiling tonight. Sure, Jake would chastise you for your late lunch and for not simply sharing his water bottle, but more than anything--he was just going to thoroughly take good care of you tonight. Maybe he'd even make you take the day off tomorrow. He was heavily considering taking over your duties as maid of honor temporarily just to take the pressure off your shoulders--well, that and he knew he'd look good in that olive green dress.

"How's the knee, Lieutenant?" Nurse Bledso suddenly pipes up, glasses perched low on her nose.

Jake cringes, nose wrinkling. Thanks for that, Nurse.

You try to sit up slightly, furrowing your brows as Jake sheepishly sighs and presses you until you're lying back again.

"They're fine," he tells Nurse Bledso before looking back down at you with his eyes wide and calm. "They're fine, angel."

But it hurts you to think about Jake getting hurt. And God, you're laying on his legs right now--you're worried you're going to wound him so you start to sit up again before he carefully puts his palm in the middle of your chest and guides you back against his lap.

"But Jake," you try, but he shakes his head softly.

"M'right as rain, angel. Worried about that hand of yours, though."

As if on cue, the knuckles of your left hand are suddenly throbbing. You hesitantly bring your hand to your vision, expecting some sort of nasty gash, but it is bandaged in a pristine white wrap.

Jake carefully takes your wounded hand in his, inspecting it as if he's the one who bandaged it.

"Sorry I didn't get there in time," he mutters to you, looking down at you again.

He's truly sorrowful--your poor, sweet hand got injured. If he had just leapt forward a moment earlier then he could've collected all your limbs and saved you from any hurt at all. It makes his throat ache when he thinks about the scars that will mark your knuckles now.

But you are swooning on his lap.

"Baby, if you hadn't been there, my brain would've been mush," you reason, wrapping your fingers around his.

He sighs. He supposes you're right. Things could've gone a lot worse if he hadn't been there precisely when he had been. He loves Bob and he knows Bob loves you, but Bob was none-the-wiser as he moseyed on beside you. When it came to your safety, there was only one person in the world he trusted and it was himself.

"Don't have much faith in old Baby On Board, do you, angel?"

That has you grinning, laughter tumbling out of your dry mouth despite the throbbing in your temples.

Oh--Jake didn't know his shoulders were practically up by his ears until they relax at the sound of your laugh. You're okay. You're really okay. He knew you weren't seriously injured or sick--logically, he knew that. But carrying your limp form across base and having to let the nurse take over had proven to be more difficult than he cared to admit. He loved you more than anyone--anything, really--in the universe. The thought of something as simple as dehydration and stress hurting you the point of serious harm was making his head hurt.

"You sure your knees are okay, baby?" You ask this softly, concern written all over your features as your laughter dies off and your smile fades. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

He shakes his head at once, his heart sitting in his throat. Here you are in the infirmary and you're asking how he is. It's laughable, really--but it's so you. And he loves you so much.

"Gonna take a lot more to take me down than some silly old scabs, angel," he sighs, carefully kissing each of your wounded knuckles over the thin cotton wrap. "Hell, I'd break both my knees to catch you."

You want to roll your eyes--but you can't. You know he's telling the truth. He'd do anything in the world to hold you safely in his arms.

He's surprised when you lean up to kiss him. It isn't a steamy kiss, isn't one that would lead to anything more. It's a chaste and sweet thing, your hand resting on his cheek, your lips dry. But it makes him giddy anyway.

"Gonna make me start calling you a hero now?" You tease, affectionately swiping your thumb across his cheek.

He grins, chuckling.

"Now? You weren't calling me one before?"

There's that laugh of yours again--it's enough to make Jake release a breath that's been sitting in the middle of his chest since the two of you came into the infirmary.

"Someone's gotta deflate that ego," you tease, resting your cheek against his thigh.

He's still combing his fingers through your hair. And as he's gazing down at you, all the upset of the day fades. You're okay. You're here in his lap, teasing him, kissing him. He caught you. He caught you.

here is my tag list!!

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

[thegainingdesk]

Lies

You've been lying to yourself for years.

Just a little winter weight. And when will you be losing that? It's June now, and the chub still pushes stubbornly over your belt. What will happen next winter, and your next batch of winter weight? And the next winter, and the next one?

You've done so well, following your diet. You probably deserve that treat. A couple of pints won't hurt. Diets are all fads anyway, you've got a balanced diet, that's what really matters.

You don't have a gut, per se, it's just the angle when you look down at your own body, like how no-one's dick ever looks quite so large from above. But then why do you look the same in the mirror? What about that picture, the one from your holiday, with a soft pillow of fat starting to creep out over your shorts?

Clothes are just made so cheaply these days, no wonder the crotch of your trousers have been wearing out quite so often. Fast fashion and all that. But didn't you splash out on this pair, get some proper ones in good fabric? And that pair there, haven't you only had them a month or two?

It's not noticeable, you tell yourself. But you see the looks, hear the comments. "Hasn't he put on weight?" "And he used to be so handsome." "He needs to put down the bloody fork is what he needs."

Just a bad photo, that one. It's all to do with focal lengths, and the right type of lens, you've never really understood it, but you read an article about it a while ago. She's always been rubbish at taking photos anyway, hasn't she? But then, no one else seems quite so bloated, quite so corpulent, quite so wide. And looking through more photos, you can't seem to find any that show you at your best.

The beard makes you handsome, more distinguished, more mature, it's quite trendy now anyway. It's not to hide the double chin, pooling down beneath your jawline. Isn't to mask the cheeks that can't even be called chubby anymore, no these are jowls now, sagging on each side of the face. Not to create some illusion of a jawline where your face has gotten puffier and puffier, rounder and rounder, softer and softer.

Everyone gains a little weight as they get older, don't they? But what about him? 10 years your senior and still as trim as ever. No one else your age that you know has a paunch quite so large, sides quite so soft.

Everyone gets winded on these stairs, don't they? Flight after flight, stupid to put the office there really. No one else takes 5 minutes to get to the top though. No one else is panting when they finally reach the top, hands on their knees and sweat dripping off their forehead.

300 pounds isn't even that big these days. Basically just above average at this point. The obesity epidemic, lockdown weight. You know plenty of bigger people, like… ah. Well maybe - no, he lost a lot of weight didn't he. What about- no, he mentioned his weight the other day, a good 30 pounds lighter than you. But you're sure there must be someone, who maybe you just haven't seen in a while.

You could stop whenever you want, could lose it all easily enough. Go on then. Sign up for a gym membership. Delete Uber Eats off your phone. Have a salad for dinner. But you don't. You won't. The draw of it is too much. Another 20 pounds, another 50. The feeling of a full stomach, a body imprisoned in fat, the constant expansion. It's becoming undeniable now, and yet still, you lie to yourself.

You're not really interested in that website, you're not one of those people, the other users just appreciate a man of your figure, which, you have to admit, is getting rarer amongst the regular dating apps. So what if some of the men want to see you eat when you meet up with them, you'd be eating anyway. So what if they play with the soft, supple fat all over your body while they fuck you, it's nice to be appreciated. So what if you like the feel of their hands exploring your body, the creamy lard rippling like velvet under their fingers. So what if you're finding it more difficult to cum without your face buried in a cake, a gut already full to bursting with rich food.

[around1302]

XIX. GRIEF

SPARE PARTS: a series (19/20)

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

(W) strong language, implant-protected sex, a chapter that’s probably gonna have u all screaming at me lol…

THIRD PERSON’S POV

“Oh, fuck, yes. Right there.”

“There?”

“Yeah, shit. Don’t stop.”

“Hittin’ your spot, huh?” Harry lifts Charlie’s leg higher, pressing a kiss to her ankle, not giving up on his merciless strokes in her cunt. “Feel good, baby?”

“Feels so good,” Charlie cries, eyes squeezed shut as her fingers grip the sheets, the pillows, him, anything till they blanch.

The headboard bangs against the wall till paint is practically flaking away, the pillows they placed there in an attempt to be kind to their neighbour (Liam) long gone. A quick one, he promised, when he showed up at her door all hot and bothered and needy.

“Just your mouth,” he had said. “That’s all I need, please.”

Cut to the birds chirping outside and the sun slivering its way through the thick curtains and Charlie still writhing around his cock. Sweat shone on both of their tired bodies, round three showing in the bruises that already developed on her breasts and his hips and their necks.

But just they couldn’t stop. It’s like their bodies knew this was the last show of tour and soon they wouldn’t have the ability to just wander down the hallway or step across the small bunk space. Soon, they’d have to arrange time. They’d have to drive, or Uber, or walk.

Which, sure, is just a normal working relationship – but when you’ve been within armsreach of each other for six months, it feels like you were preparing to be miles away.

“Come on, Char, I know you can give me another,” Harry pounds into her, thumb swiping over her sensitive clit, “just one more, please, baby.” The sensitivity is so deliciously painful it’s nearly too much, but his words, that nickname, has her teetering over the edge.

She pulls him down just before coming for the nth time, wanting to feel him against her. Sticky chest against sticky chest, hands raking through his knotted hair, lips panting against one another. She wraps her legs around his hips, pushing him deeper and forcing him to hold his arms on either side of her, biceps aching in near agony at this point.

As she orgasms, pussy clenching around his throbbing dick, Harry comes too, moaning the loudest he has all night into her neck as his back muscles pulse with his hips. Sharp gasps fill the room as he collapses on top of her, unmoving while she softly scratches his spine, fingers running over the pre-existing red marks.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes in a way that has Charlie considering round four. “That was incredible, baby.”

Charlie grins, craning her neck to see his tired eyes through the hair she’s working to finger-comb.

“You’re a big fan of that one, huh?”

“Baby?”

“Mm.”

He presses a lazy kiss to her shoulder before pushing himself up and pulling out, both of them wincing but feeling a smidge of relief. Maybe five plus orgasms is a little too much for one night.

“You said you liked it.” Harry answers simply, chastely kissing her lips before heaving himself from the sweaty sheets. “Wait here.”

“Not going anywhere.” Charlie jokes, stretching on the sheets, the promise of sleep already settling her into a heavy pile of bleh.

The duvet was long gone, thrown onto the floor in the midst of it all, and there was only one pillow left on the bed. While Harry steps into the bathroom, Charlie starts to recollect the bed, struggling with the ones that fell behind the headboard but managing with weak limbs and an exhausted huff.

Returning with boxers on and a damp cloth in hand, Harry sits at the edge of the bed and bends Charlie’s knees to clean her. She just watches him, half as a distraction from the sting of the cloth against her sensitive groin, but mostly in awe. He concentrates so hard on being gentle, it’s hard to remember a time when she was running from his room before he could even come back to bed.

“I love you.”

The words just slip out, much like Harry’s confession those weeks ago. Harry pauses everything, taking a minute before looking up at Charlie. Her heart is going a mile a minute, not having meant to say the words, but her exterior is completely calm.

(Probably a little fucked out, but calm nonetheless.)

“You mean it?” He whispers. Charlie smiles, sitting up.

“I didn’t even think about saying it,” she carefully straddles his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Harry looks at her like she just gifted him the moon.

Charlie leans down, nudging the tip of her nose against his. His hands come to her hips, warm palms soothing sore muscles as he rubs them round to the small of her back.

“You love me?” He asks again, seemingly in utter disbelief.

“I love you.” She repeats. He grins.

“You what? Sorry, my hearing’s not great.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Still fucking insufferable.”

“If that’s the case I can just–” he goes to move her off him, but she grips his nape.

“I love you.” She blurts out, entirely too comfy to be shifted.

Harry grins even wider, cheeks aching already.

“You love me.” He says, more to himself than anything.

Charlie feels slightly completely terrified, but she nods.

She loves him.

“You did also just make me come like, a million times, which might have something to do with it.” She leans back, tilting her head, soft teasing smile on her lips.

“Mhm,” Harry pushes her messy hair back, “yeah, that does make more sense.”

Charlie sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, really about ready to start round four with the way Harry looks at her. “Are you going to kiss me or–”

Charlie doesn’t even have to finish that sentence before Harry’s lips are on hers, slow and firm, like he’s kissing her for both the first and last time. Like he’s savouring the taste of those words – those three, delicious words – from her tongue.

Charlie tries to grind on him, but instantly winces at the bolt of pain caused by the simple action. Harry chuckles against her mouth, pecking the corner of her lips.

“Did you just really try for another go around?”

Charlie shrugs, “I’m ambitious.”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully. “Later. Right now, we need to sleep.”

“Shit, right. We have a show today,” Charlie remembers.

And not just any show. Madison fucking Square Garden.

“What time is it?” Charlie asks, climbing off of his lap. Harry stands to grab her some pyjamas, checking the time on his phone as he does.

She’s going to flip, he thinks.

“We have a few hours.”

“Harry, what time is it?” She repeats, stepping into the cotton shorts and shirt he passes her. He then hesitantly shows her his phone, eliciting a gasp. A little dramatic, if you ask him.

“6AM? Harry, you came over at twelve! Okay, shit,” as Charlie enters panic mode, Harry crawls into bed, stealing one of her hair ties (unnoticeably). “I need to pee, and then we need to be at MSG for two, but Amelia wanted costume fittings at twelve, and then Paula wanted us to go over– Harry, are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Harry, who was not fucking kidding her, was on his side of the bed, eyes closed and moments away from blissful sleep. He grumbled what he considered to be a response, opening his arms out on the mattress.

“Harry.” She snaps again, not wanting to be alone in her panic. Mostly because it was his fault she’d have, like, an hour of recharge-time.

“Jus’ go pee,” Harry mumbles, sleep already dangerously close, “then come to bed. They can’t do it without us, anyway.” His sentence trails into nothingness, and as much as Charlie hates to admit it, her chest leaps a little at the way his swollen lips fall into a snore the moment silence falls onto the room.

“I like waking up next to you.”

Harry kisses sweetly beneath her ear, large hands roaming the warm skin beneath her shirt. Charlie hums something that was supposed to be agreement, reaching behind her to cup the back of his neck. The room is still dark, and for a moment, she had completely forgotten where they were. It was just Harry, and his lips marking her neck in lazy, chaste pecks.

“Shit!”

Like I said, momentarily.

“Shit, Harry, what time is it?”

Charlie shoots out of bed, stumbling on the hotel slippers by the bed in a scrambled effort to find her phone. He sits up, entirely too casual about the whole thing, yawning and stretching before even bothering to look at the time.

“Twelve.” He sinks back into the mattress, pulling the sheets to his neck.

The sheets which Charlie promptly strips away.

“Which means we’re late,” she brushes away Harry’s protests and effort to steal the sheets back for rushing to the bathroom to brush her teeth. “Amelia’s gonna kill us.” Charlie mumbles, messily tying her hair up before shoving entirely too much toothpaste into her mouth.

“Charlie, baby,” Harry slowly pads out of bed, stretching as he makes his way behind her in the ensuite, “I’ve been late to every single thing ever, and I’m fine,” he ignores the glare she shoots him in the mirror, bending down to kiss her jaw.

“Go back to your room,” Charlie muffles around her toothbrush, spitting the paste into the sink before continuing her scolding, “and clean up.”

“Okay, mum.” Harry tries to joke. Big mistake.

He holds his palms up, raising his brows.

“Not a morning person, I get it.” A small smirk etches its way onto his lips at the pure ferocity Charlie’s staring at him with. If looks could kill he’d be out cold, but unfortunuately for Charlie, it’s only turning him on. A little.

(A lot).

“Sorry,” he mumbles against her skin, kissing her neck. Charlie sighs, falling back into his torso, letting him glide his lips along her throat, even letting him turn her around and attach their mouths – toothbrush still in her hand.

But, no. Shit.

“Mkay,” Charlie shoves him away, keeping him at arms reach. This man is way too easy to sink into. “No. Go.”

“Can I at least pee first?” He grins, dipping his head to kiss her neck. Again.

“Yes.” Charlie musters all the strength in the world to slink out of the cage he’d made around her and the basin, even taking her toothbrush with her into the main room. Harry tries not to laugh at her, or call her adorable. “Be quick.” She nods, twirling around so she doesn’t have to look into the eyes of temptation again.

Harry chuckles as he closes the door, leaving Charlie to throw her toothbrush on the hotel desk and rummage for some sweats. She knew Amelia wouldn’t actually kill them, but Charlie hates being late, and she’s not going to start because of Mr. Tardy himself.

A loud shrill stops her in her tracks. Harry’s phone, buzzing like crazy on the bedside table. She goes to just turn it off so the ringing doesn’t cause a migraine (who has their ringer that loud?) but in seeing the caller ID, panic starts to bubble.

‘C Management.’

She doesn’t know what the C is for, but she sure as Hell knows what management means. Her heart starts to race – it’ll only be a matter of time before Paula tries calling, her, too and if there’s anything Charlie hates more than being late, it’s being reprimanded by management.

It’s only happened a handful of times (mostly from turning up to work still drunk because her friends are just that persuasive) but she’s hated the feeling every time, so – despite knowing it’s probably wrong – she picks up the phone.

“Paula, we’re so sorry. Harry’s just in the bathroom but we’ll be two–”

“Hello?”

That’s not Paula.

A deep voice comes from the other end, making Charlie pique. It’s not a voice she recognises, but then again, she doesn’t know every member of Spare Parts’ management. It could be anyone on their team.

“Sorry, I just assumed you were Paula. We really will be two minutes though.”

“Did I get the right number? Is this Harry Styles?”

Charlie pauses. Right. Because who did she think she was, just answering Harry’s phone like that? Even if it was a member of a team that works for both of them, it’s an invasion of his privacy.

“No, no this is Charlie. I just answered his phone.”

“Charlie…?”

Is this the dude’s first day on the job? “... Greene.”

“Right. Right, well can you let Mr. Styles know we rang?”

Charlie perches on the edge of the unmade bed, glancing at the caller ID again.

“Sorry, I’m just a little confused. Who’s calling?”

“I’m a representative for Rob Stringer at Columbia Records. Mr. Stringer would like to speak to Harry, so if you could just ask him to call back as soon as possible that would be greatly appreciated Miss. Greene.”

Before Charlie could ask anymore questions, the line cut dead.

Rob Stringer? Columbia Records?

None of this was making sense. The band was signed with a completely different label, Charlie had only ever heard of Rob Stringer through articles and conversations she’d had with other musicians in the industry. Why would he be calling Harry?

When Harry emerges from the bathroom, hair now loose and face looking a little brighter, his smile promptly drops at Charlie – sitting on the edge of the bed, the picture of confusion with his phone laying limp in her hands.

“Char?” He questions, snapping her out of her head.

She blinks a few times before standing, holding Harry’s phone up.

“Why is Rob Stringer trying to get a hold of you?”

Her own phone started to ring now, probably someone wondering where the Hell they were, but the tune went unnoticed. Harry’s vision went pale.

“What?” He murmurs.

“Someone from Columbia just rang,” Charlie throws his phone on the bed, “said Rob Stringer wants to talk to you. Seemed to have no idea who I am.”

Harry licks his lips, runs his hand through his hair. Charlie notices how shaky his wrist is. “Harry,” she softens, stepping forward, “what’s going on? You can talk to me.

“I…” Harry’s throat dried so quickly anything more than that was painful.

“You can talk to me,” Charlie repeats, reaching out to his elbow.

“Look, it’s not… I… fuck. I don’t even know how to say it.” Harry pulls away, starting to pace the room. Charlie has no idea what’s going on, but gauging Harry’s reaction is only making her more and more anxious.

“Harry–”

“I signed a contract.” He blurts out, wringing his hands together.

“You… you signed what?”

“It was months ago, Charlie, you have to understand it was a completely different time and I–”

“Harry, you signed a contact to do what?” Charlie can probably guess at this point, but she needs to hear it from him. She prays she’s jumping to conclusions, that it’s some weird prank, that she’s still dreaming.

Harry hesitates, finding her eyes.

And, barely above a whisper, he explains.

“I’m leaving the band, Charlie.”

Charlie gulps. Inhaling sharply as her palms fly to her hips. She turns, begins to pace as Harry did. He’s leaving the band? He’s leaving the band. He’s… he’s leaving?

“Baby–”

“No.” Charlie promptly cuts him off. She needs silence for a minute.

But silence isn’t getting her anywhere. It’s not answering any of the one million questions boomeranging around her head, it’s just making everything louder. Why would he leave the band? When did he sign the contact? Why would he lie?

“Can I explain, please?”

Harry’s a bundle of desperation, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts of panic.

Charlie contemplates it. She could either ignore him completely, or get answers.

Neither sounds fun, but she knows what’s right.

“Speak.” She spits, the hazy warmth of their morning together chilling.

“Months ago, before the album even came out, they approached me. I never even considered leaving, and at first I flat out refused, but then… I don’t know. I realised I wasn’t writing what I wanted to write because I had to run it past four other people first, and that whilst I love the band, I can’t stay in one place because of fucking friendship.”

“Friendship? Jesus, Harry, it’s more than that. We’re… we’ve all… we did this together. From the start. You can’t just leave.”

Denial.

“I know, but I didn’t know until they offered me a solo contract how much I’d want that. Complete creative freedom, performing where I want how I want, being able to control when I want to put music out. It’s all just…”

“Better?” Charlie finishes his sentence. Harry winces at her bitterness.

But she wasn’t wrong.

“Wait,” Charlie pinches her brows, “before the album came out?”

Harry swallows thickly, and nods.

“You…” Charlie breathes out in disbelief. “You had this lined up last year? You knew… you knew you were about to fuck us over and you’ve kept to yourself for a year?”

“I’m not fucking you over–”

“Of course you are! How are we supposed to do this without you?”

Anger.

“What are you talking about? You’re more than capable without me, I barely even contributed to this album–”

“They love you, Harry. I see them when we’re on stage. They watch you, they don’t give a shit about us. If you leave, you take them with you. You realise that, right?”

“That’s not true.”

Charlie paces again. “God, this whole time. This whole tour! What was the plan? To tour the world with us for half a year then just fuck off? Were you even planning on telling us?”

“Yes, Jesus, I just… things got complicated. It got harder and harder to say it.”

“You made things complicated. You– oh my God. You made me love you, Harry. Do you know how fucking sick and twisted that is? What did you think was going to happen? You were going to leave and we were going to just have a normal relationship?”

“I don’t know! I signed the contract while you still hated my fucking guts, Charlie. I didn’t think you’d give a shit.”

“Of course I’d give a shit! We need you, I need you.”

“You didn’t need me–”

“I’ve always needed you. And you just… God. You just don’t think!”

“I know! I know, and I’m sorry, and I can never stop being sorry but I couldn’t do this forever. I couldn’t sing songs I don’t like, I couldn’t put out music I didn’t even write, and I couldn’t sit back and watch you hate me. Leaving felt like my only option.”

“And now?”

Heaving breaths from the first screaming match they’ve had in months fills the space between them. Harry’s eyes are brimming with tears that refuse to fall, whilst Charlie fights against that lump in her throat. She can’t cry here, in front of him.

“I’m still leaving, Charlie.”

The lump wins.

“You could have told me.”

“I couldn’t have.” Harry whispers, tears betraying him, too.

“Why not? You’re supposed to love me, you’re not supposed to lie to me.”

“You would have left me, Charlie.”

Charlie sniffs, pressing the heel of her palm to her eyes. All Harry wants to do is step forward and wipe her tears, to hold her in his arms and make it all go away.

“Why are you leaving?” Charlie sobs.

“I told you–”

“I love you now. You don’t have to sit and watch me hate you anymore. A-and we can talk to Paula, get you more fuckin’ creative freedom. We can play different shows, y’know. Different venues.”

Bargaining.

“Charlie,” Harry steps forward, gingerly bringing his hands to her arms, “I can’t stay. I wish I could have gone about it differently, but I don’t regret signing that contract.”

The way Charlie looks at him like he just ripped out her heart is making him regret it, just a tiny bit.

“At all?”

Harry sniffs, and shakes his head.

“Fine.” Charlie looks down, stepping out of his touch. “Not a problem.”

Acceptance.

“Charlie?”

“I’d like you to get out of my room, please.”

“Charlie–”

“Get out of my room.”

“Charlie please–”

“I’m not repeating myself for a third fucking time,” Charlie sets her jaw.

Harry listens. And he leaves.

taglist: @lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles

[queenshelby]

The Fourth Season (Part Two)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap (20 Years), Smut, Religious Themes, Mention of Drugs, Mention of Death, Bullying

Words: 5,466

Notes: In this Fic, Cillian is 40 and the Reader is 20. Cillian is divorced and the Reader is single. This is not based on Cillian’s real life.

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

Day Three

It was 6 o’clock and you were out running alone, at one of the city's parks. It was the coldest night of the year so far and your breath was getting shallow as you looked at your smart watch. Only one more kilometre and you would be done, reaching your goal for the day.

You ran marathons ever since you were 16 years old, trying to raise money and awareness for something meaningful to you after losing your twin sister to drugs.

She was an addict at a young age and, eventually, overdosed on an illicit substance. It was horrible for you as you were the one who found her lifeless body in the shower-rooms at school and you knew that all of this was the result of something else.

She was upset and confused after having been bullied by two girls at school for an entirety of two years. They were awful to her and, unlike you, she was unable to cope with it.

It was the most difficult time of your life and all of this occurred shortly before you changed schools and met James who had now left you. But the fact that he had left you was probably for the better as you realised that, for your sister’s sake, you should live your life the way you wanted. There was no time for regrets. You had to move on and so you did.

You were in a good place now and, just as you ran back towards the apartment block, you reminded yourself of exactly that. What you did with your life now mattered and, with that in mind, you put out some healthy puffs of steam as you willed your legs to keep going.

You knew it was going to be five degrees out, so you had dressed for it in long tights with silvery reflective stripes that seemed to slide from your ankles all the way up the sides of your legs to your waist. You also wore a loose matching running jacket above a tight-fitting shirt clinging to your torso.

This was your first year trying to run outside all winter and Natasha told you that you were insane for doing it. But, apparently, you weren’t the only one crazy enough to go for a run that morning. There was someone else as well, reaching the apartment block just before you did.

Breathing heavily and with your heart pounding you completed the final few meters and, as you stumbled towards the building, you were greeted with a smile from your co-star, Cillian.

You smiled back and checked your time. It was not bad but not your best.

‘Had a good a run?’ he asked as he was looking for his key-card which gave access to the building and, just as you began to do the same, you realised that you had left yours back at the apartment.

‘Not too bad. How about you?’ you huffed in response while Cillian opened the door for you both but, before he could even respond to your question, you cursed.

‘Shit’ you said, seeing that you had no way of getting into your unit until 7 o’clock. Natasha was away until tomorrow and the janitor would not be starting work until then.  He was the only other person with a key.

‘What’s wrong?’ Cillian asked as he watched you panic slightly.

‘I left my key-card at the apartment. I can’t get in. Fuck’ you stammered with embarrassment while sweat was running down your face.

You felt hot and sweaty, probably looking disgusting right now and really needed a drink of cold water at least.

‘You can hang out at my place until the janitor comes in if you like’ Cillian offered before telling you that he had a few bottles of cold water in the fridge, as well as a coffee machine and some porridge.

‘Are you sure?’ you asked nervously while still catching you breath, in response of which he smiled.

‘I am sure. Common’ he chuckled and, with that, you followed him to the elevator.

***

As soon as you entered his unit, Cillian walked over to the fridge, opened it and handed you a bottle of water while taking one for himself.

‘Water tastes so much better after a run’ you said after taking the bottle from his hands and taking a large sip from it. ‘Thank you’ you then said and he smiled again.

‘You are very welcome’ Cillian said before asking you whether you were running every morning. He clearly wanted to make some sort small talk to break the eyes and you sure looked uncomfortable in his presence. For some reason, you were intimidated by him, but in the best possible way. He was much older than you but so incredibly attractive that, every time you took a glance into his deep blue eyes, your breath faltered. You shouldn’t be feeling this way for your co-star, especially not if he is twice your age. But there you were, completely smitten by his presence.

‘I am trying to, yes. How about you?’ you said nonetheless while watching him stand there, leaning against the kitchen bench, smiling at you. God that smile was beautiful and even his sweat glistened skin did something to you that it should not.

‘Yes. Same. But it depends on my schedule’ he admitted before asking you something else which was something that was going turn this conversation into much more than just small talk.

When you took off your jacket, Cillian noticed the print on your shirt which read ‘Sticks & Stones’ and, since he had two children himself, he knew what it meant.

‘You are running for a cause I see’ he observed, knowing about the trend on social media whereby many users blog about their achievements to raise money and awareness and, although you did not use social media, you indeed tried to promote the cause by organising marathons and working for the organisation on a volunteer basis.

‘I am’ you said shyly and, as if he was waiting for an explanation from you, Cillian stood there and cocked an eyebrow. He clearly wanted you to tell him more about it and so you did.

You told him everything. You told him about your sister who had passed away from an overdose and you told him why she was addicted to drugs. You also told him about the fact that, once per fortnight, you were working with teenagers in rehab in order to help the cause and this impressed him.

It was obvious to you that he was interested in what you had to say and, after you asked him how knew about ‘Sticks & Stones’, he told you that he too worked with some institutions in Ireland that focus on implementing empathy projects and anti-bullying workshops in schools.

After a while, Cillian also told you about his two children and you learned that he has a son who is eleven and a daughter who is nine. His son’s name was Max and his daughter’s name was Mia. He was divorced and shares care for them both with his ex-wife Janette.

‘How is it being away from them?’ you wondered and he admitted that it was difficult at times. He missed them terribly but, since his son has recently gotten his first mobile phone, he was able to skype with them both frequently.

‘Wow, a phone? Already?’ you asked with surprise and Cillian rolled his eyes.

‘Jupp. It wasn’t my choice. If it was up to me, he wouldn’t have gotten a phone yet’ Cillian told you before also telling you about his view on social media and why he believed that social media platforms are half of the problem these days, especially when it comes to bullying.

‘So, you don’t have Instagram and Facebook then, huh?’ you asked almost jokingly, trying to lighten up the mood.

‘No. I am too old for that’ he teased but, of course, you knew that this was nonsense.

‘Oh common, you are not that old! Despite, I don’t have social media either and I am only twenty. It has nothing to do with age’ you argued jokingly but, for some reason, Cillian looked at you with some surprise and confusion.

‘You are only twenty? Seriously?’ he asked, causing you to nod.

‘Yes. How old did you think I was?’ you wondered.

‘Late twenties, at least’ he told you bluntly and your chin dropped.

‘Now I am not sure whether this is a compliment or an insult’ you said teasingly. ‘Do I really look that old?’ you then asked but Cillian shook his head and laughed.

‘No, not really. But you just seem older and wiser, which is a good thing’ Cillian said and, just after that, your conversation came to an end when Cillian told you that he had to get ready. He had spent too much time talking with you already. He had to be on set in twenty minutes and still has not had shower.

‘You can wait here, have a coffee and watch some TV or something’ he suggested, seeing that it was not 7 o’clock yet and you nodded and thanked him again for letting you stay.

***

Within less than ten minutes and just before the clock struck seven, Cillian reappeared in the living room. He had a towel wrapped around his lower body and when you glanced at him and his naked skin, you had to gasp again.

He was quick to get dressed, not noticing you starring at him and, by this point, you well and truly felt uncomfortable in your own skin. According to Google, Cillian was the same age as your father and the fact that you felt attracted towards him was rather inappropriate (at least in your mind). But you could not help yourself. Even though you had seen him on TV before, he was much more appealing to you in real life and this was likely a combination of his looks, kindness, attitude, and demur.

In the end though, you had to leave and get ready yourself. You only had one scene to film that day and this scene was with Cillian himself.

Day Four

It was your fourth day on set and, after yet another few hiccups on set during some semi-intimate scenes with Cillian, Cillian invited you over to his apartment to rehearse your respective scenes for the following few days and you knew that, at least for him, this was simply an act of kindness and professionalism.

 He could tell that you were nervous around him and, when he learned that you were only twenty years old with no on-screen experience, he took it upon himself to mentor you as he had done with other actors in the past.

 As the lead character and an executive producer of the show, Cillian had a vested interest in the cast and crew. You had to get it right and, since he was aware that you were talented, he realised that it was sheer nervousness which prevented you from giving your best performance on screen.

 You were portraying Thomas Shelby’s love interest in the show and Cillian figured that, if you were comfortable around him, then this may translate into your work.

 Thus, it was that evening when you sat down on his lounge for four hours straight, going over your scenes for the entirety of the series and the way he explained the shoots to you was rather impressive.

 He was knowledgeable, funny and kind hearted. He knew that you did not struggle with learning your lines and he also knew that you could act out emotions. But what you could not do was assume authority. You lacked some confidence in this regard and, as such, Cillian made you yell at him and get angry with his character and, whilst you both had a laugh in between practicing your scenes, you got there in the end.

 What you did not practice however was the intimacy and Cillian thought that this would have been rather inappropriate and yet, you spoke about the lines and scenes, containing both heat and moments of passion.

 Occasionally you would get into character and Cillian would hold your hands while trying to reason with you and the way he changed his voice to Tommy’s voice impressed you and sent shivers down your spine.

 And then there was the ultimate scene, where the dialogue between Tommy and Jesse gets heated and, the first time you practised it, you stammered out your lines nervously.  

 ‘Let’s try this again’ Cillian said before speaking his line once more and you were immediately taken by his voice and acting skills. He sounded incredibly sexy, saying what he was saying to you in such an authoritative way and, when you stammered out a quiet “uhm”, he began to smile and drop out of character.

 ‘Again’ Cillian chuckled and you repeated your lines over and over again until, finally, you got it right and Cillian was satisfied with your effort.

 ‘That’s it. See, you can do it…’ Cillian said cheerfully while pulling the funniest face and you wondered how he snapped out of character so quickly. Despite his age, he was the funniest, most childish, and most energetic guy you have ever met and working with him became incredibly pleasant.

 Cillian’s presence excited you in unusual ways and when he inadvertently touched you, once or twice, your heart skipped a beat and you wondered whether he felt the same way about you or whether he was simply being nice to you because he had the interest of the show at heart.

 In the end, you thought that it was probably the latter. After all, he was twice your age and women were probably throwing themselves at his feet. And yet, his true, raw and clean nature aroused you. You had not felt such an attraction before, especially not after such short period of time. After all, you had only just met him a few days ago but, somehow, you felt an instant connection.

 Unlike other actors you knew, including your ex, Cillian was not pretentious. He was simply himself. No fake emotions. No fake displays. Just the way he naturally was, without hiding behind curtains.

 He had collarbones that had the perfect contour. A jawline that was sharp, but still jagged enough to be real. A voice that could sway dozens of people and eyes that were absolutely mesmerising.

 That's what you wanted. You craved him. His natural body scents. His warmth. And his true, raw self. A shot of oxytocin, dopamine and endorphins was the perfect cocktail that you wished to savour and, with that, you were daydreaming again.

 ‘Are you alright?’ Cillian eventually asked as you were sitting by his side, starring at him somewhat inadvertently instead of reading your lines and, just as he spoke to you, you snapped out of your thoughts which, ironically, happened to be about him.

 ‘Yes, uhm…I am fine’ you said shyly, causing him to cock an eyebrow and then it happened. Cillian turned towards you and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eliciting a small gasp from you.

 You were already having goosebumps, and could sense the heat in the air. His hand was there, right on your cheek and he drew closer towards you until, suddenly, he spoke up and pulled away.

 ‘There was something in your hair’ Cillian then told you before quickly withdrawing his hand from your face and all you could do was murmur a quick ‘oh’ as you thought he was about to kiss you and were somewhat disappointed that he didn’t.

 ‘What was it?’ you eventually asked, biting your lips even more nervously now.

 ‘Make-up, I think’ he then chuckled and you were not surprised. You wore a lot of that on set and, every time you washed it off, some ended up in your hair and along the sides below your cheeks.

 ‘Embarrassing’ you said and the way you were now staring at him had become rather awkward.

 ‘It ends up everywhere’ Cillian said before he jumped up quickly and got himself a glass of water and you knew that it was time to go back to your unit and catch some sleep.

 ‘I should probably go. It is late. But thank you Cillian. Tonight really helped build up my confidence’ you then said and he smiled.

 ‘You are most welcome Y/N. I like working with you’ he said before seeing you to the door and wishing you a good night.

 What you wanted to do was to kiss him, right then and there, but the small voice inside of your head prevented you from ceasing the opportunity.

 It was too awkward and it was wrong. Yet, you could not get him out of your mind. You were so close, but never quite got there.

 Day Five

 The following day, you woke up at 4 o’clock to go for a run with Cillian. He had now become your running pal and had to be on set at 6 o’clock that day.

You, on the other hand, had until 8 o’clock to get ready and, whilst you thought about relaxing some more before heading to set as well, you simply could not.

You were nervous again as you had to film yet another scene with Cillian and, whilst he took the lead in this particular scene, it involved a kiss. A very long kiss.

You had thought about it all morning and, while part of you felt excited about it, the other part of you was petrified. You did not want to embarrass yourself in front of him.

The scene was to be filmed in the old warehouse which is where Thomas Shelby would be having dinner with Jesse Eden. The scene involved a lot of dialogue first and then a dance, followed by a kiss and Cillian caressing your thigh.

It was a simple scene if it wasn’t for the fact that you had felt an unexplainable attraction towards your co-star which, in the end, was what threw you off.

But then, when you saw him waiting for you on set, the fear you had built up inside of you was gone. He gave you a reassuring smile, much to the dislike of your assistant Lorraine who, while Cillian’s assistant was on sick leave, had been looking after him as well.

To you, it had been obvious that she took a liking in him. Even Natasha had noticed while Cillian, on the other hand, was oblivious to the advances she made towards him.

She was in her late twenties and Cillian had told Natasha in the past that he would not be dating anyone on set. According to him, Lorraine was also too young for him and what this meant for you, you did not know. And, you probably should not have cared either as, clearly, thinking that he may be interested in you was absurd.

‘Are you ready?’ Cillian asked as you stumbled on to set. He was looking rather handsome in his suit and immediately took your breath away.

‘I am ready if you are’ you joked playfully as you took your position and Cillian chuckled in response, seeing how you were so much more confident around him now and, whilst this scene was dialogue heavy, you both nailed within less than five takes.

You then quickly moved on to the next scene which was slightly more challenging than the first as it involved both, the dance and the kiss between your character and Cillian’s. The instructions on the kiss were clear. It needed to look passionate and urgent and you received a bit of a rundown from Natasha on how to show your tongue during the kiss without actually using it.

Whether this would work or not, you weren’t so sure about as, the last time you attempted a kiss scene with Cillian, your mouth barely moved at all. You were frozen to the spot and out of your depth.

With that, you felt the need to warn Cillian  about your kissing skills and, during your break, you even went so far as to discuss the intensity of the impending kiss. You told him what Natasha had told you and when he spoke up, what he said surprised you.

‘You worry too much Y/N’ he told you. ‘I will not judge you and I hope you realise that. This is work. It is an act which happens to involve some kissing and I won’t think about it as anything else. I promise. Alright?’ Cillian said reassuringly as it became obvious to him that you are worried about taking this scene too far.

‘So what do you want me to do?’ you wondered as, with his words, he confused you.

‘I want you to do whatever you feel comfortable doing’ Cillian told you gently and you nodded.

‘Okay. So how about you just kiss me like you would normally do for a scene like this and I will try and play along?’ you suggested and Cillian smiled and spoke a quiet ‘okay’ before reassuming his position.

‘Just so you know though, I am not an experienced kisser. So, I apologise, in advance, if this is going to be awkward’ you then said to him quietly and with blushing cheeks causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘And now that you told me, it most certainly will be awkward’ he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, causing you both to break out in laughter.

‘No judging’ you then reminded him and he confirmed ‘no judging’ before clearing his throat.

‘Are you ready?’ the crew then asked but you were not. You were nervous and Cillian could sense it.

‘I am not sure’ you admitted while Cillian was quick to take your hands into his and told you to you to take a deep breath.

‘Relax Y/N. I won’t judge your kissing skills if you don’t judge mine’ he winked, causing you to roll your eyes at him. His comment certainly lightened the mood but you already regretted saying something to him about the kiss beforehand. It was stupid and childish you thought.

In the end however, you gave the crew a reassuring nod and Cillian stepped closer towards you, taking his position.

Just as directed, Cillian’s took your hands into his, guiding you into the dance which your characters were meant to have.

Dancing without music was awkward but you tried to play along until, suddenly, the director called cut.

‘You have to look at me’ Cillian said gently and you nodded. This was exactly what the director repeated to you.

‘Look him in the eyes. I want to see the passion’ you were told and, after you dried off your already sweaty palms, you nodded and resumed position.

Cillian guided you again and your eyes never left his. So beautiful and blue, like water in the ocean.

Just as you looked him in the eyes, you could sense the heat building up between you. It felt real and probably looked real as well.

Cillian then gently caressed your back and pulled you towards him, causing you to gasp and, whilst the director thought that this was a nice touch, it was simply your reflexes kicking in. Your attraction towards this man suddenly became overwhelming and when your lips finally touched his at their own volition, a low moan escaped you.

You closed your eyes as Cillian’s lips connected to yours and his hand roamed towards your thigh, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

You caressed his face in return and, without thinking too much about the fact that you were meant to be acting, you simply gave into the kiss as if it was real.

You forgot everything around you and, after a second, your lips parted just as Cillian lifted up your skirt slightly. This is when you felt Cillian’s tongue brush against your lower lip and you inadvertently met it with your own for a short moment until, eventually, the director called cut.

‘Fantastic, brilliant chemistry!’ he said before telling you that he required another shot from another angle and you both nodded while catching your breaths.

In this moment, Cillian smiled at you and, if it wasn’t for the heavy amount of makeup which you were wearing at the time, he would have seen your cheeks blush.

‘Ready?’ the director then asked as you simply stood there and looked at each other.

‘Ready’ you confirmed after taking in another deep breath and, with that, you changed positions slightly and kissed again, and then once more. Each time, your tongues were touching and, during the last take, Cillian’s teeth were pulling slightly against your lower lip which was something the director had discussed with you both. It gave the scene the extra bit of intensity and intimacy and it sure felt incredible.

You enjoyed the kiss and everything else about it. You enjoyed Cillian’s touch, the feel of his lips against yours and the sweet taste of him. It almost made you feel giddy, just as if he had kissed you for real rather than for the camera and, when you spotted Lorraine, watching the scene with disgust on her face, this giddiness turned into a feeling of shame.

‘You said you were a bad kisser’ Cillian smirked eventually after you snapped out of your thoughts. He clearly didn’t care that Lorraine’s presence.  

‘Yes’ you swallowed harshly but Cillian gave you a cheeky smile.

‘That sure didn’t translate into the scene, so you should give yourself a bit more credit next time’ he winked, trying to encourage you to feel better within yourself. He could sense that your self-esteem had suffered a lot throughout the years and, even though he did not why, he wanted to change that. You always doubted yourself even if there was no reason for you to do so.

But then again and unbeknownst to you, Cillian also truly enjoyed the kiss you had just shared. He would not have minded giving it a few more takes, and that, in itself, made him feel a little uncomfortable within his own body now. Not only were you his co-star in the show but you were also twenty years younger than him and, with this in mind, he felt guilty. Kissing you should not feel good and yet, it did. It felt incredible.

Day Six

 Cillian’s hand caressed your breast and he began to cover your neck and shoulders with kisses, always returning to your lips as he worked his way deeper and deeper into your body. You moaned, one arm around his neck, the other clutching at his back as he began to gently make love to you, deep gentle movements of passion and desire, a kind of connection that made you feel like you were everything.

 Moving in unison, your bodies were one and Cillian pushed himself up onto his forearms so that he could look into your eyes. Everything was perfect, everything was special and you held his face in your hands as you gazed intently at each other. Then you pulled him down for another kiss.

 Your fires burned slowly, sparking but not spreading too quickly... passion mounted as your moans became deeper, bodies twining.

 Cillian pressed himself against you, his groin moving and grinding against your body. You cried out with release, your fingers clutching at him, and as he felt your body tense through an orgasm beneath him, he allowed himself to let go and thrust into you, wanting to hold you and take you as you climaxed.

 With a gasp, he held you tightly, pressing your groins together as he came, filling you as you writhed together in mutual ecstasy.

 Breathing slowed, limbs relaxed, and your blinked away a tear brought on by the intensity of your union until, suddenly, you heard a loud and somewhat annoying noise.

 “Evacuate Now” it kept on saying repeatedly and, in between, there was the sound of an alarm going off through the entire building. “Evacuate Now” it continued and, when you looked at your watch, you saw that it was only 4 o’clock in the morning when you were ripped from your rather inappropriate but somewhat steamy dream about your co-star.

You were sitting, sweating and quickly put on your slippers while Natasha knocked on your bedroom door and yelled “common”.

“I am” you responded thinking that, surely, this was just a drill.

“Why are you not panicking? Grab your things. Let’s go” Natasha went on to say as you rubbed your eyes again and followed her quietly, but panic didn’t really hit you as, instead, you still thought about your dream.

Why were you dreaming about him while, clearly, it was not a scene enactment that you were subconsciously thinking of. It was Cillian, himself, not as Thomas Shelby.

A man who was twenty years older than you and who you had to maintain a professional relationship with.

‘A bit faster’ Natasha panicked, telling you to hurry up as you stumbled down the stairs and, finally, excited the building with Cillian still on your mind.

But then, after you finally arrived in the evacuation safety zone, wearing your unicorn pyjamas, your intrusive thoughts about Cillian vanished for a brief moment until you saw him again, stepping out of the elevator and walking out the building as well, right towards you.

He, too, was still in pyjamas and the fact that they featured bugs bunny amused you.

“Did you just take the elevator?” you asked as he approached you.

“Yes, I did” he said with a tired look on his face.  

“And you don’t see anything wrong with that?” you laughed, wondering why, during an alarm like this, he would be using the elevator when, clearly, this was strictly prohibited.

“No. My apartment is on the top floor and it is much quicker that way’ Cillian chuckled while holding on to his coffee mug.

“But, what if there was actually a fire?” you asked. You could not believe that he was so oblivious as, clearly, he was usually rather intelligent.

‘There is no fire. It’s just a drill. Clearly’ Cillian chuckled but you had raised another question already.

“Also, did you make yourself a cup of coffee before coming down here?” you wondered, causing Cillian to grin nervously, like a schoolboy who had just gotten into trouble with his teacher.

“Perhaps. Would you like some?” he asked and you began to shake your head again.

“No thanks” you mused and, just as you did, you heard a familiar voice and turned.

“Y/N? Fuck? Really?” James, your ex-boyfriend said while you were talking to Cillian.

“James?” you asked. Your chin dropped. You did not expect to see him again so soon and, especially, not on the set of Peaky Blinders.

“Well, now I am curious…how do you two know each other?” Cillian asked before greeting James who he had already met earlier that day.

Unbeknownst to you, James had only just arrived on set the day before last and his first scene was to be filmed tomorrow. He portrayed one of the men who arrives in Birmingham with Luca Changratta, namely an Italian mobster and he was casted late for the role.

“She is my girlfriend” James said before you could even respond to Cillian’s question , but you were quick to correct him.

“Ex-girlfriend!” you clarified, causing James to laugh.

“We took a break” James told Cillian who thought that this was becoming rather interesting.

“We broke up” you were quick to say and so you began to argue with him while Cillian listened in and enjoyed his coffee.

Eventually though, after a little while, you had enough and began to ignore James’s presence, following which, eventually, he walked away

“Is he really your boyfriend?” Cillian asked, laughing.

“Ex-boyfriend!” you said again.

“Really? You were together?” he then asked, curiously.

“Why are you so surprised by that?” you wanted to know and, whilst Cillian desperately wanted to tell you that your ex was a douche, he did not and, instead, said something else.

“No reason and it really is none of my business. I am sorry” Cillian said and you left it at that.

“The casting director obviously didn’t know” Natasha then said, interrupting you both.

“Perhaps not” you told her.

“Most defiantly not because they wouldn’t have casted you both. There is a strict ‘no dating’ rule on set” Natasha told you before, eventually, the fire brigade gave the all clear to return to the building.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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[maladaptive-day-dreams]

Wet Dream

Eddie x fem!reader, smut 18+, 2.8k words Inspired by these lyrics from Wet Dream by Wet Leg: What makes you think you're good enough / To think about me when you're touching yourself?

CW: mutual masturbation, sub!Eddie and then not so subby Eddie(so technically switch!eddie?), praise, enemies to lovers vibes, hate sex (unprotected p in v, wrap it up kiddos)

here ya go ya filthy animals (me included bc I wrote this and am feelin a lil depraved rn)

Eddie Tags: @eddiemunsonfuxks

You and Eddie Munson have had a rivalry since he started at Hawkins Elementary in 5th grade. Neither of you are sure how it started or why but both of you were always so annoyed with each other whenever you were in the same room with each other—so much so that the Principle was on a first name basis with your parents and Eddie’s Uncle Wayne, and they were on a first name basis with each other.

You won’t deny that Eddie is hot. You even agree to it when your girlfriends all fawn over him and his hair and his voice and his waist and his hands, god his hands. But you only ever admitted to you slight attraction to Eddie in the secrecy of girl’s night—and all your gal pals know not to say a word about it to anyone.

And then, Eddie started dealing drugs once you both started High School and Reefer Rick stopped selling to you and other high schoolers since he had an inside guy now. Taking away your go to dealer gave you a new reason to dislike Eddie. Now your attraction was annoyance and while picturing his lithe body and rough hands had definitely become a part of your ‘self care’ routine, just the thought of him soured your mood.

Your friend Paul was happy to be your little deal mule once you offered to throw in an extra $20 for his ‘services’ though. But then Paul got a lil greedy and only gave you half of your order the last two times you asked him to get you weed from Eddie. You obviously gave him a lil knockabout that might’ve resulted in a black eye and a busted lip, and you having to get your weed yourself now.

So that’s why you’re here. Pounding on Eddie’s trailer door at 11pm on a Friday night after you worked up the guts to get your own weed since you smoked your last mini joint—your attempt at making your last ounce last—yesterday night. But Eddie won’t open the fucking door.

“Eddie!” you berate through the door as you knock again.

No answer.

“Stupid, fucking asshole, he probably won’t open the door because it’s me. What a dick,” you mutter under your breath. “Paul mentioned a key somewhere on the porch for in case Eddie was asleep or in the bathroom or something when he came by. But where the fuck did he say it was?”

You lift up the doormat, nothing. Check in the mailbox by the door, nothing. Raise up one plant, nothing, next plant, nothing. The only thing left is a giant stone that looks way too heavy, but as you go to lift it it comes right up.

“Styrofoam with a wood insert for weight. Clever,” you laugh as you remove the key from its spot under the fake rock.

You knock three times again before giving a warning, “Eddie I’m coming in! You’ve got 20 seconds to put away any porn magazines!”

Putting the key in the handle, you turn it until theres a click and open the door. Stepping inside, you notice that it’s surprisingly clean compared to what you thought Eddie’s place would be like. You walk further inside and drop the key on the table by the door. Shoving your hands in your jean jacket pockets you call out again.

“Eddie? I know you’re here, your van is parked outside.”

You don’t get a response but you do hear noises coming from a room down the hall. Curious, you move towards it. The giant DIO poster on the door obviously means it’s Eddie’s room, but you could also tell because the door was cracked just enough for you to see Eddie face twisted up in concentration, forehead a little slick with sweat.

Realizing what he’s probably doing, you turn around quickly and start to step away and towards the front door but you stop dead in your tracks because Eddie just moaned your name.

“Y/N, fuck me, yes.” His voice was rougher than usual, laced with lust. You squeeze your thighs together, because even though you despise him that was fucking hot as hell to hear. But then you remember that you despise him and instead of walk away you swing open his door and ask a very hard and very surprised Eddie a question.

“What makes you think you’re good enough to think about me when you’re touching yourself?”

Eddie’s eyes are wide as he removes his hands from his hard dick and quickly tries to cover himself with a blanket.

“Fuck! Y/N what the fuck are you doing here?” He asks frantically.

“I came to get weed because I ran out and can’t trust Paul to give me what I pay for anymore.”

“You could’ve fucking knocked!” he yells in annoyance.

“I did! A lot! For like 10 minutes straight! It’s not my fault you were horny and too busy thinking about me to stop touching your cock and come sell me an ounce of weed!” Your chest rises up and down quickly after your outburst. “And again, Eddie. What makes you think you’re good enough to think about me when you’re touching yourself, huh?”

Eddie shrinks beneath your domineering gaze, trying to curl away from you. “I–“

“Ah ah ah,” you tsk, shifting closer to the edge of his bed. “Look at me, and answer my question.”

Eddie’s eyes meet yours and you can tell he’s a little subby baby, which brings a smile to your face.

“I–I’m sorry. I just, I won’t, I–“

“Why are you such a nervous lil boy, Eds? Do you think I’m mad at you?”

Eddie looks at you slightly confused, “you’re not mad?”

“Oh no baby, I’m not mad. I’m just surprised, and a little upset you didn’t ask for permission first.” His eyes go wide as you toe off your shoes and sit in front of him on his bed.

“‘m sorry,” he whimpers, bowing his head. “Can I?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you say, running a hand up his bare leg towards the blanket bundled on his lap. “Do you think you deserve to imagine me sucking you off when you rub yourself?”

His leg twitches under your soft touch and you can see his lower stomach muscles tighten at your dirty question.

“Tell me, Eddie baby, do you think of my mouth on your cock or my pussy?”

He groans and bucks his hips into the blanket slightly, muttering a silent apology.

“Answer me.”

“Both,” he gasps as your hand finds its way under the blanket, fingertips brushing his balls.

“Good boy,” you praise and Eddie whines. “I think I’ll let you finish fucking your hand.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide again, big brown eyes searching your face for a lie.

“But,” you pause. “You have to follow my directions, and look at me the whole time. Ok?”

He nods silently and eagerly.

“Words, Eddie. Gimmie your words.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Now take off the blanket and let me see you.”

Eddie’s hand reaches for the blanket covering himself and removes it slowly, dick jumping as he does.

“Fuck, your cock is so pretty Eds,” you say shifting a pillow behind you so you can sit comfortably, legs criss crossed. “You wanna touch yourself?”

“Please.”

“Ok, go ahead and stroke yourself, but keep it slow. Don’t want you cumming too soon.”

He does as you say, his dominant hand coming to grip himself at the base of his dick and slowly bringing it to the tip. He repeats the motion three times, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“Good, now squeeze at the top this time.”

He does, and lets out the deepest groan you’ve heard from him yet. It grows from the center of his chest and releases as he squeezes his sensitive tip. You shift your hips at the sound, slightly grinding yourself on his bed. His eyes flick to your center as you do so and you decide in that moment to give him some fodder for his imagination. His eyes follow your hands as you reach down to rub yourself over your jean shorts, your strokes matching Eddie’s speed.

“Slow down baby,” you say as you unbutton your shorts and pull the zipper down. He doesn’t follow your directions and instead moves a little faster, so you halt your own movements. “Hey, Eddie, eyes up here.”

His eyes flick up immediately to meet yours. “Good boy. Slow down.” He nods and does as he’s told.

“Eye’s up still okay?” you half say, half ask. Once you’re certain he won’t look away, you resume your movements, placing your feet on the bed and lifting your hips to remove your shorts and panties. Settling back into the pillows with your legs butterflied to make sure Eddie can see you, you nod at him, allowing him to watch your hands as they trail down your clothed stomach to your mound.

You lightly trail your pointer and ring fingers down your lips, and run your middle finger through your slit on the upward stroke, Eddie sighing at the sight and sound of your arousal. You tease and circle your clit a few times before giving him his next instruction.

“Play with your balls while you watch me.”

Eddie’s free hand that was previously strangling the sheets to his side reaches below his dick to play with his heavy sack. The two of you stay like this for a few minutes, watching each other intently. Eddie touching and teasing and squeezing his balls while you circle and pinch your clit, working yourself into a heady haze, the coil in your belly starting to tighten.

“Ok baby. Stroke yourself to my rhythm,” you gasp shifting your fingers from your clit to your entrance. You circle yourself once, twice, before inserting a finger.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters at the sight of you fingering yourself. His hand resumes it’s place on his throbbing cock. You match each other’s pacing, Eddie fucking his hand as fast as you ride your own.

Both of you are panting as you watch each other, Eddie’s eyes glued to where your fingers disappear into your cunt, and yours glued to the rough fuck of Eddie’s hand on his dick. “I–fuck–I’m close baby. Are you almost there? Are you ready to let go?”

Eddie can’t talk, his hazy desire covers him in want, but his eyes meet yours, his mouth dropped open in a moan. “Let go, Eds.”

He does, covering his stomach in his release as the coil in your stomach snaps and you coat your hand with your own release. Your moans echo through the room, paired with the wet sounds of you finger fucking yourself through your orgasm, Eddie’s eyes still glued to your glistening cunt.

“Fuck,” you say, pulling your fingers from your pussy and wiping them on Eddie’s now very dirty comforter. A sigh falls from your lips as you smile at Eddie.

“I want to be in you so badly,” he admits in his post-nut haze.

“Is that so?” you tease, shifting your legs behind you and getting up on your knees. “Wanna feel my pretty pussy on your cock? Squeezing you so good?”

“I fucking hate you,” he laughs as his dick begins to harden again.

“Mmm but you were such a good boy just a few minutes ago. Doing as your told? Such an obedient baby.”

Eddie’s eyes flick to yours as you crawl closer to him on the bed.

“I wouldn’t mind riding your pretty cock,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hover just over his dick, hands braced on his bare chest, and you can feel the heat of it on your pussy as you slowly lower yourself onto him, running your wet cunt over him. He hisses as his tip catches your hole.

“Just fucking ride me already, Y/N. Stop fucking teasing,” he says through gritted teeth.

“What happened to my nice boy that was just begging for permission to think about me while he touched himself?”

“He came. And now he wants to fuck you.”

“Ah what a real gentleman. This is why I don’t like you,” you spit out, rubbing yourself over his cock again to rile him up.

“You don’t have to like me to ride me,” he smirks up at you.

“Yeah but I don’t know if I want to give it to you now. I kind of want to make you beg—oh fuck.”

Eddie didn’t let you finish. He grabbed your hips and slammed up into you, knocking the air from your lungs in a throaty moan.

“Not so hot when you’re not in control huh?” he teases. Smiling up at you as he fucks up into you. You move your hands from his chest to his thighs behind you, and start to bounce on his hard cock.

“Fuck Eddie, you’re so fucking big,” you gasp as his mushroom tip hits your g-spot with every bounce. Eddie’s hands grip your hips tightly, sure to leave a bruise.

“Yeah? Do I feel good?”

“Shut up.”

“Awe but I wanted another compliment,” he laughs as one hand leaves your hip to find your clit. He rubs circles around the engorged bud and lets you ride him at your own pace now.

“I still despise you Munson.”

“Feeling is still mutual, Y/L/N. We’ll just fuck and go back to hating each other. No big deal.”

Your thighs begin to burn and your movements slow. Eddie notices and lifts you up and off of his cock.

“What are you–?”

He flips you on to all fours and kneels behind you, lining himself up and entering you again, slowly this time. You squeeze around him once he’s buried to the hilt, and then he’s pounding into you at a relentless pace. His body engulfs yours as he leans over you, hand pushing your upper back into the bed as he continues to bottom out with every thrust into your wet pussy.

The sounds in the room are animalistic. The squelching from his dick moving in and out of your cunt, your moans muffled in the comforter, Eddie’s hot and heavy breath coming out in puffs on your shoulder. He leans back up, wrapping one hand in your hair to bring you up with him. Untangling his hand from your hair he wraps it around your stomach to keep your back to his chest while his other hand reaches down to give attention to your clit again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant out, coil in your belly tightening again. “I’m so close.”

“Yeah,” he laughs teasingly. “I can tell, your cunt is gripping me so hard right now.”

“Shut it, Munson, and make me cum.”

“Fuck, fine, but god knows I’ll bust as soon as you do so where do you want me?”

“Inside, I’m on the pill and impatient.”

“Shit,” he mutters into your neck. Eddie puts more pressure on your clit as his thrusts become sloppier. “Cum, come on, let go.”

And you do. You both do. As soon as Eddie feels your release cover his cock, his release coats your walls. He ruts up into you a few more times before pulling out of your warm, wet cunt and leaning back on his headboard. “Never took you for a domme-type, Y/N.”

“Never took you for a hard switch. I definitely prefer you as the sweet little obedient sub from earlier though.”

“Not a word of that to anyone, okay. I’m the dom with most hookups, you just caught me in the moment.”

“You really think I’d admit to people that we fucked?” You reach for and grab your panties and shorts before sliding off the bed to slip them on. “I can’t let people know I caved,” you laugh. “So, how much for an ounce?”

Eddie laughs, “not gonna lie, I forgot that’s why you were here.”

“How much for an ounce, Munson,” you sigh slipping your shoes back on.

“Why do you want so much?”

“The fewer times I have to see you outside of school the better.”

Eddie feigns heartbreak, “ouch, Y/N, that hurts.” He pouts as he reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a bag of weed. “I’ll do it for $80. We can call it the Wet Dick Discount.”

“This is another reason why I don’t like you,” you mutter, handing him the money.

“Listen, I got off, you got off, I got money, you got your weed. I think it was a solid interaction.”

“Yeah well, don’t expect it to happen again.”

“Have $160 next time then. Or plan to see me a little more often in your free time.”

…it definitely happened again…a few times…of course the Wet Dick Discount was only ever given to you…

[sylvanian-cat]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

masterlist!

PAIRING - Daniel Larusso x Reader

TAGS: Friend to lovers, kissing, violence but only hitting and punching, karate kid, angst, fluff, characters fall in love, heartbreak, characters break up, happy ending, slow burn

SUMMARY: When A frazzled, and quite handsome boy from New Jersey slams a door in your face on the last day of summer vacation, you quickly take in interest in him after his magnanimous apology.

The hot and glorious sun shone upon your skin and the tall pine trees swayed, dancing in the light California breeze. You could feel the uncomfortable pile of sweat that hanged in the back of your shirt due to the simmering heat and you became aware of the strain the trash bag was starting to cause on your muscles.

The trash can wasn’t far, only right after the apartments’ wooden entrance then finally, after this tedious task was finally done, the rest of your evening could be spent doing whatever your teenaged heart pleased-

“HEEYAH-“ a loud and quick noise, so sudden, came from the front of the entrance and almost at the exact same time, your body slammed into the rough solid pavement.

Before you could even properly acknowledge your scratched up arms and the abandoned trash bag laying on the pavement you quickly sat up on your elbows ready to body slam whoever thought it was okay in their crazy mind to karate kick an apartment entrance as such.

You registered the feeling of a solid object hitting the ground, like a suitcase, and suddenly, a rushed and panicked but soft voice came before you could let out a whine of pain “Are you okay? Let me help you up yah!?”

Just from his voice alone, you could tell he was not from around here. His accent was unfamiliar, almost New-Jersey like, it was soft but gruff.

His voice wasn’t the only thing that was attractive too, his skin was tan and his jet black hair was fashionably parted; reminding you of those boys you and your friend would squeal and gush over when flipping through those 99¢ teen magazines .

The boy’s large brown eyes darted worriedly over your face, as if wanting to check for any sign of injury he might’ve caused.

“Oh god that was stupid, I shouldn’t have kicked the door like that. Are you alright miss….” His voice trailed off and his face was still covered with an expression of worryness.

His hands grabbed the ends of your elbows and your hands instinctively held onto his shoulders. Softly, as if he was handling glass, lifted you back onto your feet.

Stunned from the boldness of his actions, your voice came out quick and splurged replying with a nervous “Oh sorry! I’m Y/N, I live in apartment 15. You must be the new residents right?”

He flashed a nice smile with his bright teeth and replied with a friendly “Oh yeah! I just got here. I was just about to head up with my stuff but ya know…” he trailed off again and this time, glanced at the ground nervously and almost so quickly it could be easily missed.

Suddenly, the pounding of feet came from behind you and the handsome boy turned his gaze to behind your shoulder. You turned your head around and saw that it was the neighborhood boy, Freddy, who was your age and went to the same school as you.

“Hey Y/N, you alright down here? I heard the commotion and wanted to check what was up”

The new boy quickly, so quickly it could almost be missed if you weren’t focusing so hard on his handsome face, glanced worriedly in your direction and you realized he must have thought that Freddy was probably more than just a neighbor who lived in the same apartment complex as you and probably was coming down in order to defend your honor. Once Freddy descended down the stairs, he greeted the handsome boy with a friendly handshake and contently said

“Hey, you must be the new people in apartment 20 right? Freddy Fernandez apartment 17.”

The tan boy in return, did a small nod to show respect and replied back contently, “Daniel Larusso”

Freddy offered to take his bike upstairs, however, Daniel seemed hostile and instead you offered to take his suitcase in which he agreed with a small, satisfactory smile.

The two boys continued conversing on random topics most boys their age would do. However, you noticed Daniel seemed more stiff with his shoulders tense and his eyebrows pulled into a small wrinkle that could be unnoticed by the normal eye.

As you reached the last staircase, the neighboring hostile old woman was sitting in her chair with her pup, as usual. It was quite sweet seeing the way Daniel shoulders pulled back into a relaxed position and how his lips pulled into a small smile when interacting with the usually grumpy old woman. As you three continued up the stairs, you noticed his apartment was coming near and the number 20 on the front blue door was coming into view. You felt a small pang of sadness but quickly washed it over and instead, handed Daniel his suitcase back in which he quietly thanked you for.

Freddy interrupted your thoughts of Daniel with an outgoing invite of, “Hey you know Daniel, we’re gonna be throwing a party at the beach later tonight if you wanna come? It’ll be a way to put yourself out there and see what Reseda is like.”

As if he was thinking, Daniel’s eye darted to the corner and his face went blank; his polished brows slightly deepened. His gaze flickered back to Freddy and he replied quite calmly “Yeah, sure why not?”

His eyes side eyed you for a brief second until he twisted his whole body to face you

“Hey Y/N, you going too? I’m not really sure I wanna go if you ain’t there with me.

Again, his bold actions towards you were definitely shocking. No boy in this California town treated you like this random new kid from New Jersey did. You felt a bit ashamed by the delusions you were feeding yourself. He’s only being friendly because he doesn’t want you to be mad about the whole karate kick thing. Or maybe, that’s how boys from Jersey were, cute and bold.

“Oh yeah, umm definitely I’ll be there” you gave him a small smile in return so he could be shyed away from the overthinking thought of you not showing up.

Daniel softly took the suitcase from your hands and began rolling his bike towards the entrance of the building 20 and as he stood beside the door, he looked behind his shoulder facing you two as he talked, “Okay cool, I’ll meet you both there then yeah?”

Freddy replied back nonchalantly“Yeah definitely man, see ya there” and as Freddy continued towards his doorway, you decided it was best to continue back to your apartment and forget the delusional thoughts of the cute New Jersey kid who was just a hallway down from you. Maybe these beach hangouts won’t be as boring as they usually are now that there is somewhere more interesting, and definitely much more cuter in town…

Next Chapter (2)

My Wattpad is sylvanian_cat

[heartattacker]

The notice, printed in black on a sheet of plain paper, appeared inside the lockers of a gym popular with members of the military. Jack had seen many such postings-requests for dog-walkers or notices for help moving, stuff like that. Cheaply xeroxed, and hurriedly composed, he rarely gave them more than a glance. But, this one caught his eye.  

“Wanted, current members of the armed forces between the ages of 20 and 46, height between 5’6” and 6’4”, weighing at least 165lbs for participation in a readiness study conducted by the Office of National Military Standards.”

“Readiness Study”, I’ll just bet! Probably some pornographer “offering to make me “star”, he laughed to himself, why don’t they just ask? 

A local address was given and the date listed was today in little more than an hour. Jack, a marine corporal, was curious. He fit the height and weight requirements, 5’11” and 180 lbs. So little other information was provided, but he was available at the listed time, so why not. It was curious to him that he hadn’t heard anything from official channels at the base. Maybe this was one of those clandestine operations carried out under the radar. Certainly, participation has to figure in future promotions, he thought. He checked the other open lockers for similar notices and found none, only bits of paper stuck to the inside of the locker doors, held in place by remnants of scotch tape. Was this an indication of a big expected turnout?

Jack hastily changed into his workout clothes, a pair of olive green shorts and a military issue sleeveless t-shirt. It was an old shirt, used since he joined up and his muscular chest and arms have necessitated cuts in the neck and arms holes and cropped about six inches, giving him the appearance, if not of “The Hulk”, then of a Hulk-to-be. Making his way to the gym floor, he paused at the full-length mirror just inside the door and gave it a quick “double bi”. It was a chest and biceps day and he felt sure that once they got a look at his 17 inch arms and 45 inch chest, he was a shoe-in for inclusion into the program.  

His workouts usually lasted an hour and a half and while he chose a time of day when the gym would be largely empty, there were still a few die-hard lifters like himself around to spot him when necessary and to size him up as he was sure they were aware of being sized up themselves. Were any of these guys scouts for the program? Sizing me up? He made sure to really push his reps. If 85 pound dumbell chest presses were his max, he made sure to go for 95 pounds and was surprised that he handled the heavier weight with ease-aware that he was being watched by the other guys who paused their workouts to stare. Nothing wrong with that, he thought, as he frequently did the same. Do I go for the hundred pounders next? He thought for a moment-what if I fail to get a rep? If he dropped the weights without completing a rep, he was sure to get a reaction. A muffled derisive laugh and an offer to spot him next time-the kiss of death for serious bodybuilders like himself. “What the hell”, he pulled a couple of hundred pound dumbells off the rack and slowly made his way to a free bench. Whacking your knee with a hundred pounds of iron can really mess it up so he was careful to hold the weights just above the knee caps and letting the motion of sitting down, bring the weights to rest on his muscular thighs. Another grunt and he was flat on his back-the two weights just above shoulder level.

Jack was stoked and he put his full concentration into thrusting the weights up off his chest. His pecs, dripping sweat and his heart beating so hard the whole bench vibrated “One—-two—thrrrrreeee” he counted out loud, and the massive weights rose up and paused a moment while he locked his arms and held them aloft. Jack was gasping for air, his chest pounding, his heart clearly visible in that massive chest. He brought the weights down to just above his shoulders and with a loud gasp forced the weights up for a second rep and then slowly brought them back down-emphasizing the slowness for the benefit of the other lifters who were now watching. “I know they’re as hard as me” he thought and dropped the weights to the floor. 

Jack sat up and paused to catch his breath for what seemed like an hour but glancing up at the clock showed only a couple of minutes had passed. He was on a roll. This was how his entire workout was to go. Each exercise, every rep he exceeded his personal best. After an hour Jack’s shirt was soaked with sweat and so stretched out from his swollen chest and arms, that he removed it and tossed it next to his gym bag in the corner. He looked at himself in the mirror and put together a posing routine to take advantage of massive chest and arms. The sweat running off his body collecting in his navel only to pour out when he flexed his abs. Damn! Why can’t every workout be this intense. He thought ahead to the the posted flyer. He needed to report in less than half an hour. Enough time to complete his workout but no time to shower. No problem-I’ll show up pumped up, sweaty and shirtless. That ought to attract some attention!

And so it would…

The day was a hot one. Even though Jack pushed his workout into the late afternoon, the temperature still hovered around 98 degrees, with a level of humidity matching a sauna. Ahhh, the South in the summertime. Sweat was dripping off his body in streams and the intensity of his workout had his heart pounding so hard the dog tags bounced off his chest. His car had been sitting in the sun the whole afternoon and when he climbed inside the wave of heat swept over him. Euphoric from his elevated blood pressure, pounding heart, and the adventure to come, Jack sat in the intense heat of the closed car gulping deep breaths of air and enjoying the insane pounding of his heart as he arched his body against the seat back. His tags, flying up with every heart beat, throwing spits of sweat against the steering wheel. It was almost four thirty-he had about 15 minutes to get to the address listed on the flyer. He flicked on the AC and headed out to a location he couldn’t picture in his head. He had lived in the area only a few years so he wasn’t surprised by his lack of familiarity. He would be surprised, however, that the location the flyer took him was an empty lot in the middle of nowhere, the crumbling foundation of a long ago demolished gas station poking up through tufts of grass. This can’t be right, he thought, but the address matched. He was still a few minutes early. Jack climbed out of the car and sat in a shady spot along the edge of the lot. He didn’t sit long. Exactly at the scheduled time a car carrier, painted Army drab pulled to a stop directly in front of him. As he watched, the driver, a marine sergeant dressed in fatigues got out leaving the hauler in neutral.

“Soldier, here for the 4:30?” He approached Jack, who was now standing at attention, a force of habit on seeing a higher rank. “Can I see your I.D.?” 

“Can I see yours, sergeant?” Jack said warily.

“Fair enough, it probably seems a little sketchy, the middle of nowhere and all.” The sergeant pulled out his wallet and swapped with Jack. “I’m used to it-been doing this all day.”

While Jack was studying the Sergeant’s papers, he became aware of the sergeant staring at his chest. The weather, the workout and the current circumstances have kept Jack’s heart pounding. The sergeant no doubt noticed the dog tags jangling against his pump.

“I can hear it, corporal!” The sergeant said. “That’s quite a motor you got there. Pounding a good 180, sounds like!”

“Yeah, just come here from a workout.”

The two men kept their distance as each went over the other’s info. The sergeant broke the silence. “Well let’s get your vehicle loaded up. Got a schedule to keep. Here’s your I.D., everything checks…”

Jack cut him short. “Just a minute, sarge. Ya gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“No corporal, I’m not. I’m here on orders to make a pick up. Instructed to tell you to take it or leave it.”

What the fuck! Jack thought. This is a helluva lot to take on faith. He paused in consideration.

 The sergeant could see the deliberation and chose not to press him.

Jack pondered the situation. This was just too much, even with the paperwork he was shown. But, he also knew the marines. He was an enlisted man and any possible advancement might rest on his decision now. And besides, Jack smirked. I can take him!

“Yes or no”, the sergeant said as he walked back to the idling hauler.

“Pull up a little further and I’ll pull my car around.

When Jack brought his car around to the back, the sergeant pulled the lever activating the hydraulic ramp. He wasted no time adjusting the ramp, just brought it down with a slam. From the side of the hauler he directed Jack to drive his car up onto the ramp. Another pull on the lever and the ramp pulled up from the pavement. 

“C’mon out,” the sergeant shouted,” give me a hand securing your vehicle.” Jack slid himself out of the tight space between the car door and the hauler and jumped down. The bed of the hauler was a little higher than expected and Jack took a tumble. He’d have hit the pavement if the sergeant wasn’t there to catch him. Falling back, the sergeant grabbed Jack in a bear hug and pulled him straight up off his feet, knocking the wind out of him in the process.

“Can’t very well show up with damaged goods can I,” the sergeant laughed. Jack was aware that the sergeant hadn’t released his hold but instead positioned one hand over Jack’s pounding heart. Jack could feel the sergeants heart pounding as well. He was going to have to adjust his assessment of the sergeant’s strength. This was one solid dude. Better to just take orders and see where this goes. The sergeant released his grip and motioned for Jack to get into the cab.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the other guys” Jack asked as the sergeant climbed into the driver’s seat?”

“You’re it today!” And throwing the hauler into gear, pulled away from the curb. “Must be special, usually I’ve got a couple more your size up here in the cab-get’s a little overloaded with testosterone!”

But Jack didn’t feel special, he crossed one arm over his chest to attach the seatbelt, realizing he left his t-shirt back in the car. 

Noticing Jack’s discomfort, the sergeant said, “The cab doesn’t have A/C. You’ll be fine shirtless. I’ve got some water there,” motioning to the backpack at Jack’s feet.

As Jack leaned over to grab a water bottle he saw a couple of open bottles of poppers on the dash. The sergeant saw Jack staring at the bottles, “some of these drives are pretty long. This stuff keeps me alert.” Jack grabbed the window regulator but it came off in his hand. “Yeah, it’s broken, you know marine motor pool!” The driver’s window was open, but just a crack.

“Ya wanna roll down your window then? Jack said beginning to breathe heavily.

“Can’t. Broken too.” The sergeant’s eyes remained focused on the road, but he could hear Jack breathing heavily. “Don’t worry, a little poppers won’t hurt you, and we’ll be there shortly.”

“What’s shortly” Jack asked.“Three and a half hours, five with traffic. I stocked up incase the trip ran long.” He reached over without taking his eyes off the road and opened the glove box. Jack saw 4 six-packs of Jungle Juice, with three loose bottles just rolling around. Reaching in, he pulled out one of the loose bottles, cracked it open and set it on the dash with the other two. “Gotta replenish these regularly-they evaporate quick!”Jack’s head pressed into the head rest as his chest began to pound. He hadn’t really recovered from his workout, and now with the heavy fumes inside the stifling cab his heart was nearly at it’s max. His breath was coming in gasps and his dog tags made a constant jingling sound as they bounced with his heartbeat. The sergeant put his hand on Jack’s chest pushing the tags against his pump. “Yeah, you’ll do fine!” 

 Jack lost track of time, between the pounding in his chest and the pounding in his head, he felt like he was floating outside his body. He was no stranger to poppers, but this was way more than he thought he could handle. Periodically the sergeant would reach over and feel his heart pound, just brushing his left nipple with the course skin of his fingers. Jack’s whole body convulsed now. He had regularly had his heart up over 200bpm but this felt faster still. The brush of his nipple, caused him to come almost immediately. His right hand managed to knock two of the bottles from the dash. The clear fluid ran and puddled on the floor. The fumes became even more intense as they evaporated on the rubber mat. The sergeants hand was now more or less a constant pressure on Jack’s chest. Making sure to rub his fingers across Jack’s nipple. 

“Fuuuuuuck! I’m gonna pass out,” Jack’s head fell back against the headrest and tilted toward the sergeant. His mouth open and his breathing coming as short gasps. Sweat poured off his body and soaked the seat cushion. But his heart pounded on, with occasional tweaking of his nipple. He could hear the sergeant-but couldn’t tell what he was saying over the pounding in his chest. He watched as the sergeant reached around him to grab a couple more bottles from the glove box, open them, and place them next to the one remaining on the dash. Fresh waves of fumes filled the cab. How the hell is this not affecting him? His heart should have arrested he thought, and then dropped off again.

It was dark by the time Jack came to. He thought he must be dead. unchanged was the beating of his heart. Still hammering away inside him. Unchanged also was the heat and humidity in the cab of the truck. His shorts were covered in cum. “How many more times did I cum?” He asked the sergeant.

“Oh, three or four—six—a dozen? I lost count. Enough to glue you to the seat!” The sergeant chuckled. Glad to see you’re still with me. I’d have made this trip for nothing. After I broke into the second case you started convulsing again. I thought I’d have to drop you by the side of the road.”

Jack squirmed in his seat. From the floor he could hear the clinking of glass as he moved his feet.

“What the…,” he looked down at the floor and it was littered with little brown bottles.”…hell.” He glanced up at the glove box and saw only one box remained unopened. And the sergeant drove on. “How the hell aren’t you affected by this?” 

The sergeant pounded on his chest. “Strong as a fucking machine!”

Jack’s breathing was fast and deep. “Damn, my heart ain’t slowing down!” He exclaimed. The sergeant put his right hand on Jack’s chest.

“Yep!” He said. “Pounding out a good two forty the whole way! The cardiac specialists will be excited by this, Probably work up a whole battery of tests. Your trial is just beginning my friend.”

The truck had at last arrived at their destination. The sergeant flicked a badge to the sentry, who waved him in. They drove a short distance through a thick woods which ran right up to a pole barn with a large garage-style door. As the truck approached, the door clanked open, and without slowing down, the truck with its cargo drove into the darkness towards a faint light at the very end of the building. As they approached the lights came on, one by one, slowly revealing what looked like a well outfitted research facility. Jack, even with his vision blurred by the insane amount of poppers, could make out a treadmill and full workout facility. Men in white coats were standing in front of various pieces of diagnostic equipment, studying the gauges and their clip boards intently.

“Where are the rest of the applicants? I wasn’t expecting to be the only one?” Jack said nervously. Jack was still pretty jittery from the popper fumes, only now dissipating from the cab. His heart was still pounding at a crazy 250 beats a minute.

One of the techs came up to the drivers side and spoke briefly with the sergeant. “Yeah, got a good recruit here, heart’s still pounding at 250-“

“250?” the tech seemed surprised. “In that case, let’s get him on the exam table pronto!

Two other techs appeared on the passenger side and opened the door. One tech, the beefier of the two, grabbed Jack under the arm as Jack slid out of the cab.

“OK soldier, we’re gonna take a short walk over here” the other, smaller tech motioned to an exam table about 20 feet away where a group of techs was now congregating. “ 

“Get him up on the table and hook him up to the ekg.”

The head technician now directed the group of assembled specialists beginning to gather around Jack. One tech pasted electrodes to Jacks’s chest. Jack could see his hand bouncing off his quivering pec as he attached the adhesive pads. 

“Should we do an angio set up as well?” Said another.

“Yes, we’ll want to see what’s going on in that pump before we start the full workup”

The lead turned to another tech, “Set up the pacer as well.” The lead tech marked two small XS on Jacks left pec. “This ought to give us some measure of control. Insert the probes on these marks. Watch the ekg. There will be a voltage spike when the probes touch the ventricle wall. Insert the probe and additional three centimeters.”

“Are you ready with the angio?” 

“Yes, check monitor three.”

Jack watched as the wire was threaded through the femoral artery and travelled directly into his heart.

 “We’ve got to get his heart rate down before we proceed. Have you got the probe in place?”

“Yes.”

“Ready to insert the pacer wires?”

Working quickly, the tech pushed the first pacer probe into Jack’s heart. Jack and the techs watched on the monitor as the wire entered the sinus node.

“First probe on target!” Then pushed the second wire about 3 centimeters from the first. “Ready!”

“Deliver 250 joules to arrest his heart and then set the rhythm for160. With any luck this kids pump should respond.”

“Clear!” The tech hit the button on the console sending a jolt of electricity into Jacks heart. In response to the shock, Jack’s heart barely slowed and then returned to 250bpm..

“Alright, we don’t have time to mess around. Hit him with 800. That should stop his heart.”

The tech reset the device for 800 joules. “Clear!” Again the tech pressed the button, delivering a massive jolt of electricity to Jack’s heart. His chest convulsed and his eyes rolled back into his head. The EKG showed flatline “Asystole! Get ready to activate the pacer. Set at 160?” Jack was unconscious now, his heart stopped in his chest. They stared momentarily at the lifeless body on the table. The lead tech looked over at the other techs. “C’mon, let’s go! Pacing at 160?”

The tech flipped the switch, sending a series of shocks to Jack, arrested heart to regain a sustainable 160 bpm. 

Heartbeat captured, heart beating at 160.

All right, prepare to reduce pacing rate to 150, and every minute bring his heart back down to 100bpm by 10. Switch off the pacing device and monitor his heart to maintain a steady rhythm unassisted.” Jack was conscious again and now aware that he was restrained to the exam table.

“What the…” Jack became agitated and started thrashing about against the restraints.

Take it easy.” You’re just newly back from your first cardiac arrest.

“Vital signs are good, BP at 110 over 90.”

“Respirations 22 per minute but dropping back to normal range.”

One tech placed the stethoscope to Jack’s chest. “-steady at 90-Heart sounds good!”

“No indication of damage on the EKG. This kids gotta hell of a motor!”

Jack’s breathing became more relaxed and he stopped fighting against the cuffs.

“We had to restrain you in case you became combative.”

“Are you putting all the applicants through the same tests?” Jack asked.

“Well, yes” the techs all exchanged glances. 

The lead tech now joined the group and explained to Jack the testing procedure. “Now that we’ve stabilized your heart rate, we’ll begin the actual testing. Let’s get him over to the treadmill.”

One tech disconnected the leads from Jack’s chest, while the others went to different stations, Jack could only make out shadowy figures around the perimeter of the room, but still no sight of the other inductees. The testing protocol now moved over to a small glassed-in room housing the exercise treadmill where a new tech was readying the equipment.

Jack, we’re going to apply these leads to your chest to monitor…

I know, I know. Been through this before.” Jack instinctively straightened up and pushed his chest out. 

The tech was momentarily distracted watching Jack’s heart beating in his chest. Pushing out forcefully below his left nipple. “Well…well this will be a much more extensive exploration of your heart under actual stress. The Amyl you were subjected to during your trip here, while it stressed your heart chemically, couldn’t give us a reading on how much your heart can take.

“Can take?” Jack caught him in mid sentence.

“Yes. Each of these tests is designed to take your heart to failure. Resuscitation is the end result of each of the tests. Each test will conclude only when your heart has arrested. Of course, if you should experience an infarct, that would conclude the testing immediately, and wash you from the program. This occurs quite often. In fact, you’re the only recruit that hasn’t failed the exam this session.”

And with that, Jack was harnessed to the treadmill. The EKG leads were reattached, and his arms were passed through what looked like a combination of life vest and backpack. 

“Kind of elaborate isn’t it?” Jack wrapped each hand around the padded straps.

The lead tech explained. “This isn’t an ordinary treadmill stress test. As you can see. These straps will keep you from falling off the belt and the backpack portion has an open pouch allowing us to add weight during the course of the exam. As the degree of climb increases, we will add weight in 25lb increments to the pack. To simulate an actual hike, the temperature and humidity can be controlled in the room. The mask will measure your respiration rate, but it will prevent you from communicating during the testing. We’ll start you off level at a temperature of 70 degrees and you’ll have 25lbs in your backpack. Good luck and we’ll see you at the conclusion of the test.”

Satisfied that Jack was correctly harnessed and all the monitors were recording his vital signs, the techs filed out of the small room and the door was closed. The treadmill was facing away from the wall of monitoring devices, yet Jack could hear the muffled talk of the techs outside the glass box. A small timer mounted on the wall of the enclosure counted down from 10.

“Jack,” the lead techs voice came through the glass. ‘Get ready to begin.”

The treadmill started moving. Just as the lead tech said, the pace was at a relaxed rate. Jack wondered how they were going to induce cardiac arrest…he was about to find out. After several minutes the counter again began to count down from ten. The pace became noticeably faster and there was a marked increase of the incline. A tech, reaching through the back of the box added another 25 pound weight to the backpack. Jack could feel himself beginning to sweat-was he getting hot from the exertion or were they also increasing the temperature. He watched the techs through the glass as they wrote on their charts and followed the readings on the monitors. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the timer also had a temperature gauge. It now showed 80 degrees, and it seemed like it was getting harder to breathe. His respirations picked up. 

“Jack, we are also changing the air mixture to reflect the rise in altitude. You’ll be sprinting in the mountains soon.”

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, Jack knew they were going to be changing again, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Barely ten minutes into the test and the angle and speed of the treadmill increased again. He didn’t notice the tech adding an additional 25 pounds to the pack. The temp had climbed too-now reading 90 degrees. Jack could feel the air mixture was thinner also. Each breath burned in his throat.

“Heart rate’s taken a big jump, reading 160bpm”

“Vitals are still excellent. Let’s increase the humidity of the enclosure” The lead tech was walking back and forth, studying the readouts while he adjusted the parameters of the test. “Increase humidity to 65 percent.”

The windows of the glass box began to steam up, and Jack could feel his heart pounding in his throat. He wasn’t about to give up easily so he pushed himself harder-his feet were pounding on the track of the treadmill keeping time with his heart. The straps supporting him felt tight across his chest, and sweat was now pouring off his body and hitting the track like rain. 

“He’s throwing off some PVCs, show me the EKG.” the lead tech studied the readouts. “Jack, your heart’s just a little pissed at you right now, but the EKG is still solid., so we’re going to continue.”

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, …as the timer reached one, Jack could feel the increase of incline, and one more weight added to the backpack brought it up to 100lbs., the humidity and temperature increased as well. His lungs were beginning to react to the low levels of oxygen and Jack was sucking so hard on the mask, he threatened to collapse the tube.

“100 degrees, 100 pounds, and 100 percent humidity, and your heart is still…” the lead turned his head to the techs now scurrying back and forth at their stations.

“Pressure’s falling, 140 over 110…”

“Big spike in heartrate, 200bpm”

“Increase the flow of air through the mask-let’s take over his breathing”

Air was now being forced in and out of Jack’s lungs. “Watch the respiration rate and set volume at six liters, we don’t want to burst his lungs.” Jack was struggling now. The relentless pace of the treadmill, the forced breathing, the weight, temperature, humidity-all of it was causing him to stumble on the belt. It was only the harness that was keeping him upright. What was keeping his heart beating was now of intense interest of the techs. He could hear them arguing through the glass.  “This guy’s a machine!” “I think we ought to supplement his air supply with an increase in nitrogen.” “His heart is already maxed out at 230bpm.” “Are we sure? His heart rate was 260 when he came in, without any damage to the myocardium.” “Well, we’ve got him all hooked up, why not find out?” “How long on the treadmill?” “30 minutes” “Hmmm,” the lead tech walked up to the glass intently studying the specimen inside. Previous candidates had all experienced myocardial infarction within 15 minutes, and here Jack was at 30 minutes, still with a rock-steady heart pumping at 230bpm.. “OK, up the nitrogen to 90 percent” When the increased level of nitrogen reached Jack’s lungs, his heartrate soared to 275bpm. The increased workload this placed on his heart caused a marked enlargement to his left ventricle. The enlarged ventricle in turn stretched the membrane of his aortic valve to where it couldn’t close completely. The techs noted the regurgitation caused by the flowback of blood into the ventricle and kept a close eye on the EKG and other telemetry. Up till now Jack’s heart was more than capable of optimal performance, but at 275 bpm, it was only a matter of time before his heart arrested-or infarct-or worst case-exploded. A tear to his myocardium now would be instantly fatal, even with immediate intervention. Jack’s heart, now swollen to twice its normal size and even with the regurgitation of the valves in his heart kept pumping. “Is the catheter still in. Place?” “Yes, the tip is right here in the coronary artery” The tech pointed to the angiographic image on monitor 2. “Alright, I want to inflate the balloon at the end of the catheter to simulate a 25% blockage.” Jack kept up the pace on the treadmill oblivious to what was happening around him. As the balloon swelled in the coronary artery, Jack’s heart was under continued assault by the medical team. His heart having to work harder than ever to supply sufficient oxygenated blood to keep his heart beating had now swollen to a size seen only in men weighing in excess of 300lbs or those bodybuilders who have been addicted to steroids. Sweat was pouring down his chest, collecting in his navel, spilling out and splashing on the treadmill. His heartrate hovered near 300bpm even while blood pooled in his ventricles and his heart valves unable to close properly. Now there were pronounced changes to his EKG and his once rock-solid heartbeat started throwing off irregular beats and pauses, the murmurs caused by the leaking valves was now a roar. “Increase inflation to 50%” the lead tech now instructed his team to ready for the inevitable as the balloon swelled to block off 50% of the blood flow in Jack’s coronary artery. And suddenly, not more than a minute in… “He’s arresting!”  So this was the limit they were waiting for. “Get him down!” Shouted the lead tech. “Over to the table-assess his condition.” Jack was unconscious now. His heart had stopped beating. But was his heart still viable? He slumped over as the two techs unstrapped him and spread him out on the exam table. There was a flurry of activity around him now. His sweat-soaked body still showed the muscular build even while limp on the table. The mask was removed-substituted with a breathing tube. The next few minutes will be critical. “BP zero!” “Full arrest” “OK everybody, keep focused.” The lead shouted. “EKG-flatline!” “Begin CPR” “Defibrillator ready, charged to 600!” “Ready with the adrenaline? “Right here” “Get me three syringes-cardiac needles, c’mon faster!” “Stop CPR “  “First syringe!” The lead held the needle up to make sure there were no air bubbles and plunged the first needle directly into Jack”s heart. Even with the commotion in the room, the lead could still hear the shrill whine of asystole on the monitor. “Nothing” “Prepare to defib”, the lead quickly grabbed the paddles from the assistant-“clear” The lead pressed the paddles against Jacks massive chest and delivered the first of many shocks. His body convulsed with the charge. His chest punching up off the table. “No change!” “C’mon soldier” The lead readied the second syringe and quickly shot the contents into his still heart. “No change, we’re ready in surgery, wanna crack his chest?” But the lead didn’t hear as he grabbed the paddles again.”clear!” Again the electrical charge surged through Jack’s chest. Again his back arched and relaxed. “Again-clear!” “Again-clear!” “Again-clear!”

The lead tech became concerned that too many electrical shocks would severely damage the heart muscle, he pulled away the paddles

“Continue CPR” This time the big tech, easily the size of a linebacker, rushed up to the table and placed his giant hands on Jack’s chest. Even as large as his hands were, they were dwarfed by the size of Jack’s chest. He began CPR. The force of his hands compressed his chest and caused Jack to groan.

“He’s coming around-“

“No, that’s just the air being forced out of his lungs”

“One, two three!” The big tech counted out the compressions. Each so explosive, they caused Jack’s body to bounce up on the table.

“Six, seven eight…” At 10, he stopped and another tech pushed air into Jack’s lungs through a mask. Now Jack’s chest, just moments ago, crushed down on the table the air forced into his lungs caused them to swell.

“Easy!” The lead tech called out. “He’s not a balloon.”

It seemed like hours since Jack’s heart had arrested, but looking at the monitors, it was only about 12 minutes. Again the big tech resumed counting.

“One, two ,three-“ 

The shrillness of the alarm was replaced with a steady beep. All the techs present let out a cheer. Jack’s heart had resumed beating! Even the lead tech gave a sigh of relief.

“That was cutting it a little close! Keep an eye on him and report back to me every 10 minutes.” The lead tech now returned to a small office at the end of the room. Leaving his techs to handle the follow up.

When the lead tech entered his office he was startled by the presence of the sergeant sitting at his desk.

“Looks like you almost lost me another one.” The sergeant exclaimed.

“Well, no more so than the others. His resilience has proven a surprise though. Bet you were a little scared!”

“Nah!” The sergeant was still looking at the lead tech. “I knew he could do it! I was very thorough in my selection process. When will he be ready for the mission-I’m on a tight schedule.”

“Well, no more so than the others. His resilience has proven a surprise though. Bet you were a little scared!”

“Nah!” The sergeant was still looking at the lead tech. “I knew he could do it! I was very thorough in my selection process”

“Well then I have good news for you! Don’t plan any trips for the forseeable future. If this kid has a good night, we can be ready to go tomorrow morning.

“That’s what I was hoping to hear!” The sergeant now stood up to leave ”I’ll be here at 08 hundred.”

One of the techs supervising Jack’s recovery squeezed past the sergeant as he left.

“He’s up and wants to speak to you.”

 “Well, that was quick!

The lead tech went over to the recovery area to check on Jack. He was a little concerned that Jack had enough and they’d have to “process” him out. He quickly forgot about that when he saw Jack was up and anxious.

“Alright, what’s next?” Jack said with a characteristic enthusiasm that caught to lead tech by surprise. “I’m ready to go!”

“Well, let’s take a look at your stats.” The lead read each monitor and read them out loud. “BP 120 over 70, heart rate 60, blood gasses look good, EKG rock solid” The lead pressed the bell of his stethoscope to Jack’s chest. “Hell, your heart sounds are perfect!  Anyone examining you would think you just walked in off the street, and not been in cardiac arrest for 15 minutes or subjected to the regimen we’ve put you through.”

“So like I said, what’s next?” Jack said with more than a little impatience in his voice. 

“Well,” the lead spoke without looking up from his clipboard. “like everything else in the service, it’s hurry up and wait! Your next round will start promptly at 08 hundred hours. I suggest you get some rest. If you’re hungry, we’ve got a pretty good cafeteria. Why don’t you put on your shirt and get something to eat.” Now turning to one of the techs present. ”Get him cleaned up and remove all the…”

Without finishing his direction, one of the two techs in the room started removing the leads to all the monitors and pulled the intravenous lines, leaving the  in Jack’s forearm.

The sergeant now appeared only this time stripped to the waist. Jack now knew what he felt that time serge held him up. Two tubes, one larger than the other were coming directly out of his chest and taped to his chest and belly led to a fanny pack on his right hip.

“What gives” Jack pointed at the tubes. 

“I figured you’d have a few questions. In short, this contraption keeps me alive. This tube…” holding the smaller of the two in his hand, “ …leads to a small air pump. The air powers my mechanical heart, keeping it beating at a steady 90bpm. This other, is connected to a second, bigger pump provides oxygen to my artificial lungs. Together, they keep me going.”

“How long…:

“How long have I been bionic, so to speak? About 18 months now. But they can’t function indefinitely. Two years is about their max. Which is why you’re here. Almost since the implantation of these artificial organs I’ve been looking for a permanent replacement.” Turning now to the lead tech,” how many applicants have I interviewed?”

“Almost two a month.”

“So let’s say 36 applicants have applied and been rejected.”

“So you’d better be finding a suitable donor, and soon” Jack exclaimed.

“…I have already, in fact I got his application just a little over a week ago. Ran him through some preliminaries and then a more rigorous series of tests-came through as a perfect match.”

Placing his huge, furry hand on Jack’s chest. His index finger rubbed over and over Jack’s left nipple causing Jack’s heart to race. 

”In about an hour, you’ll be wheeled into the operating room. I’ll already be prepped and my chest opened.  At this time under partial sedation, the surgeon will open your chest and abdominal cavity, a bone saw will cut through your sternum and rib spreaders will crank open your chest cavity. Your heart and lungs will be carefully but quickly removed from your chest and transferred to an ice water bath and brought over to my table where my open chest will have been cleared of the artificial heart and lungs. Then, barring any unforeseen complications, your heart and lungs will be transplanted into my chest.  Think of it as service to your country.”

All the while, the sergeant was explaining the transplant process and without Jack noticing, the surgical team was strapping Jacks wrists and legs to the operating table. By the time Jack was aware of what was going on, the techs had already hooked him up to the various monitors and inserted a central line through his neck. The immediately injected Jack with a paralyzing agent to keep him from struggling on the table.

“Let’s keep moving people-we gotta get this soldier prepped.”

Jack could turn his head but the full breathing apparatus prevented him from talking. From his vantage point he could see the sergeant strip. With his shirt off Jack could make out the scars from previous open heart surgeries. The scar tissue had built up pretty thick’ running from his neck down to his navel. Clearly, the sergeant had been through this a few times already. How many other guys like me has he “recruited” for this honor. How many more will there be. While Jack watched, the sergeant was prepped. First his chest and belly were shaved. This took some time, because even though he was flat on his back, his chest and abdomen were deeply muscled. Two surgical assistants were tasked with shaving the sergeants body. He watched as the sergeant was anesthetized, hooked up to monitors and then, surprisingly quickly, a scalpel sliced through his muscled body. He could hear the bone saw cutting but everything was getting hazy as the sedatives took effect.

If Jack had been fully conscious, he’d have been aware that the bone saw he heard was actually cutting through his rib cage, that’s how quickly the operation was proceeding. The surgical team now prepared to open Jack’s chest. He could hear the cranking of the rib spreader, but couldn’t feel the surgeon’s hands as reached into the open cavity and took hold of his heart.

“This is just about the biggest heart I’ve ever seen” the surgeon said as he felt the beating organ, pressing his gloved fingers into the pulsing ventricles. The surgeon felt the surface of the heart, paying particularly close attention to Jack’s coronary artery. “Good color, and very supple, no apparent hardening.” Now addressing his surgical assistants. “You may remember recruit 22. His heart looked as good as this and when I pressed my finger into the artery” he demonstrated for them. “When I pressed here, he suffered a massive infarct. The plaque inside was dislodged and traveled through his heart, rendering the entire organ useless.” 

“Here, this is where we will sever the aorta.” He traced his finger just above the aortic arch. “Once clamped we will begin the removal of his heart. Team two will then simultaneously remove the lungs. Alright you can clamp here.”

At the moment the aorta was clamped, Jack’s entire body tensed and slowly relaxed.

  The sergeant had just picked up a new recruit and loaded his car on the carrier. The jumped into the cab. The recruit messed with the A/C controls.

“Geez, does’t this thing work?’

“Well, that’s the army for ya. The radio’s pretty good though” as he turned the dials.

They broke into a news report. “We have a gruesome story to finish out the 5 o’clock hour, Methodist General hospital reported that an unmarked van was found this morning in their ER drive up. Doctors on the scene weren’t prepared for what was waiting for them. The body of a young man, approx 25yrs old, possibly a solder stationed at the local base was discovered in the back of the vehicle. His heart and lungs had been removed, and his chest cavity packed with ice. Reports are still sketchy. We reached out to the base commander but he hasn’t responded. We will update as information comes avai…”

The sergeant turned the dial, “Enough of that! Find another station! There’s gotta be music on there somewhere.” 

As the recruit turned the dial, the sergeant reached over, opened the glove box and pulled out a box of poppers. “Here, open a couple of these.” And dropped the box in his lap.

“Is this standard procedure for this program, sarge?” The recruit said skeptically.

“Yeah, it makes the trip go faster, oh, and one more thing, drop the “Sarge”,  my name’s Jack.”

[mylittlediarys-stuff]

Bite Back Part 4

Link to part 5: https://www.tumblr.com/mylittlediarys-stuff/740736906727424000/bite-back-part-5?source=share

By the time she woke up, it was already dark outside and quiet. She guessed that Alfred put her in her room probably with the help of someone else. 

What would I do without him?

She slowly made her way out of her bed, then grabbed her glasses off her desk. She put on her glasses to make her way to her bathroom. Due to previous experiences she learned that not wearing her glasses to get to the bathroom during dark nights would lead to her face planting to the floor. 

She made her way to her bathroom. She took off her glasses to splash her face with some water to actually wake up. The only thing she could think of right now was what she should make for dinner. She was practically starving and it was hurting her stomach a bit.

It is probably pretty late so everyone must be at their nighttime activities. 

She grabbed her towel and started patting her face. 

Ramen sounds nice or could have some-

She started to pay attention to her hair. She started to mess with it. 

There is no way this is real. Maybe this is a dream?

Her black hair turned red and even got longer. She even pinched her cheek to see if this was real life. 

And why can I see so clearly without my glasses!

Amaka decided the next logical step was to slap her face this time because this had to be a dream. 

“That hurt,” she mumbled. The girl didn’t even know how to react. She didn’t know if she should scream or if she should pass out again. 

I can accept the different hair colors but I don’t understand why I can see. 

Amaka had always had pretty bad vision as long as she can remember but now she has 20/20 vision maybe even better? 

Thousands of possibilities of what could happen ran through her head. But suddenly she started having a headache. She opened up the drawer to get her bonnet and she covered her hair. Amaka thought if anyone were to see this she would be in serious trouble. 

I need to find some pain killer so I can figure out the hair and eye problem. 

The girl stared into the mirror a bit longer. She opened her mouth a bit and noticed that even her teeth looked a bit different. Almost like she had fangs. No she definitely had fangs.

I can't do this anymore.

The girl started to head her way out of the bathroom but each step made her head hurt more. The time she got to the door she felt like it was a thousand pounds on her head. She started to sweat even. She was somehow able to put her hand on the door knob but when she tried to pull the door open a bit more since it wasn’t fully closed she broke the knob. 

“Okay, what is happening?” Amaka could only make one logical conclusion. 

I’m sick and I should just go to bed and wake up in the morning then I will be better.

-

“Okay, I’m still sick.” was the first thing she said the moment she woke up. She still had a headache and she was hoping that the hair and good vision would go away (though she knew that wouldn't happen). Her morning seemed only to get worse as she kept on going. 

First, when she got her toothpaste she somehow squeezed it too hard, and all the paste ended up on the mirror. She reluctantly took some of the paste off the mirror with her toothbrush. Second, even the movement she made made her headache worse and she had a cough now too. Third, not only did she break the knob of the door she also somehow broke her shower knob thing.

It can’t get worse. 

It got worse. The moment she made it downstairs to get breakfast. She covered her face with a mask and wore a hoodie to cover her hair. She even put on her glasses even though she didn't really need them. 

“Good morning everyone,” Amaka said before taking a seat, she turned her face to make eye contact with her favorite butler. “Good morning Mr. Alfred.” Even though he couldn’t see it, she made enough to have a small smile. She picked up the good morning she got from her brothers and Bruce. They were too busy talking to each other to even make eye contact with her.

“Good morning Miss Wayne,” Alfred replied, then brought a cup of orange juice for the girl and a stack of pancakes with eggs and bacon. “Miss, are you feeling well?”

“Oh, yes. I just got a small cough.” She said, before pulling down her mask and taking a big bite of her pancake. “I think I just need to take it easy for today.” Alfred nodded his head before heading back into the kitchen to do whatever he did. 

Amaka tried to listen to the boy's conversation while eating but she found that their voice was making her head hurt worse, every word they said just seemed so loud. She did pick up the reason why Jason was here because after the brother bonding day (which Dick forced Jason and Damian to go on) he was too lazy to go home and Dick was here cause Dick basically lived here when he wasn't working.

She slowly got up. She wanted to just go back to her room and sleep. She picked up her plate and headed to the kitchen to thank Alfred. The moment she got up was the moment Damian threw a butter knife at Jason but he badly missed. The knife ends up going toward Amaka where she catches it easily. It took her a second to realize she had caught the knife.

“Since when can you do that?” Damian asked, all the attention was on her now. Which made her feel very uncombable. 

“Do what? Oh catching this?” She lifted the knife a bit higher. “Anyone can catch a knife I guess?” Amaka laughed awkwardly.

“I can throw a ball at you going at 5 mph and you won’t be able to catch it,” Damian replied. The thing she really didn’t like about Damian was that he enjoyed saying the most rude or passive-aggressive comments toward anyone in a radius of 1 yard.

“Maybe it was luck then,” She muttered. “Yeah, that's the only possibility is luck.” 

“And why do you look so weird?” He asked. 

Weird?!

“Damian, stop being rude,” Dick said. 

“But I’m only telling the truth she looks like she aged 50 years-” The only reason why he stopped was because Dick covered his mouth with his hand and because Bruce gave him a ‘Stop or no going on patrol’ look. 

Do I really look that bad? 

“Well because I’m sick if you hadn’t noticed.” She mumbled and made her way out. 

Extra- 

After Amaka left the room, Damion continued his complaining again. 

“I am not wrong,” He mumbled. “I mean look at her face, she had eye bags and everything. The face mask was actually saving her.”

“Like she said she was sick Damian,” Tim replied. “and everyone gets eyebags when they're tired or sick.”

“Drake you 're only saying that cause you can’t get rid of your eye bags.”

“Demon spawn needs to learn some manners,” Jason said. 

“Don't even talk about manners Todd.”

“Damien, your brother is right, you lack manners, especially towards your siblings,” Bruce said. 

“Yes, Father.” Damian was able to finally shut his mouth after Bruce said something. “But, you guys don’t think it's weird she caught the knife.”

“No, not at all,” Bruce said.

“Anyone who lives here can catch a knife easily,” Dick said. 

“She can’t even dodge my punch during practice,” Damian said. “But she can catch the knife I threw?”

“Dodging and catching are two different things,” Jason said. 

“Not really they're both just reflexes,” Tim said. “They're more alike than you think. 

“Smartass,” Jason mumbled. 

“Someone doesn’t get that good overnight, and not someone as bad as fighting like her,” Damian said. 

“Just drop the topic,” Bruce said, he realized his sons are just going to give him a headache. 

Note: Red hair? Check! Accelerated vision? Check! Super strength? Check? Fangs? Check! Superhuman reflex? Check! Possibly some spider sense? (check the end of the last chapter) Check! Spoiler alert Amaka powers going to be based on Migual and Toby versions spider man.  I still didn't really talk about how Amaka looks but now you guys know she used to have all-black hair but now it is red for some magical reason and she has glasses. I don’t know if you guys could pick it up but Amaka is Nigerian you can tell by her name. I think i'm going to make a whole character profile for her and probably draw her to it. 

[uyuiuyui2]

15 tiips to avoid the Freshman 15 (and the rest of your college weight gain)

Hello, future college students of America. First off, you’re annoying and I hate you. You’re about to be thrust into the blissfully independent lifestyle of the American college student. Of course, there’s a kicker when it comes to the most fun 4-6 years of your life, the dreaded Freshman 15 (followed for some of us by the Sophomore 10, the Junior 17, and the whopping Senior 25) . It’s damn near impossible to avoid, between late night pizza places on every corner, and the obscene quantities of alcohol you’ll consume. You’re probably about to blow up like Betty Francis did in the last season of Mad Men. As a survivor of the Freshman 15, here are some simple things you can do to try to avoid packing on the pounds like I did.

1. Think about the fact that if you get fat as shit then you no longer get to have sex with hot people. That’s not to say that you won’t hook up anymore, but the quality of your sexual partners will likely dip with every pound you put on. Hot people only have sex with other hot people. That’s just as constant a law as gravity. Pretty sure Newton wrote about it.

2. Your five-minute walk to class does not constitute exercise, and that walk will get a little harder with every roll your stomach gains. Hit the gym every once in a while. Losing weight is absurdly easy in your late teens and early 20s. Try to build that habit now, otherwise you’ll end up the fat guy in his thirties huffing and puffing on a treadmill and sweating up a storm. 

3. If you’re eating after 10pm and you’re not drunk, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself when you can’t fit into any of your clothes at Christmas break.

4. Get in a shit ton of trouble. You’ll have run a marathon’s worth of distance from the cops in no time at all. Burns calories, and gives you great stories to tell over lunch.

5. Picture the disgust on people’s faces when you take your shirt off on Spring Break. Hell, picture the looks on your frat brothers’ faces when you take your shirt off to chug one more beer at the tailgate - trust me on this, they’re laughing at you, not with you.

6. None of your future pledges will be able to take you seriously as a hard ass if you’re a fat ass. There’s a difference between “intimidating power gut” and just being a tub of lard.

7. Mix in a salad or soup every once in a while. Stay away from the regular lunch buffet every now and then. If you eat the garbage that your house chef or dining hall cook puts out on the buffet every night, you’re going to put on some serious pounds. 

8. Everyone is gaining weight, so it’s easy to get caught up in the “everyone’s doing it” excuse. Bullshit. Yeah, everyone’s gaining weight, but that’s no excuse to make a second trip to the fro-yo machine. Also, frozen yogurt is not healthier than ice cream, especially when you load absurd amounts of chocolate and candy on top, idiots.

9. Walk everywhere. Walk to the bars, walk to class, walk to your hookup buddy’s house at 3am. Ideally you’ll be too drunk to drive anywhere safely anyway.

10. Watch an episode of The Biggest Loser before every meal. Imagine someone filming you eating the meal you’re about to eat in slow motion with sad piano music in the background. Opt for some fruit or something not deep fried instead of a heaping pile of fries.

11. Eat with members of the opposite sex. Your grody frat bros are likely to cheer you on and encourage you to slam a fifth slice of pepperoni pizza dripping with grease, but the co-eds from Kappa Delta will make it clear that they’re judging you. In a perfect world, power-eating would be a potent aphrodisiac, but it isn’t. It’s just gross.

12. Don’t eat when you’re stressed out. Head to the gym or go on a quick run to release powerful endorphins that will make you feel good. It’s science. Check it out.

13. Imagine that first piece of XL clothing you’ll have to buy. S-L are normal-sized person clothes and you’re about to enter the world of Big & Tall. If you need extra motivation, walk through a Big and Tall store and take note of the guys who shop there - without some serious willpower, you’ll end up just like them in no time. That’s embarrassing.

14. Try a high fiber diet - processed foods are the cheapest and quickest way to widen your waistline. Fiber is scientifically proven to keep you feeling fuller longer so you won’t keep reaching your fat stubby fingers into the potato chip bag. 

15. Do tons of drugs and never sleep.

Look, the Freshman 15 is almost completely unavoidable, and obviously I’m kidding about several of these tips. You’re going to gain weight, no matter what. There’s food and booze at your beck and call at all hours of the day, no parents to tell you “no” and plenty of peer pressure. That said, you get those 15 pounds. That’s the house money given to you when you walk in the door. After that, you’re on the hook for becoming a disgusting human being. In reality, if you work out three or four days a week and watch what you eat every couple of days, you should be fine.

Of course, we all received this good advice when we were in your shoes. It’s more than likely that you’ll disregard the sage wisdom from your elders the same way I did - you’ll think it won’t happen to you, that you couldn’t possibly end up with a big fat beer gut, tits bigger than your first girlfriend’s and jowls that jiggle when you laugh. We’ll be there to clap you on the back and order your first round when you belly up to the bar with us - after all, when was the last time you saw a skinny alum on campus?

[alkali1]

Exercise

They called it Indefinite Pregnancy Syndrome. A side effect of the extreme, experimental fertility treatments you had used after years of failing to conceive. Some women were pregnant for an extra few weeks, others spent 20 years carrying their broods before birthing children the size of full grown adults. There was no way of knowing how long it would be, all you and your wife could do was stay prepared for the day labor would finally come.

It had been several years since she blew past her original due date, and her big brood now kept her bedbound almost all the time. It had been years since she had been unable to walk unaided. A series of increasingly elaborate mobility aids, wheelchairs, and walkers had kept her somewhat mobile for a couple years, but now the ceiling-mounted harness system in your house was her only hope for getting out of bed.

It was so time consuming and effortful to put on that it was now only used for her daily exercise routine. Though the types and amount of physical activity she could do were severely curtailed by the hundreds of pounds of fat, fluid, and baby weight bloating up her short body, it was important for her to do as much as she could for her own health and the health of the brood, as well as to keep her body prepared for birth, whenever it may come.

You start the long ordeal of strapping her baby-ballooned body into the harness. She tries her best to help position herself but it's a struggle for her to move her heaving bump even an inch without support. Eventually you get her strapped in. You notice that it's probably time to start getting a larger harness built; her belly is squeezed in there tight and her baby fat bulges beyond the straps around her butt, thighs, and back. You heave her county-fair pumpkin sized boobs into the inbuilt bra attachment and stuff it with several milk pads for her near-constant leakage.

The harness whirrs loudly as it begins to lift her up from the bed. When it reaches a comfortable height you step behind her, steadying her by her waist and shoulders, and she slowly rises to her feet. She whimpers and moans in pain and discomfort from the unimaginable pressure of a kindergartener-sized head rammed against her unyielding cervix.

You support your body gently and slowly waddle her to the living room. She can barely see over her massive breasts so you guide her over to her peanut-shaped yoga ball. She straddles it and you gently lower her down so she's sitting on it, while the harness retains enough weight that she doesn't pop it. Her extremely wide hips and wobbling, cellulite-bloated ass cheeks nearly dwarf the yoga ball in size. She gently starts bouncing, hoping the repetitive motions will stimulate her contractions.

She softly moans as she bounces, turned on by her swollen pussy rubbing against the ball. She hasn't been able to reach past her wrecking-ball womb and colossal ass in years, and all the hormones combined with the intense pressure make her extremely needy. She grinds desperately into the ball, her pillowy butt cheeks jiggling violently within the confines of her tight red yoga pants.

Eventually she tires herself out. She's panting and covered in sweat, babies kicking uncomfortably at her ribs, stomach, and spine. You gently wipe the sweat from her forehead and kiss her on the cheek. It drives you crazy to see her like this, pushing her horribly overdue body to the limit, desperately trying to pleasure herself and induce labor.

You lift up her belly with the harness and move the yoga ball away. It's time for her squat routine. You crouch down behind her, pressing your hands deep into her huge, soft mommy butt to support her strained hips. She carefully squats down as you lower her belly along with her. She reaches the nadir of her squat and summons all her strength to lift herself, grunting deeply as you press against her fat hips in support. She repeats this several more times, but on the final rep her overtaxed yoga pants finally give out, splitting at the seams straight down the middle, exposing her pale cellulite and stretched out maternity panties. She huffs and puffs, too exhausted and embarrassed to heft her massive body back up. You can see how soaked they are, not just from sweat but from her own pleasure. You can't help but grab her soft flesh and kiss her exposed cellulite playfully. She grinds her fertile hips back against you and begs you to go further. You dive in, spreading her butt wide and teasing her wet, quivering pussy through her panties.

After a few minutes she's close to cumming. She begs for you to penetrate her, and you oblige, rolling her on top of her loveseat-sized belly and pulling her panties to the side. You grab huge handfuls of butt fat and spread her as wide as you can, forcing the rip in her leggings wider. You push in and start thrusting away hard, making her quiver and moan. She always wants it rough and intense, hoping that it will induce her long-awaited labor. You grab her long, sweaty blonde hair with one hand, pulling her head up out of its resting place in her bulging cleavage, and slap her ass hard with the other. You slap her again and again, leaving angry pink handprints on her delicate ass flesh. She's overcome with pleasure, squeezing her tits hard enough for milk to flood the pads and stain the bra attachment.

You talk dirty to her about how huge she is, how unbelievably fat and swollen, how utterly helpless and immobile she is. She loves it more than anything when you call attention to her overly pregnant body. After a few minutes you can tell she's close to orgasm. You pull her fat hips as close against you as you can, thrusting deep enough to touch her swollen, impenetrable cervix. It's enough to push her over the edge, and you soon follow, blasting ropes into her tight pregnant cunt while she screams loudly in ecstasy.

You each just sit there for several minutes, sweaty bodies pressed together, breathing deeply from exertion. When she's recovered enough to stand you tear off the remnants of her inadequate yoga pants and hoist her belly to the ceiling. You waddle her back to the bedroom, lie her down and remove the harness, gently rubbing the spots where the tight straps left marks on her skin. Your wife, utterly spent, goes down for a nap almost immediately, and you spoon up against her soft backside and join her.

[ilydeku]

Workout...right? | izuku x reader

"...30 more seconds y/n!-"

"AGHHH!" You grunted as the core of your abs throbbed in pain. You've only been doings planks for 8 minutes, but the time felt like hours.

You turned your head to Izuku. Sure, he was sweating and all, but it seemed like nothing to him. In fact, he was smiling. This was all fun to him; going beyond limits while working out, waking up to a stiff sore body.

"...and done!" Your body collapsed to the mat in exhaustion, diluting it in sweat. The vibrations or treadmills and weights hitting the floor rumbled through your body. Izuku grabbed his gallon water bottle, nearly chugging down half the fill.

"Great. Let's go home."

"Home?" He laughed, twisting the cap back onto the bottle. "We've only gotten through the warmup! Now it's time to lift!" You groaned, sitting up and crossing your legs. He handed you the bottle to drink.

"You're joking. That was the warmup? All those 10 set 20 reps of exercise? Never working out with you again."

"Hehe you don't mean that. You enjoy anything we do together, plus you wanted a feel of how my daily workouts are, right?"

"...shut up."

You and Izuku took a 5-minute break, taking a breather, and resting on the bench press. After, you both starting on lifting dumbbells. Though, you moved on after seeing Izuku lifting over 60-pound ones. You went off and did your own thing of using the treadmills and stair climbers while Izuku stayed around the weight-lifting area. Agility has always been more of your stronger suit than strength anyways. From time to time, you'd look over in Izuku's direction. Every time you just decided to glance over, he'd be doing something that never failed to amaze you. Whether that be bench pressing over 1000 pounds or deadlifting over 2000. What a sight to behold. He turned the heads of the men working out around him. Compared to him they looked so small and weak. You found it amusing when some even came up to him, probably asking for tips and tricks. But it wasn't funny when some girl came up. You frowned as you watched the action unfold.

"Hi! I'm new here!" The girl smiled, interrupting his routine on

"Hello! Welcome! This gym has a lot of equipment to offer, so go ahead and explore for yourself."

"I couldn't help but notice you out of the other people here! Are you a professional trainer? I saw you helping these guys a while ago." She leaned in a little, failing to grab his attention.

"Oh! I'm actually not. Just a friendly average guy working out. Not a professional trainer." By this time, Izuku had let go of the equipment and was intently listening to the girl. You frowned. You couldn't hear what was going on, so couldn't really tell her to go away.

"I see. That's unfortunate for me." She crossed her arms and pouted, puffing up her cheeks for effect.

"Well if you really need help on working out, I could lend you some time."

"Really!?" She exclaimed rather too loudly. "Thank you so much!" They then started going through the routine that you just recently endured. You laughed a little at how embarrassing she looked as she struggled to make it halfway through the exercises. Though you may have struggled, at least you made it through the whole routine.

"H...Hey." She huffed, as they took a breather. "I heard on social media that squats or whatever are good for you. Can we try them?" She asked, snaking an arm around his. Izuku frowned, pulling his arm away from her, but managed to keep his cheery outlook in continuation. You began coming closer to the weight area, just enough to hear what was going on.

"Uhm...Sure!" He began by getting into the starting position. The girl followed after. "The stance and core of squats are the most important when it comes to squats." He began squatting down halfway. "When you do it, don't go all the way down. Try to make your thighs as parallel to the ground as possible. When you go back up, do it slowly-"

THUMP

"Oops. I fell hehe! Do you mind helping me up?" He turned to see the girl sitting on the floor who was amused at the situation. Izuku offered her a hand and helped her back to her feet. None of this was very funny to you though. 'I fell' my ass.

"Sorry. It's my first time doing workouts like this." The girl kept a hard grip on Izuku's hand.

"Ahh don't worry! Everyone's like this on their first time."

"...who are you anyway? What's your name? You're, like, totally my type of guy." She clasped her other hand around his, inching closer to him. "From the way smile and the way you act, your handsome face...What are you doing after this? I'd be up for a cup of coffee!"

"HEY IZUKU-"

"No thanks." He tightly grasped both of her wrists in one hand and lightly pushed her away. He might've even bruised them unintentionally. "Sorry, but, I have a beautiful girlfriend waiting for me." He smiled as he turned in your direction and began walking over to you. Your face heats up as the girl watches as he wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek in advance. "This is my girlfriend." He declared audible enough for the people around to hear. The girl was in shock. How embarrassing it must've been for her.

"...Huh?"

"Just so I'm clear, girlfriend as in I'm in a committed loving relationship. Meaning I'm taken. You understand right?"

"Oh..well...right...then excuse me!" She quickly turned away and walked out of sight to the far end of the gym. You were amazed at how confident and assertive Izuku was. It suited him and it was honestly very attractive. You stared at Izuku as he grabbed his gear and set the equipment back where it was. The fluttery feeling was driving you crazy, but it only showed how much you loved him.

"Should we get going now y/n?"

inspired by this one webtoon called maybe meant to be. read it or I'll skin your family

support me? :)

[chloecherrysip]

Just Beyond My Reach, There's Someone Reaching Back For Me (speculative mario movie fic, mario & luigi centric, around 3600 words.)

[OK SO i literally could not stop thinking about this post in the mario movie tag from last week, which turned into me trying to write out my thoughts about how the scenario could unfold, which then turned into me writing a full-fledged fanfic that's over 3,000 words long??? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. I've truly lost my common sense, but I just felt like I HAD to get this out before the movie arrives and their reunion is nothing like this in any way whatsoever.

This is a speculative fic of just one possible scenario out of millions, no actual spoilers; i'm working off info we've seen in the trailers/TV spots/promotions/etc, and all the characterization is based off those too, so it might ultimately be off-base. Please don't @ me after the movie comes out and get on my case about details being wrong! I AM IN THE PAST (and jealous of you in the future for having already seen it).

I present to you: A Version Of Mario & Luigi's Reunion in the Mario Movie That Would Cause Me Irreparable Psychic Damage.]

----

Mario hears him first. He would know that panicked yelp anywhere. 

By that point, he’s lost count of how many of Bowser’s minions he’s tried to interrogate as he fights his way through the airship. There’s so much shouting and clanging all around him, and his voice hurts from yelling loud enough to be heard over it, but he can’t stop. “Where do you keep prisoners? Have you seen someone who looks like me — but tall, skinny, and green? If you take me to him, I’ll go easy on ya, I swear—” 

it’s hard to tell if they’re just refusing to answer him, genuinely don’t know any useful information, or can’t actually communicate in a way he understands — probably some in each column. But he’s about to grab another angry Koopa by the shell and try again when there’s a commotion far off in the distance. The yell that echoes out to him is faint, but it tugs hard at Mario like a rope tied around his middle. Something from his memories, the nightmares he’s been having this whole adventure that he hasn’t told Peach and Toad about. Something instantly, certainly familiar to him in a way that few things are. 

His heart is suddenly lodged in his throat. He barrels his way past the troops and the Kongs fighting them, moving fast towards it.

The area of the airship he’s in starts to slope down further ahead, surrounding a huge open space that, judging by the flickering embers in the air and heavy heat that’s got him sweating through his shirt already, has a whole bunch of lava simmering at the bottom. On the other side of the chasm, there are a whole group of what look like angry blue penguins beating down some feisty stacks of Goombas with their bare flippers. There’s also what impossibly looks like a star, with a face and everything, beaming bright and doing twirling cartwheels in the air, giggling at the carnage underneath. And behind all that, he can see—

Mario reacts without having to think. He jolts forward against the railing, reaches a hand out, and yells as loud as he can. “LUIGI!” 

He can only see glimpses of his overalls and green hat at first amidst all the other chaos, but then pieces of the ongoing fight tumble further to either side, giving a clear view. Mario watches wide-eyed as his brother frantically swats away Goombas, shrieking and flailing his arm furiously when one snags some teeth through his sleeve until it comes loose. He looks terrified and a little queasy, but also very determined, even jumping in to help when one of the penguins gets pinned down. They seem to be working together. 

Luigi is here. He’s really here, alive and fighting and still in one piece. Mario isn’t too late. It feels like a 20 pound weight’s suddenly gone from his back that he hadn't even realized he was carrying around.

His yell is half-drowned out by the chaos, but Luigi’s head still snaps up, eyes wide and stricken and bright with recognition. “Mario?” He cries out, his voice cracking badly. He kicks another Goomba away and then starts spinning, searching the surrounding area with increasing desperation. “Mario!?” 

“Over here!” Mario wishes he had another raccoon powerup so he could just fly across the gap and reach him right then and there. He has to settle for taking off his cap and waving it in the air like a flag. “Luigi! Over here!” 

Finally, their eyes meet across the gorge. It’s not necessary at that point, but Luigi still tears off his own hat and starts flailing it around too overhead, as if just to make absolutely sure his brother knows where he is. “MARIO!” He shouts, his tired face instantly transforming into a relieved, overjoyed smile. 

“Are you okay!?” 

“Y-Yeah! I mean, define “okay,” but I, I'm not hurt or anything like — wait, how did you get here!? We’re way up in the air!”

Mario’s face already hurts from how wide he’s grinning. “Not anymore! And whaddya mean? What do ya think I’ve been doing all this time? Looking for you! You don’t think I could find you wherever you are, even if it’s a million miles in the air? Give your big bro some credit, eh?” 

A laugh bursts out of Luigi, surprised and shaky. Mario has missed that sound so much. “Right, right. I did think…I mean, I hoped, or…” His brother shakes his head, his voice failing him. He lets out a deep breath, so deep that it’s almost like he’s been holding it in ever since they were separated, still smiling like the sun. “I knew you would. Mario, you — look out!” 

Mario turns just as a hammer goes whizzing past his ear, tumbling down into the lava pit. He dodges the next one more capably and then catches the third one that comes his way. In one smooth, lightning-quick motion, he throws it back at the attacking Hammer Bro, nailing him in the face and knocking him out cold.

“Whoa!” He turns back to see Luigi staring with his mouth agape. “When did you learn how to do that?”

“It's kinda a long story!” There will be plenty of time to get into all the details about his adventure when he’s gotten Luigi safely out of an active warzone.  “What about you? I thought you were a prisoner here!” 

“I am! Or I was, I guess! We — me, and the penguins, and Lumalee,” he gestures wearily up overhead, where the blue star-thing is idly playing with a pinwheel that it somehow conjured out of thin air, “and the others — we broke out! We, ah, we’ve been trying to find a way outta here ever since, but this place is a maze and we need some kind of hot air balloon or one of those floating clown-car thingies to even get away in the first place, and—”

“Spinies at four o’clock!” One of the penguins shouts, at the same time that Mario yells “Luigi, on your left!”

Luigi jolts at the sight of the three spiky, spinning shells approaching fast. He jumps high enough to leapfrog right over them all, causing them to ricochet off the wall unexpectedly and careen off the side straight into the deep pit. 

“Nice, Weegie!” Mario cheers. “You always were the better jumper.” 

“Keep your head in the fight, soldier!” One specific penguin calls out to Luigi. He’s wearing a very fancy gold crown — probably their king? “We’re not done here yet!” 

“I know, I know, but look!” Luigi gestures excitedly across the chasm. “My brother’s here! He made it!”

“Good show! If he’s as brave as you said, he can help us beat back these dastardly troops once and for all! We’ll all see the light of day again soon!”

The rest of the penguins cheer, thrusting their flippers victoriously into the air, and then let out a wave of new, guttural battle cries. The Penguin King smiles over at Mario and salutes him before rejoining the fray. There are more of Bowser’s minions crowding the walkways on both sides, Mario realizes with a newfound wave of worry. He needs to get to Luigi now. 

“Stay right there!” He calls, starting to run alongside the railing. “Don’t move! I’m coming!”

“Are you kidding!? Wait!” Luigi starts running too, mirroring Mario. “I can meet you faster this way!” 

Mario laughs. “If you can keep up with me!” 

“You’re on!”

The road ahead of him is pure chaos, filled with attacking enemies and whooping Kongs and weapons flying every which way, but Mario runs. He runs until his heart burns, dodging and weaving, almost tripping here and there because he can’t stop looking over the gap to make sure Luigi’s still there on the other side, stumbling his way through his own gauntlet. The two areas are winding closer together, slowly but surely. They must meet somewhere. He’ll find it. He has to.

“Hey, Luigi!” He yells, breathless and happy. “Remember when we were fixing Mrs. McGrady’s sink a couple weeks ago and talking about the future? Did you imagine it’d be anything like this?” 

“Whaddya think!?” Luigi shouts back jokingly. “I-I mean, I imagined people being mad at us, but those were customers. There was definitely a lot less lava, and magic, and crazy green pipes that send you to places from your literal nightmares!” He laughs, which swiftly turns into a yelp when he has to dodge away from a red Koopa. The next words come out thicker, almost strained. “Mario, you, you’re really here, you — I missed you, I…”

Even with the distance and the distracting noise and the heavy breathing, Mario can hear the familiar tearing in his brother’s voice, and it pushes him to run faster. Luigi is so much braver than many people in their life have given him credit for, but he has a breaking point, and Mario can recognize it like the back of his own hand. Heck, he could use a good cry right about now too. They're so close. Just a little further.

He’s never been the biggest hugger — that title belongs squarely to Luigi, who always holds on a little too long, especially when Mario protests, swinging him up into the air until Mario has to grab him in a headlock and wrestle him down, both of them laughing by then — but he genuinely doesn’t know how he’s ever going to let go of his brother again once he’s within arm’s reach. 

“I missed you too! Every day!” He calls out, and if his voice cracks, well, that’s okay. “Hold on! It’s gotta be just up ahead!” There’s a solid wall coming up where they won’t be able to see each other across the way any longer, but the sharp curve of it looks extremely promising. “I’ll meet you on the other side!” 

“Okay!” 

The wall comes between them. Mario's finally in the clear, having left all the attackers in the dust. His legs and chest hurt, but it doesn’t matter. He's about to get his brother back. He feels invincible, unstoppable.

“I told you, bro!” He can’t hear Luigi at all any longer, but he shouts anyway, hoping the words reach him.  “Even if it didn’t turn out like we thought, it’s all gonna be okay! This is crazy stuff, but as long as we're—” 

Mario turns the corner and skids to a sharp stop. The words die in his throat, turning to ash.

Bowser is in front of him. 

The King of the Koopas nearly fills the entire space wall-to-wall, hulking and monstrous, even bigger than what Mario imagined. He breathes out an angry, deep growl that prickles at Mario’s skin, star-bright embers scattering in the air, the smell of burning getting stronger and stronger. But none of that is what Mario is focusing on. He’s frozen in place at the sight of Luigi, wriggling in one of Bowser’s gripped hands. A thick, scaly finger is coiled tight over his brother’s mouth too, keeping him from making any noise besides a variety of muffled, panicked sounds. 

“Thought you didn’t know him, Greenie,” Bowser says in a low voice to Luigi. “Wasn’t that what you said? Boy, you wouldn’t like what I usually do to liars. It involves fire — a lot of it.” His rows of sharp teeth part, just enough for a big exhale, tinged with molten heat. Luigi cringes, turning his head away as far as he can manage. He’s trembling. “But lucky for you, turns out you’re not entirely useless.”

It takes a moment for Mario to come back into his body, remember how to move and think. But slowly, his hands ball into fists. A voice erupts out of him that barely sounds like his own, grave and angry, angrier than he’s ever been in his life. 

“I’m only gonna say this once, ya overgrown turtle,” he says, shifting his footing into a fighting stance. “Let my brother go now.” 

Bowser looks down at him with a derisive sort of amusement for a long moment before laughing outright. "Give me a break, shortie! You’re even punier in person — 50 of you couldn't stop me. But that hasn’t stopped you from trying, has it? You and your little friends  — your pathetic excuse for an “army,” if that’s what you want to call it. But that all ends now.” 

As if on cue, Mario hears DK and a few other Kongs turn the corner, whooping and hollering, only to pause too at the sight of Bowser. “Let’s get ‘em! He can't take us all at once!” Someone says, and there’s a rush of new movement behind Mario. Bowser turns Luigi in his hand, holding him out a little closer to Mario with a shake of the wrist — a taunt. One of his claws pulls up just a little from the rest, the sharp tip arched and pressed lightly to his brother’s neck. The implication is clear. 

“Stop!” Mario shouts, half-strangled. He must sound serious enough that DK yells “hang on, hang on!” to his brethren, grabbing them with both arms and holding them back from attacking. On Bowser's other side, Mario can see the penguins watching what’s unfolding too with wide eyes. Even all the minions in the area have gone still, weapons lowered, waiting to see what Bowser does before making their next move. The space is suddenly quiet. 

The claw finally relaxes again. Luigi’s eyes are very wide, and there are tears on his face as he stares at Mario. He tries to say something, the sound of it hopelessly muffled against Bowser’s hand — an apology, or a plea, or simply Mario’s name. 

Mario is shaking. He grits his teeth hard, desperately tries to hold himself steady again. He hopes Bowser can’t see it — but there’s a gleam in the King’s eyes, and it couldn’t be any clearer that he does. 

“Do you know how long I worked on this plan?” Bowser says, his tone softer, more thoughtful all of a sudden.  “Orchestrating these invasions, gathering forces far and wide to serve me, taking the almighty power star for myself. I’ve wanted this for years!” His wide mouth curves up, plainly wicked and self-satisfied. “And now here I am, about to rule the world like I deserve, and a couple of useless, pipsqueak plumbers from who-knows-where think they’re just gonna waltz right in and ruin it for me.” Bowser chuckles to himself. It’s a dangerous, sharp-edged sound, echoing on and on. “Ain’t that a laugh, Mario?” 

Mario doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even know if he’s breathing any longer. All he can do is glare.

Bowser shrugs. The large fingers on his occupied hand flex ever so slightly, a slow, malicious ripple of movement, all the scales glinting in a wave. “You’re less fun than I thought you’d be,” he says gruffly. "What does the princess even see in you? A tiny little killjoy who loves ruining things for others. Guess it’s only fair I ruin something of yours to make us even."

There’s no further warning or fanfare. In one brutal motion, Bowser crushes his grip tighter around Luigi. His brother’s mouth is still covered, but the way he cries out is starkly, unmistakably pained. 

Mario’s vision floods with red. Something inside of him, the patient, careful part that was still desperately clinging to one last scrap of self-control, snaps cleanly in two. He runs at Bowser full-speed, fist cocked back, teeth bared. 

“I said LET HIM GO!” 

He doesn’t make it there. Bowser, grinning outright, moves so much faster than Mario would have ever guessed he could. He spins, and his tail comes out of nowhere. The impact is like an oncoming train, catapulting Mario into the nearby wall with a sickening crack.

There’s a horrible ringing sound in his ears. His head hurts. He hears Bowser laugh, followed by a roar and a burst of fire breath, awful-smelling and close enough to singe. There’s a lot of shouting, and panic, and thunderous footsteps, moving in a hurry. He can’t think any longer. Why can’t he think? All that comes to mind is—

(They’re fifteen, hiding in their bedroom with some smuggled bandages and antibiotics from the medicine cabinet because if their mom finds out Mario punched out a kid behind the school, she will LITERALLY murder him. Luigi wraps each bruised knuckle carefully as Mario winces and complains about the stinging ointment. His brother looks angrier than he’s ever seen him before, though, and that makes him quiet again in a hurry.)

“You want him so bad?” Bowser is much further away, his voice a distant rumble over the flickering flames. Get up, Mario tells himself. He’s gasping, struggling to push himself back up with useless, trembling hands. His legs feel numb. Get up! “Then come and get ‘em already!”

(“You never stop and THINK first, y’know?” Luigi shakes his head, badly trying to hide the tears budding under his eyes. “And now you’re hurt, and it’s all my fault, and — and I don’t need you to do stuff like that for me! I can handle it, e-even if you think I can’t!”) 

“Mario!” That’s Luigi, terrified and wheezing, finally able to talk again. An intentional decision by Bowser, no doubt, just to be cruel. Mario can barely hear his brother at all, and the sound of his voice keeps growing fainter. “No! Let go! MARIO!” 

(“What are you even saying? That’s not why I did it at all!” Mario insists, using his uninjured hand to flick Luigi’s nose with a few fingers. His affronted expression at that makes Mario laugh, and the motion quickly turns into them trying to be the first one to swat each other in the face without getting blocked. At least the tears are forgotten, which is what he wanted from the start. “Don’t ya get it? I know you can take care of yourself. But if anyone wants to hurt you, they’re gonna have to go through me first. I’M the big bro, and that’s just how it is forever.”) 

Luigi! 

He’s standing again, even as his body protests every pull and push of the way, even as he’s still struggling to open his eyes. Someone strong and furry offers some extra support on his right side. 

“You okay, man?” Donkey Kong asks. “Geez, that looked like it hurt. Hey, anyone have an extra mushroom?” 

Stars are flashing across his vision, but finally they fade away. There’s a line of fire in front of them like a makeshift barrier, slowly but steadily dying out. Sure enough, Bowser and Luigi are gone. Mario’s heart lurches hard against his ribs.

“Setting a devious trap for sure,” The Penguin King grouses from further away. “Using one’s own flesh and blood! Does that dastardly Koopa’s depravity know no limits?” 

“I’m fine. Never better,” Mario groans. He points past the fire. “He went that way, right?” 

DK blinks, looking a little uneasy. “Uh, yeah, but we should probably regroup first and — hey! Wait a second, you idiot!”

Mario’s already charged full-speed ahead, jumping over the flames. Others yell after him too, saying it's too dangerous, but he’s running anyway, chasing the smell of molten heat, the faint, far-off echoes of yelling that feel like pinpricks in his lungs. 

He knows it’s a trap. He knows. He just doesn’t care.

He already let Luigi literally slip through his hands once before. Heck, he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for that alone. No matter where he has to go, who he has to fight, how much abuse he has to take, he's getting Luigi back right now, and he's gonna pound that overgrown bully's face until he regrets every life decision that led to him daring to hurt Mario's little brother.

It can't be too late. He can't have screwed this up again. He'll do anything. Even if...

The feeling of something on his cap startles him out of the thought — the softest boop-boop-boop, like someone very small is bouncing on it. He assumes he’s just imagining things until the blue star-thing (Lumalee?) floats down further, easily keeping up with his top speed, humming what sounds like a lullaby. Mario gawks in its direction. 

“The biggest sacrifices are often the ones that burn the brightest, out in space,” it says, bright and sing-song. “Did you know that?”

“What are you even talking about!?” Mario yells. “Sorry, but I’m a little busy here!” 

It’s unbothered by that, twirling close enough to give his mustache a little, playful poke. “Not existing any longer is natural, inevitable. We all go into the light someday.” The way it’s staring at Mario is unnerving, as though this little, creepy star knows exactly what he was just thinking about. “You look scared of that. Are you?” 

Mario swallows thickly. 

“No,” he says. “If that’s the only way, then…” His eyes are burning at the edges, just a little. “If the people I love are safe, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

Lumalee smiles a dreamy, thoughtful smile.

“Oh,” it sighs, little more than a breath. “This is going to be so much fun.” 

And then it floats away. 

Mario doesn’t have time to stop and wonder what that was all about. He throws himself deeper and deeper into the airship, even when a heavy metal gate slams down behind him to separate him from the others, even when the slabs of rock under his feet sink down into the lava from the weight and don’t resurface, erasing any way out. Mario thinks of his training, of Princess Peach and Toad cheering him on, of the exhilaration and hope he felt looking out over the Rainbow Road, of Luigi smiling in the warp zone right before they were ripped apart. He steels himself for what’s coming next.

Further ahead, he hears his brother call out for him.

Mario runs.

[kiyoobi]

i will follow you until the dark

pt 1

pairing: bakugou x f!reader

synopsis:

Everything's coming together in Bakugou's life. He's got you, a new hero ranking, even a new job with an agency that stole him from Endeavor. Everything is perfect... Until a brush with death and nothing is at it seems.

warnings: major character injury/death, angst, characters are all 20+, phurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, blood and injury, smut, ghost au, reapers, and as always

minors dni

-(-)-

Katsuki Bakugou hates waking up cold. He sleeps under a shit ton of blankets in the winter to prevent that very thing, and in the summer he sleeps with a fan instead of turning on the A/C. He hates being cold, he hates shivering, he hates that the cold restricts his sweat pores and makes it harder for him to use his quirk. On your first date, you asked him what temperature he keeps his thermostat at and you looked appalled by his answer.

“Well, I guess I won’t be staying the night then.” You smiled coyly and began to eat again, making his stomach twist at your implications.

“I don’t remember offering,” Katsuki scowls and then remembers you’re not supposed to do that on first dates. Fuck he hates this. He shouldn’t have listened to Denki, this is stupid. To his surprise, you laugh. You said something else afterwards, probably something only a smart ass would say, he can’t remember. But he remembers how hearing you laugh made his muscles relax and the nerves in his belly twist even more.

He’s only thinking about now, this two years later, because he woke up cold this early morning.

To anyone else this might not be weird, considering that it’s currently the dead of winter in Japan and he doesn’t hear the usual hum of the heater on. You’re in his arms though, both of you clad in hoodies and sweats under a horde of blankets, but despite that there’s a weird chill going down his spine, a feeling he usually gets when he’s at patrolling or on a mission and there’s something wrong about to happen. It’s a small noise, but it’s there: a shifting of one’s weight against the old floorboards.

Reasonably, Bakugou knows there isn’t anybody inside. All the windows are locked, the front door is locked, there’s no one aside from you and him (…and the stray cat you took a few months ago). Katsuki carefully untangles himself from you and covers you back with the fleece blanket before he quietly pads through your shared apartment to find whatever it is giving him that weird chill, or better yet find the noise. Each room is empty, as he expects but for some reason that doesn’t appease him. Bakugou sighs, massaging his neck while he tries to figure out what this gnawing anxiety in his belly means when he turns around and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Fuck! You- fuck you!” His hand lands on his chest hoping to calm his pounding heart. Katsuki takes in a deep breath and scowls, “What the fuck are you doing? I could’ve blasted you!”

You raise an eyebrow, “What am I doing? What are you doing? You’re creeping around like a weirdo! How is it that you’re the up-and-coming number five hero and I can sneak up on you?” You walk towards him and flick his nose.

“Shut up.” He crinkles his nose and pulls you in, pressing a kiss against your hair. “It’s nothing. I thought I heard something.”

“Mhm,” you hum noncommittally. “We have a cat, she was probably fucking around somewhere.”

“Talon is sleeping on the couch she wasn’t fucking around,” Katsuki murmurs before he looks around over the crown of your head. “She’s not even fat enough to make the floors creak.”

“It’s an old apartment! Things creak, windows shake, sometimes candles blow out and you hear someone whispering your name.” You laugh when he narrows his eyes, “Come back to bed. It’s cold without you.”

You emphasize this by twisting your foot up and pushing under the hem of his sweatpants, pressing your cold toes against his skin. With a hiss, he jerks away and rolls his eyes at your giggling, still following you down the hallway back to bed and scolding you for not wearing socks.

He forgets about the weird chill until it happens again the next morning. And again. And again.

“We are not keeping the apartment at 80 degrees, Bakugou!” Your attempts to push him away from the thermostat is futile, and his smirk only pisses you off more.

“Oh it’s Bakugou now? Last night it was, ‘Katsuki! Katsuki! Katsuki!’” He cackles through his poor imitation of your moans and wraps his arms around your waist. “It’s fucking cold and you’re getting sick, now move.” Easily, Katsuki reminds you of the strength he has as a pro-hero as picks you up and forcibly sets you aside.

“‘M not sick,” you pout and slink your cold hands underneath his hoodie.

Katsuki hisses and shivers from the feeling of your hands pressing into his warm belly, “Uh-huh. Guess that means you don’t want my sick day soup then, idiot.”

“Well I never said no to that.”

-(-)-

The ring burns in his pocket.

Originally he hid it deep inside the closet inside a coat that you never use, until the heater broke this morning. His hands sweat as he heard you digging around trying to find a warmer jacket while you both waited for the handyman to fix the goddamn thing. He’s thanking everything in the universe that you gave up so quickly and made him look for it.

So now it’s in his pocket of the ridiculously large down coat with the zipper zipped up to just above his nose.

“You panicked??” Izuku’s voice is tinny through the receiver.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou snaps at his phone. “I didn’t panic. I needed to move the ring and so I did. End of story.”

“Are you gonna propose soon then? How long are you gonna keep hiding it in your pocket, Kacchan?”

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” Katsuki rolls his eyes and glances at the apartment building where you are still trying to get ready. He pauses before adding, “…Tonight.”

With a wince, he pulls his phone away from his ear at the sound of Midoriya’s early congratulations. “Shut the fuck up, shitty nerd. They haven’t said yes, yet.”

“Yet,” Izuku gleefully laughs. “Tell your fiancé I say hi tonight then.”

Katsuki’s cheeks flush and it’s then that he sees you walking out the lobby, “Fuck off. Congrats yourself for number four. Next time I’ll be in the top ranks though, shitty nerd.”

“We’ll see about that, Kacchan! See ya la-!” Bakugo hangs up before Izuku can finish.

“Took you long enough,” His words don’t bite as he reaches out to grab your mitten-clad hands with his.

“I think it’s colder in our apartment than it is out here,” your voice is nasally now that your small cold has set in. “Who were you talking to?”

“Ah stupid fucking Deku. He’s trying to get me to rejoin Endeavor’s agency again.” He walks you towards the car, already running with the heat blasting so you don’t have to sit on frozen leather seats.

“Why don’t you?” You warm your hands against the vents, hoping that they warm up faster.

“Ah, I don’t know. I reached five with my job now,” Katsuki shakes his head and starts to gnaw on the inside of his cheek. He’s thought about it over a thousand times, but to be honest he’s leaning towards Shitty Hair’s offer. It’s just like something is holding him back, and he’s hesitant to admit that it might be fear of the unknown.

“The repair guy called and said he’ll have it fixed by tonight. We might as well stay outta his way.” Bakugou knows he’s not being subtle about changing the topic.

“Did he say what blew it out?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer and pointedly looks straight ahead as he drives.

“Katsuki,” you turn to face him better and your eyes narrow when you see him biting his lip. “Katsuki.”

“The heat was set too high for too long…” He mumbles, hoping you’d drop the topic and move on.

“Katsuki!” You smack his arm and he scowls, tutting his tongue at you.

“It’s freezing, and you got fucking sick because of it. How is it my fault our shitty heater couldn’t do its job??” Katsuki furrows his brows and glances over at you, watching you hold back from sniffling for the nth time.

“It’s your fault for trying to fix it and melting the fuse box,” you huff and sit back in your seat with crossed arms, discreetly wiping your nose when he looks away.

Katsuki looks at you again, not helping the upwards tug in his lips when he watches you pout. The ring burns in his pocket and he imagines you wearing it, showing it off to friends and family, you carrying his last name. Fuck it he’d take your last name if that’s what you wanted. He wonders what kind of wedding you both would have, if it’ll be small and private. Unfortunately with his ranking and you already in the public eye as his partner, his managers are going to expect a big ass party with all the most esteemed and honorable heroes. Lots of reporters. None of the food will be picked out by you. No. Fuck that. It’ll be whatever you want. He’ll fight heaven and hell for you and everyone knows it. What you want, you’ll get.

“Marry me,” he murmurs under his breath. The light turns red.

“What was that?” Your voice is congested and you don’t look up from your phone, still mindlessly scrolling through your social media feed.

“Marry me,” Katsuki repeats louder and more confidently. He watches as his words wash over you, until you finally snap your pretty little head up at him with eyes wide.

“What?” You blubber, locking your phone in the process. “Kat-Katsuki the light is green.” Your eyes nervously track over to the traffic light as it tells traffic to go, waiting for Bakugou to drive yet he doesn’t.

“I don’t care,” he smirks and takes out the velvet box from his pocket. He snaps it open with his fingers, ignoring the car horns blaring behind you both.

The gem matches your eyes, he thinks. Especially how they look in the sun. The same eyes that’re watering as you struggle to process this. Angry cars pass by you both with the drivers’ hands on their horn, and the ones who don’t pass make their annoyance heard as the light turns red again.

“Marry me,” He gives you that smile again. The one that’s only for you, the one that is soft and shows off the dimple on his left cheek, the one you see when you wake up and when you fall asleep.

“Okay,” you laugh and hold out your hand as he slips it on your finger. “Okay! Fuck!” You laugh and cry, not knowing if your nose is running because of your stupid cold or because you’re crying but you really don’t care. He kisses you sweetly, grateful for the few seconds you both have before the light turns green again.

He wasn’t planning on proposing to you in the middle of Musutafu’s streets, and he was also hoping you both would have a clean bill of health at the very least. But your hand is in his and he can feel your ring, he can feel your fingers squeezing his, cold as ice still. You keep this piece of news within the car, for at least a little longer before you both decide to tell close friends and family the news. You want this sliver of news between you both before the gossip catches on and reporters swarm you two with questions and photos of the happy couple. You want him, just him. And him, you.

Thankfully the heat is fixed and you both can keep this bubble going just a little longer. The apartment is warm again, even Talon is enjoying the heat by sitting her butt right on the air vent. The repairman is long gone, his invoice set on the counter that Katsuki is pressing you against. He deepens the kiss while stripping you of the many layers you wore to combat the cold. Katsuki swallows your soft noises and tries to shake off his own jacket before pressing into you again, his hips flushed against yours and you can feel the heat of his groin.

“You’re gonna get sick,” your words are muffled against his lips as you feebly move away from him.

“So I get a sick day,” Katsuki shrugs, leaning in again and keeping you in place with his warm hands on your cold cheeks.

Both of your jackets and hats and scarves pool around your ankles. You softly laugh when he pushes you onto the counter, settling in between your plush thighs as he starts to kiss up your jaw. His scent fills your senses as he works his way down your neck, floral and minty from the aftershave he used this morning. Everything about him makes you feel warm and your thoughts fuzzy. His lips and wandering hands grabbing at the fat of your hips and thighs, his tightening pants only growing tighter as you both desperately rut into the other.

“Bedroom,” he mutters more as a warning than a statement before picking you up. His words roll over your skin, prickling with excitement as you hear his deep voice cracking with lust.

Your sheets are still cold when you land on the bed, yet you barely can shiver before Bakugou starts to hold you close to him again. Declarations of “I love you’s” and what you’re going to do to each other linger in the air, until you’re gasping at the stretch of his fingers.

He nips at the curve of your neck and shoulders, laughing as you try to kick off your leggings so you can properly spread your legs for him.

“Katsuki,” you moan. “I need you. Please.”

“Just a bit more, baby. Gotta make sure I can fit inside your sweet pussy.” He curls and pumps his fingers inside your gummy walls, wondering why he didn’t just warm his hands this way hours earlier and jealous that his cock isn’t feeling the way you’re squeezing his thick fingers. Just a bit more, he thinks. When he finally does squeeze through, his pressed flush against yours and your hands fisting in his hair, he knows what it is making his belly warm inside.

It’s love that makes him quiver when he thrusts inside you, love that peppers across your skin as he kisses all your freckles, and it’s love that is shown in his eyes when he looks down at you. He moans your name in love, he makes you cum over and over out of love, and he holds you close in love.

With your ear pressed against his chest in the darkness of your shared room, you hear his heartbeat and know it’s yours. His fingers gently pop your knuckles and massage the tension in your hands as you both catch your breaths. The ring catches in the moonlight, winking at you both.

“Where did you hide this?” You whisper, your words muffling against his tacky skin.

“Don’t worry about it,” he scoffs. “There ain’t another one for you.”

“So romantic,” you laugh and nestle closer against his side. Bakugou only hums, not even realizing there’s a soft and dopey smile on his face still.

“I’m just saying that if you hid this then what else are you hiding- stop laughing!” He doesn’t take you seriously when you’re laughing at yourself, only rolling his eyes again at your attempt at mind games.

“Oh whatever you brat-” Katsuki’s laughter is cut short when he snaps his head towards the direction of the hallway. “Did you hear that?”

“Don’t change the subject,” you giggle and kiss up his jawline.

“Mm-mm, I’m serious.” Bakugou starts to untangle himself from you, grabbing his sweats and slipping them on over his bare half. “Stay here.”

“It’s Talon, stay in bed with me!” You take hold of his wrist despite both of you knowing he can pull away, and give him your best pout.

“Talon is on the bed, she’s been there the entire time. I couldn’t kick her off,” He keeps his eyes fixated on the closed door, waiting to hear the strange noise again.

“She’s been here the entire time?” You scoff and sit up, watching your orange tabby blink slowly at you.

Another floorboard groans and he makes his mind up. “Stay here.” His hand reaches back and grazes your fingers as he starts to slip on his sweats.

“Katsuki-” But he’s already quietly stepping out of your bedroom into the dark hallway.

There’s a certain mindset a pro-hero goes into when they’re working. Patrolling, missions, rescuing, combat. There’s a zone that they learn to hone while they’re children up until they’re licensed adult heroes. All their senses are heightened and honed to detect even the smallest of abnormalities. To not do so can be a matter of life or death. Bakugou thinks back to high school psychology when they had a lecture on the concept of “thin slicing”. Your brain recognizes patterns in your life, collects them, and memorizes them, and then compares them to other experiences you’ve had before. This all happens in a fraction of second, so fast that as human beings you aren’t even aware it’s happening until you feel it. The gut feeling everyone talks about.

“Listen to your gut feeling,” Aizawa had told them. “Better to be wrong and alive, than being right and dead.”

He moves stealthily through the apartment, his hands warming in preparation for the worst. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as he quietly moves from room to room. Nothing is off center, nothing has been moved, not even by a centimeter. The feeling doesn’t go away.

When he’s circled the apartment twice, Bakugo’s eyebrows pinch and he frowns. Your cat, having left the room now, starts to circle around Katsuki’s steps, nearly tripping him. With an annoyed exhale, Katsuki refills the cat bowl with kibble and returns to you again.

“What was it?” You whisper.

He shakes his head, still unable to shake off the gnawing feeling of anxiety and alarm in his lower belly. “Nothing. I’m gonna get us a better alarm system though. Can’t trust this shitty building,” he crawls back into bed with you. You’re wearing his sweatshirt now, and the worry between your eyes doesn’t leave even with him back in bed.

“Sorry,” he nudges your nose with his. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine, Katsuki.” You cup his cheeks and look into his scarlet eyes. “What’s been going on? You’ve been acting strange lately. Is it work or…”

He’s quiet before he decides to lean into your hands, eyes fluttering shut before he shifts to rest against your chest. He tries to think of an answer, on why he’s been on edge lately like this. Work hasn’t been stressful, not any more stressful at least. In fact, with the new rankings Bakugou feels that everything is finally coming into place. The city feels safer, civilians have started to lean their trust onto heroes again.

He can see a brighter future. One with you in it, one where he takes the number one spot, one with a family and little brats running around.

In his mind’s eye, everything in his future means you're there beside him.

It’s why listening to your heart right now calms him.

“I don’t know,” Bakugou answers truthfully, his voice is gruff and muffled in your sweater. “Sometimes work follows me home.”

“Not literally I hope,” you chuckle.

He peaks up and smiles again, “‘No not literally, idiot.”

-(-)-

Work has been shit all day. A blizzard is coming in and it might hit the city sooner than what the reporters are saying, it’s all hands on deck with the exception of the top five. Bakugou has been held from patrolling and working on his active cases today, all so that the top five ranked heroes can interview with Japan’s most elite magazine publisher. Sitting in front of a camera crew across from an interviewer isn’t how he wanted to spend his day. He was asked to come in with casual wear. “Be prepared to be dressed and made up over and over,” his manager warned him. Annoyance doesn’t even begin to describe how he’s feeling right now.

Bakugou’s interview was first, as number five in the hero ranks. Everything went smoothly, he answered the stupid questions, he played along with the idiocy and obsession with his physical appearance. What he couldn’t stand was the implication that his success was based on the prestigious connections to his old teachers and mentors: All Might, Endeavor, Best Jeanist.

“You’ve been so lucky to have gotten their help over the years-,” The woman (Suzuki? Katsuki can’t seem to remember her fucking name), crosses her legs before being interrupted abruptly.

“What does luck have to do with it? I didn’t ask for their help, they sought me out because I’m a fucking goddamn good hero- no scratch that. I’m the fucking best. I don’t need any old bastard to try and take credit for my hard fucking work!” Yeah… he knows he fucked up.

The poor interviewer is shell-shocked, her stupid professional smile frozen and twitching across her face as she tries to keep herself composed. “Ah, sorry. I- Congratulations on your rank, Dynamite. And good luck- I mean-!” Oh her name is Sasaki, Katsuki scowls, and that seems to only make her more nervous.

He rolls his eyes, catching a glimpse of a stiffened Deku watching the mess of an interview unravel. The others are wide eyed as well, bones stiff with second-hand embarrassment.

“I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for those who pushed me,” Katsuki grumbles and looks down at his hands. He thinks about the myth, Vena Amora, the vein that leads straight to one’s heart right from the finger. The promise you both made wrapped around yours, maybe he should get one too…

“It was my hard work and them pushing me to go further,” He looks ahead and watches Sasaki regain her composure, sitting up straighter as his response settles in the air. “It ain’t about luck.”

His assistant is no help, either. He’s a nervous, quirkless man who can’t multitask, and has been more of a wreck lately. And now, he spilled coffee all over Bakugou’s suit. So now Katsuki’s changing for the upteenth time, his jaw clenched as he tries to remember his breathing exercises.

Katsuki is lacing up his combat boots when he sees his phone light up with a message from you. He leans in and swipes to read your text, a faint smile already spreading across his lips.

you:

i put away all the supplies you got btw!! almost made me late to work! if this blizzard doesn’t come we are going to be eating in every day to get rid of this shit :P

You’ve sent a video attachment, and the moment he hears your voice it seems like the weight on his shoulders is already lifting. He watches you with a tiny smile, finding it easier to breathe again. You’re showing him all the little pottery projects that a third grade class on a class field trip had finished, laughing as you try to explain each student and their creation.

“They’re so fucking bad at throwing pottery! So cute!” You giggle and flip the camera back to yourself, you’re wearing a medical mask to protect your cold from the school children. Katsuki’s smile grows and he laughs softly to himself as you talk about which pottery piece is your unofficial favorite.

“Anyway! I hope today doesn’t suck ass. I have a commission to work on tonight, so I’ll be up when you get home. Okay bye!!”

Before Bakugou can text back, there’s a timid knock on the changing room door. He slips his phone in his pocket and pauses, taking a deep breath to try and dampen his annoyance. On the other side is his assistant, the man his agency thrusted upon him. He’s small, just like his employee file since there isn’t any quirk to input in the system. High school education, went to Tokyo University for a degree in public relations and Hero Statistics, and other things that bored Katsuki. He’s not sure why he would settle for being an assistant of an arrogant up-and-coming pro-hero, Bakugou has nothing to teach or offer him.

He tries to be patient with him though. Especially now that Akui is offering him another cup of coffee as penance for the one he spilled all over Bakugou just five minutes ago.

“Thanks,” Katsuki grumbles and takes it from Akui’s bony hand.

“Was that your fiancé on the phone?” Akui offers an awkward smile and his voice is wobbly as he tries to keep up with Bakugou.

“Yeah, playing with mud with some bratty kids. What’s this?” He glares at the stack of paperwork handed to him, and flipping through he groans. “Why is the commission so interested in this?”

“I- I don’t know, sir? They told me to hand it to you.” Akui stumbles beside Bakugou and glances at the paperwork, “It seems like they just want to know how you reached your ranking this year.”

“Because I fucking worked hard,” Bakugou scoffs. The warmth you left inside him is starting to grow cold, replaced instead with annoyance as the technical side of hero work starts to anchor in. “What’s so hard to understand?”

His assistant is silent as they stand together, watching the camera and stage crew adjust once again. The busy-body crew members zip back and forth as the number three hero takes her seat in the interview chair. Nejire Chan chats happily with the makeup artist touching up the blush on her cheeks, nothing that Bakugou can understand. To Katsuki’s left he can see the other two-thirds of UA’s infamous Big Three, Suneater and Lemillion, watching Nejire’s interview start.

“There’s a theory that was developed by some mathematicians.” When Akui speaks, Katsuki glances down at him, his assistant looking almost past the two heroes as he stares seriously into the distance. “It’s to help determine the predictability of a hero’s ranking. It’s supposed to be fairly accurate. Apparently, another hero was supposed to be in your place. Yet you defied those odds.”

It takes a moment for Katsuki to respond as he mulls his words over, “You studied statistics.” It’s spoken almost like a question, but Akui looks over at Bakugou, stunned that he even knows that fact about him.

“Y-yes!” Whatever reverie Akui was in, snaps.

“Do you agree with them?” Bakugou looks over at the man and wonders if he ever gets any sunlight. His pale skin makes him shiver just looking at him, and Bakugou wonders how someone could look so translucent under these lights.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, firmly. “You shouldn’t have won.” An emotion Katsuki doesn’t recognize flashes across Akui’s face, too quick for him before he settles back into the Akui he recognizes. “But- but that’s good! You defy odds, it makes you an amazing pro!”

Katsuki stares at Akui for a moment, a question lingering on his tongue before Izuku beats him to it. “Kacchan!”

“Get the fuck off me,” Bakugou shakes off Izuku who only holds on tighter.

“I’m getting calls for you from your agency, you shouldn’t have said that-!”

“Oh fuck off,” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “They got a good sound bite at the end, it's fine. This is all bullshit, anyway. We should be out there working. Not here getting pampered for doing our fucking jobs.” Izuku only hums back, obviously not agreeing with his behavior still.

Akui is called away, leaving behind the two younger pro-heroes to watch as Suneater nervously takes his place in the spotlight. A silence falls over the set as he speaks, everyone drawn in by his quiet voice and subtle, quirky charm. There’s a soft scratching of pencil on paper, and Bakugou doesn’t have to look to know that Izuku is taking notes.

“By the way, when the fuck did you tell people about Mud and I?”

Izuku stops his notetaking and looks up with a flash of confusion before he realizes who “Mud” is. Ah, your pottery. He smiles confusedly, “Uhh I don’t know what you mean. Everyone knows you two are dating.”

“You told people we got engaged though,” Katsuki glares at Deku who only grows more confused by the second.

“W-wait! You proposed? When the fuck did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me??” Izuku squeaks and his eyes grow large.

“Huh?! Since when do I have to tell you anything?!”

“I’m your best friend-!” He’s interrupted by a crew member scolding them both, leaving Deku to be blushing furiously and bowing in apology.

“Whatever,” Katsuki scoffs to himself. “We can’t really celebrate anyway until after the storm.”

“Are you guys all prepared?” Izuku is absent-mindedly playing with his hands as the two men watch the new number one hero step in his seat.

“Yeah, you?”

Deku nods, both of them are itching to get back on the field. Their agencies are in full emergency lockdown status, trying to get the city in lockdown to minimize casualties. Katsuki remembers clearly what the Endeavor agency’s procedures were for something like this, he’s certain that it’s killing Deku to be out of those plans now. Katsuki can’t say the same of his new agency, though. He’s a little perplexed by how their operations run for emergencies like the oncoming storm. Bakugou offered his services for an entire week before today, knowing that it’s an all hands on deck situation for pro-heroes to help. Yet his agency shut him out. They gave him fake smiles and assured him that his services should be focused elsewhere.

“You should come back,” Deku quietly tells Bakugou.

Katsuki only hums in reply, knowing how much he’s aching to go back. His gut tells him otherwise, it’s telling him he’s close to finding out who his employers actually are.

“Katsuki,” Izuku is staring at Bakugou, watching his eyes harden as he holds back something he can’t even tell his oldest friend. “Is everything okay?”

Katsuki can’t answer, because the obvious answer is yes. Everything is okay. This agency was able to make him go up higher in the ranks. Yet there’s this gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that he’s been forced to wear blinders, forced to look ahead and not at the man behind the curtain. He’s determined to pull it apart.

-(-)-

The ride home is quiet with the exception of the car radio playing softly in the background. Bakugou is exhausted, his shoulders carry the weight of the photoshoot and the interviews even more than they do on his normal patrolling days. Annoyingly, another pro is being interviewed right now. Katsuki turns the volume up a few notches, catching the familiar phantom pro-hero explaining her success in reaching the dead All Might’s ghost. Tch, there’s no one to prove her quirk even exists. Bakugou switches the radio station to a local channel that plays only classical and jazz music.

His manager gave him an earful about his outburst already, there was barely anything to salvage in his interview. An apology letter and an edible arrangement is going to be sent to the production crew, and one for just Sasaki, out of Bakugou’s next paycheck. He supposes he deserves that just a little. To be fair, though, Katsuki already privately apologized to her.

It’s been a long day.

He sighs in relief when your apartment comes to view, the street lights glowing serenely greet him up the sidewalk. Each step drags until he’s finally at your door, the bite of the wintery cold burns on his cheeks when he steps inside the hot apartment.

“I’m home!” He shrugs off his jacket, ears straining to hear your voice. Bakugou sheds his many layers without hearing you call back out to him, instead he’s only met with soft music. He glances at the clock above the stove, wondering why you’re up so late.

Katsuki heads to your mini studio, really it’s just a second bedroom that barely fits your pottery wheel and kiln. You both worked hard to renovate it, and by you both it was mostly Bakugou, but he was determined to have your space be done within a day. It’s where you spend your time working when you’re not at your studio, halfway across the city. When you told him that you are a potter, he teased you for playing with mud so much he ended up nicknaming you that.

The first time he knew he was in love with you was when you showed him how to throw pottery, the patience you had in him that not even Katsuki possessed as he struggled to mold the clay between his thick fingers. He grumbled and cursed under his breath with each failed attempt to make a decent bowl, until finally he did it. A wobbly, lopsided bowl that even your hands couldn’t make perfect as you attempted to guide him. Yet you grinned, proud of him for that shitty bowl. You cheered for him, even glazed the damn thing and now it sits by the doorway as a bowl that holds your keys.

“I don’t usually make shit with my hands,” he grumbled with the tips of his ears growing red.

“That’s bullshit,” you scoffed with your back turned to him. You were carefully putting away his bowl to be fired up in the kiln later, already wondering how you were gonna glaze it. “You've cooked for me before, that counts.”

Katsuki remembers realizing how you really view him for the first time. Not as the pro who’s explosions destroy and combust, not as the angry asshole who never learns to give up a fight. You didn’t see his hands are weapons of destruction. You saw him delicately plate food together, you’ve seen him make music with his hands, they’re the same hands who finds yours in the dark because he knows you’re afraid of what’s in the shadows. They’re the hands that slip through your fingers when he’s making love to you, they’re the hands that create wobbly bowls for you because you keep losing your keys.

It’s the first time he understood what being in love meant.

So he finds you now, totally entranced in another project that he assumes is the commission you mentioned earlier today.

“Playing with mud again?” He hears you snicker before you look over your shoulder, hands slick with wet clay as your creation spins before you.

“Mhm, ‘m almost done.” You flash him a smile and face your work again.

Katsuki pulls up another stool and sits right behind you, hooking his over over your shoulder to watch you work. Your ring finger is void of your engagement ring, although Bakugou doesn’t mind. It’s relaxing, mesmerizing even, watching your hands work so delicately to mold nothing into something.

“How long have you been workin’ on this, Mud?” Bakugou presses a kiss on your shoulder and stifles a laugh when your fingers dig a little too deep, collapsing the entire piece.

“Since noon,” you sigh and scrap the vase.

“You’re still not out of the woods just yet, why are you dressed like it’s still summer?”

“It’s hot,” you defend yourself with a laugh. An improperly timed sniffle escapes you and Bakugou snorts in reply, nuzzling his cold nose into your skin again.

“Can I help?” Bakugou moves in closer until his broad chest is pressed firmly against your back.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Put your hands here… yup, and then you’re just gonna get them wet before we start.” Your hands dip into the bucket of murky water beside you and you wet Bakugou’s hands in the clay/water mixture. Your fingers are messier than his since you’ve been working all day, but as you prep his hands he can’t help smiling as you guide him.

“Mhm, perfect.” You mutter, curling your fingers against the wet clay as you try to form the base again. “Now just let the clay slide between your fingers.”

Katsuki does as you say, all the while pressing lingering kisses against your bare skin. You get hot in your little makeshift studio, and end up wearing shorts and tank tops in the dead of winter. It’s perfect for these moments, Katsuki thinks. Teasing you with kisses where he knows you’re most sensitive, letting the mud slip between his fingers before gliding his hands higher. He makes a bigger mess out of you, his hands caressing your wrists and forearms, gently massaging you all while kissing up your shoulder and neck. You’re melting under him, shy giggles slipping out like gasps from your lips as you try to work.

Bakugou kisses the junction of your ear and neck, gently nipping at your sensitive spot. He watches you with amusement as you try to mold the clay, his hands going back to where you first had him start. “Like this?” He whispers against your ear.

You can only hum in reply, making him grin. Each of his thick thighs are beside yours as he presses in closer to you, trapping you in. The heat of his body is molding you, melting and reshaping you as you attempt to steady your hands. Until finally, when he can’t take it anymore, Katsuki manages to slip your hands away from the clay. Your attention fixes back to him as you turn to kiss him back, his tongue slipping through your lips to taste you. His hands hold onto yours, distantly he thinks back to when he first knew he loved you.

“It’s gonna take me another whole ass day to try and fix this,” you whisper between kisses.

Katsuki rolls his eyes, “Shut up and lemme kiss you. I’ve missed you all day, Mud.”

“Oh yeah?” You smile as he trails his lips down your jaw. “Wanna show me how much you’ve missed me?”

“With pleasure,” Bakugou smirks against your skin before gently nibbling at you.

-(-)-

“What time is it?” You whisper from on top of his bare chest, still breathless.

Katsuki glances at the clock and curses under his breath, “Is the trash still coming?” His arms tighten around your waist as you twist to look, feeling you deflate.

“Yeah, the news said that they’re coming overnight before the storm hits,” you groan when he starts to slip you off him. “Katsuki, don’t leave!”

“You really wanna be stuck in this apartment with trash rotting in every corner?” Bakugou flashes you a smirk and pushes you back down into the mattress, kissing you passionately all the while.

“Maybe,” you mumble against his lips. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him down again, hoping he stays. “Lemme get dressed, I’ll come down with you.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but if it’s the only way you’ll let him go downstairs he’ll take it. “I ain’t waiting on ya though, I’ll be back before you’re even got your slippers on.”

It’s a small exaggeration that leaves you huffing and him grinning wickedly. However, to be fair, by the time Katsuki has gathered all the trash, you’re still in bed putting on socks. “I’ll meet you downstairs!”

Katsuki skips the elevator and decides to go down the stairs instead, not wanting to disturb the other tenants. The cold air nearly steals the oxygen from his lungs, already the wind is picking up and chills him down to his bones. Bakugou pushes through, hoping you actually don’t come down now. You’re still fighting that cold, you don’t need to be dealing with this shit.

It’s a small walk around the corner towards the dumpsters when it starts to snow, clumps that immediately stick on their landing. Katsuki watches for a moment, mesmerized by the snow catching onto his hoodie and settling against his blonde hair. He pauses for a moment, staring up into the sky framed by the city apartment buildings. The cold air whips at him, cutting through his hoodie and sweats. Bakugou snaps out of his trance slowly, shivering as he throws out the trash.

It happens far too quickly.

He’s pushed hard into the cold metal dumpster, immediately thrown off balance by the slick sidewalk. Something stabs into his back, again and again. The sight of his blood pooling against the snow pisses Katsuki off enough for him to stand again. With wobbly legs he runs after his attacker down the street, cursing himself for not being faster and for not sensing the danger faster.

“Katsuki!” Your voice calls out to him. “Katsuki!”

“Stay- stay back!” He yells back, turning only when he hears your screams.

You’re lying next to the dumpster, hunched over and screaming. Katsuki furrows his brows, panic lurching in his belly as he runs back towards you. The absolute horror settles into his bones colder than the air around him. You’re crying on top of his body, whimpering and crying out for help as your hands try to stop the blood from his wounds.

“Mud…” He tries to touch you but his hand slips through your face.

“Somebody! Somebody help me!” You scream louder and louder, voice cracking as you try to cradle his body closer to you.

“I’m- I’m right here! Goddamn it, I’m right here!” Katsuki screams right by your ear, trying to touch you.

“You can’t leave me, don’t you leave me- Help! Somebody help me!”

A pro-hero he doesn’t recognize arrives on the scene. And then the ambulances.

Katsuki stays by your side, desperately trying to stay by your side. He catches on to your whispered pleas, begging him to hold on even though he’s right next to you trying to do the exact same thing.

He doesn’t look at the body whose hand you’re holding, it’s not him. He’s right next to you. He's right next to you, please look at him.

The doctors tell you he was stabbed by someone who’s quirk turns blood into poison. That’s how he…

“I’m not dead! I’m right here! I’m right fucking here!” Katsuki screams into the doctor’s face, all the rage boiling over inside him until he’s red in the face. “I ain’t fucking dead!”

He tries to stop them from telling you that he’s gone, he tries to cradle you against him when you curl into yourself. He just helplessly falls through the molecules instead.

“Are you ready?” He waits for you to reply, watching you cry as the doctor awkwardly pats your shoulder and gives you the space to grieve.

“Are you ready?” The voice asks again, this time there’s a tap on his shoulder.

Bakugou turns, unable to think. “Me? You’re talking to me? You can see me?”

“Yes of course,” it says. Whatever it is, it’s dressed in dark robes with a hood. The face is static aside from their eyes, yellow and bright as it watches him. “Are you ready?” They ask again.

“For what?” Katsuki steps back when they step forward. “Ready for what?” He spats out, scowling when they step closer again. “Back the fuck up!” He lunges forward with his palms outstretched, ready to attack. The usual sparks of an explosion are gone, nothing happens.

The being stares at him unimpressed. “Are you done? I don’t have all day, I kinda have a quota to meet.”

“N-no, I ain’t- I ain’t going with you!” Katsuki lurches back, heart aching that he isn’t near you anymore as it steps closer to him.

“Well, Katsuki Bakugou. You’re dead, and I’m here to take you.” They step right in front of you, not that you can see them. Their head tilts and its yellow eyes squint at Bakugou, “So it seems like we are at a crossroads now.”

[bylightofdawn]

Dear Star Wars Fans

It's Hot Take time with El.

I am sooooooo fucking sick of seeing these "Weh, Star Wars sucks now posts" or "Disney keeps putting out the bad stuff and is RUINING MY CHILDHOOD" posts.

It's legitimately like I'm being transported back to the '90s/early 2000s forums where endless fanboys were whinging over Lucus ruining Star Wars with the prequels. And BTW, they have not stopped in the past 20 years. They will continue to be pedantic and toxic and generally pessimistic about everything.

So to come to Tumblr and see that same mentality being shoveled about like three pounds of horseshit that cross my dash at least once a day. And well, I'm grumpy enough this afternoon to go off.

Hot Take Point One: Just because YOU don't like a show or a series doesn't mean your opinion is the majority. There is someone out there who loves the season you're proclaiming is the worst thing ever. That character you detest is someone's special blorbo and the ship you despise is someone's OTP. And that is okay; their tastes are entirely valid, and your experience is not universal. You are not a peerless bastion of flawless good taste and the supreme authority on Star Wars. 

How do I know this? Cause you're on this hellsite and you like Star Wars. 

I'm not naive enough to expect people to not bitch about and complain about things they don't like, and honestly, you're allowed to do that. I encourage you to do it. I want people to keep in the back of their minds that it's their opinion and that it's not universal. And their opinion is no better than another person's. Even someone who you think has a shitty opinion or ships something 'problematic'. If you're going to proclaim someone else has dogshit taste, I would encourage you to look into the mirror and realize someone else thinks your tastes are dogshit as well. And fuck right off with canon is the only real and valid opinion. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES DISNEY HAS CHANGED CANON? They can't make up their fucking minds; nothing is set in stone, so just enjoy what you enjoy and let other people enjoy what they want. We're all here because we supposedly love this fandom, right? I feel like people have lost sight of that point. We're supposed to love Star Wars, and it should bring us together as a fandom, not tear us apart. But that's a rant for another day.

Hot Take Point Two: Have a little appreciation and respect for the people working on these shows. Unless you are in the industry or working on said show, you probably don't understand the amount of work, effort, blood, sweat, and tears that goes into making these things. Some of these people grew up dreaming about working on a Star Wars IP. This is probably a dream come true for a lot of people working on these shows, and you're pissing all over those dreams for popularity points on the internet like this is fucking Reddit, and you're farming for upvotes. No, it's not perfect; yes, there are going to be shitty VFX and cringe as fuck dialogue. 

It's not perfect, but they do their best with what they get handed. We had a saying in my old print shop, you can only shine up a turd so much. aka you take the shit you are given and you try and make it as polished and pretty as you can but at the end of the day you're working with the shit you were given. And I'm not saying these series are criticism proof or that you're not allowed to ridicule some of the terrible bad choices made.

I will go to my grave ranting about the ridiculous batshittery of fucking jetpack jousting in Mando S3. 

Hot Take Point Three: I will also argue that there are good elements in every new Star Wars IP released by House of Mouse. Yes, even the one you hate down the cockles of your black heart. I challenge you to shut out the noise from Tumblr, the bandwagon hating on something, and go in trying to find something you enjoy in a season or an episode. Find, say, 5 things you enjoy or a character (even a cringy one) or a set piece you visually find interesting. Maybe a funny joke or even a special effect so ridiculously stupid you can't help but laugh. (I'm looking at you Ahsoka fighting god damn fighters with a lightsaber while on top of the Ghost zooming around at full cruising speed. It's so utterly preposterous I can't help but laugh and shake my head all at the same time.)

You don't have to post about it or speak about it to anyone don't worry your friends don't need to know you might secretly enjoyed something you all 'hated'. Though I would also challenge you to actually speak about it as well because...hear me out here, you might find NEW PEOPLE who enjoyed those same things you might make more friends in the fandom, shocking I know. 

But just trying to FIND a positive thing in a show will give you a slightly more balanced relationship with how you consume it. Honestly, that's just general life advice you should try and take to heart. That's a freebie from your old Auntie El there. 

It's so easy to be a negative, pedantic fan who hates what we claim to love. But by making the conscious choice to find something good in this so-called pile of shit in front of you, maybe your relationship with the IP will be a happier one. If nothing else, you'll perhaps get sparked and remember what made you love Star Wars so much in the first place. 

So yeah, keep in mind your experience is not universal, even if you hate it, respect the time and effort it took to make it and try and find what sparked joy in you in the first place when interacting with the media. 

Oh, one other thing? 20 years from now? You're prolly going to look back on these shows you hate and find yourself nostalgic and maybe even a little apologetic for how much you dogged on this stuff because there will be a whole new cycle of brand new IP people are creating where people are proclaiming THAT is the worst shit ever made and they don't make Star Wars content like they used to. 

Cause that's just the human condition, and as someone who has been in this fandom for thirty years? I've seen that cycle replayed multiple times. We love the Prequels now, but twenty years ago, everyone hated them and thought they were ruining Star Wars. It doesn't get worse, it doesn't get better; we just grow older and learn to have a new perspective and learn to interact with the fandom in different ways. 

I'm just begging you, please stop being negative, toxicly pedantic fans who just sit there tearing down everything and learn to interact with the thing you claim to love with...actual love.