you should definitely talk about size differential!kink bc absolutely same
I mean, okay anon, TWIST MY ARM why don’t you.
Let’s talk about–
That first time, when Sam’s eighteen and hitting that second-to-last growth spurt, still mostly skinny because he doesn’t eat enough but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him–he just goes up and up, and Dean’s buying him new jeans again and Sam tries them on in the grody Goodwill dressing room and comes out and Dean thinks, what the hell. Sammy’s long long legs in jeans that fit, for the most part, though his shirt’s too short and pulling when he stretches so that line of bare stomach peeks out. He comes up to Dean’s side and Dean’s conscious for the first time of looking up and there’s a moment where his stomach goes weird and hot. Oh.
Dean doesn’t like being shoved around. Has enough of that out in the field, and he’s been thrown into enough walls for a lifetime. And–it’s not that Sam shoves him around. That’s not it. But–sometimes, if it’s been a long day and they’re tired, and Sam gets that kind of intense look around the eyes, sometimes then, Dean will find himself caught up by the hips and–urged, maybe is the word for it, pushed step by step back until his shoulders are up against the motel-room wall, and even if he’s standing up straight Sammy’s standing up straighter, looming, his shoulders blocking out the lamplight, having to bend his head to look into Dean’s eyes, and that, that Dean doesn’t mind, so much.
Or–or after, sometimes, when they’re older, Dean broadens out a lot more, takes up lifting in the bunker, and he likes the look it gives him. His shoulders look good. Except–Sam’s bigger, still. Sam’s always bigger. Puts on muscle like it’s nothing and he’s still got those long, long legs, and Dean still doesn’t think of himself like a fainting damsel or anything, but it does something to him if Sam gets all worked up into a mood and yanks him in close and picks him up, being showy, using his strength like he usually doesn’t. It yanks at the pit of Dean’s stomach, lights him up like nothing else, and he pretty much goes liquid, lets Sam lay him out and do whatever he wants, then. They have good sex, fun sex, and they each have their little kinks and foibles, and he’ll maybe never be over how Sam likes his hair pulled, or how he likes to get tied up, sometimes. Sometimes, though, what Dean wants is exactly this, and he doesn’t really know how to ask for it, because how do you ask that? Sammy, he could say, I like that you–that you’re tall. That you’re bigger than me. He’d get no end of shit for that. Still. Doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it. Doesn’t mean that, when Sam gets into a mood, he can’t go onto his back on their bed, let Sam loom over him with those shoulders, his body just… bigger, his legs longer and his hands huge as they trap Dean’s against the bed. Doesn’t mean he can’t go light-headed crazy with watching Sammy’s bigger dick slide up against his, can’t cup his bigger balls and love the way they feel, the way they weigh heavy against his own lighter skin. When Sam flips him on his stomach and he spreads out, gasping, he can love how Sam pushes up inside, big and inescapable, weight crushing Dean down into the mattress, and watch Sam’s hand twine with his, longer fingers and bigger palm, and love how Sam’s big enough that he blocks out everything else, his arms braced around Dean’s head, his long long thighs bracketing Dean’s, so that Dean’s left feeling–small. Caged, cradled, pinned. He doesn’t say a thing about it, doesn’t ask. Doesn’t have to. It’s just–a fact. Sam’s bigger than him.
Months after the events of Winter, Cinder has a new job for Cress and Thorne: deliver a few crates full of letumosis antidotes and bioelectricity chip prototypes to a research lab in Hawaii. Easy, right? They’ve already been doing it for months–travelling the world, seeing the sights, dropping off cures, helping people.
It should be a routine mission. They expect a routine mission. But when they arrive in Hawaii, everything immediately starts going wrong. A few of Thorne’s shadier acquaintances show up out of the blue, and immediately after, the research lab goes into full lockdown following a break in. Cress and Thorne are thrust into a pursuit across the sea to prove their own innocence, and end up discovering a plot that might shake up the precarious peace Cinder and Kai have managed to build between Earth and Luna.
They also manage to make new friends, connect with their family, and build their home on the Rampion. Let it not be said that the path to happily ever after was easy.
Stars drift like snowfall past the windows of her satellite.
Cress watches, and waits.
Behind her, the pale blue hologram of Little Cress dances in the starlight. Her dress twirls around her, and her bare feet trip and jump and skip easily around the only floor she has ever known. A soft melody drifts from the speakers, and her little voice hums along–old Italian opera, country-western, a fast, upbeat pop song all at once. Every few notes, static buzzes discordant through the blank netscreens, then fades quiet beneath the music.
She dances, and hums, and in the reflection, Cress watches.
“What are you waiting for, Big Sister?” Little Cress sings.
Waiting? Cress is… dreaming. She’s dreaming. And, she feels, pressing her hand against the worrying knot in her chest, waiting for something important.
Clony Fanfiction - Do you really like my arms? - Part 2
“Why did you want to come here,
Clay?” Tony and him were sat on a small bench at the top of a large hill.
Lights from the bridge were visible off in the distance, with water below,
faintly reflecting the glow. Little weeds brushed against their jeans as a
slight breeze blew them around. Tony had his arm loosely hung behind Clay,
resting on the top of the bench. “I wanted to get away from all those
drunk people,” the taller boy said, “and I didn’t want anyone to ruin
our moment.” The sincere tone in his voice, and the innocence plastered on
his face, told the other that he really meant it. Our moment… Wow,
“Tony,” Clay breathed.
Tony looked up at him, wondering what could be racing through that head of his.
“Yes?” Clay took a deep breath, dipped his head, and traced the tip
of his pointer finger on the seam of Tony’s pants. “I’m really new to this
stuff, and I feel like this thing I was always so sure about… my sexuality…
all of that security has been taken away.” Feeling slightly anxious and
majorly uneasy, Clay sat and waited for Tony to respond. However, a response
could wait. What came first was an arm across his shoulders, and a gentle touch
on his right hand. He glanced over to see Tony staring into his eyes, full of
empathy and understanding. “Clay, I know how you feel. Even after you say
it out loud, it’s hard to fully accept.” He took a moment to collect his
thoughts, then continued, “It took me around a year to fully grasp the
concept that I wasn’t going to be like my brothers. That my parents would watch
me marry a man instead of a woman someday. It’s not something that you can rush.
Take it slow, but also, don’t dwell on it. Okay?” As Tony lightly patted
the top of his sort-of-friend’s hand, he noticed how cold Clay was.
Automatically, he took off his jacket, and draped it over the others’
shoulders. Clay gladly accepted his offering, appreciating the scent of leather
filling the air around him.
In that moment, the worry welling
inside of him spilled over into tears. Not entirely because he was overwhelmed,
but also because he knew he had a fantastic man sitting next to him, someone
who had always gone the extra mile for him, and then some, and that was
special. Clay leaned into Tony for a hug, and felt his hands glide along the
outside of the leather. The soothing gesture, gentle and comforting, gave Clay
enough reassurance to let out his emotions. Sobs and choked back cries were no
longer caged. He sat cradled in Tony’s touch, and focused on the hand drifting
up and down his back, eventually, but slowly, bringing his heart rate back
down. Tony thought it best to let Clay release first, so he patiently waited
and continued to console him. After Clay stopped crying, he clutched for Tony
even more, though, wanting to be closer. Once he gained his composure, Clay
enquired, “How is it that you know exactly what to do to calm me
down?” Tony smiled slightly, thinking back to the other times he had
hugged Clay in an attempt to comfort him. “I pay attention. It’s that
Clay let go and sat back on the
bench, letting Tony continue to caress the back of his neck and shoulders. It feels nice to be so cared for by someone,
Clay thought. I knew he cared before,
but being even closer feels so natural with him. Unlike everyone else.
The taller boy turned to face the
other. “Tony, do you think you could convince your parents that you should stay
at my house tonight? Because I want you to stay over.” Eyes widening a little,
and his hand pausing on the back of Clay’s neck, Tony was unsure how to respond
to what has been asked of him. He knew this wasn’t anything sexual, (it is Clay
after all), but then what was his reasoning? “Well… sure, but why all of the sudden,”
he worded as delicately as possible, not wanting to sound like he was saying
no. That would be the opposite of what every fiber of his body was telling him.
“I just don’t want tonight to end yet. I want to spend more time with you.”
Butterfly’s filled both their stomachs, fluttering around like crazy. “Okay,
I’ll call my mom. What about your parents?” Clay smiled widely, remembering
something which he hadn’t thought about since they left his house earlier that
day. “It doesn’t matter, they’re out of town for the weekend.” Tony laughed, “No
wonder your mom was so worried earlier.”
With that, the Latino boy called his
mom, and asked to stay the night. Clay could hear bits and pieces of what was
being said, but understood nothing of it. From one end of the phone, “Por qué, mijo,”
followed by jumbled sounds Clay couldn’t begin to decipher. I’ll stick to English, Clay thought. As
soon as the conversation ended, Clay started laughing. Tony looked at him as if
he had grown another head, not recalling anything that was funny. Was there
something on his face? He looked around, and found no answer. “What are you
laughing at,” Tony asked, confused. “You get so serious when you speak Spanish,
lighten up.” Clay playfully punched him on the shoulder. Tony cracked a smile,
following up with, “Alright, next time you lie to your parents, I’ll tell you
to lighten up. Get in the car, gringo.” Clay wasn’t sure what that meant, but
followed him anyway. He knew that being alone in his house with someone he
really liked was way better than chatting on a bench.
When they got back to the Jensen
residence, everything was quiet, all the lights were off, and the two were free
to relax and not worry about anyone interrupting. They both liked the idea of
watching a movie together, and settled on Tombstone, a classic western. Action,
gun fights, little hints of romance, and even a little comedy. They splayed out
on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. About five minutes into the
movie, Clay jumped a bit at the sound of the first gun fight (on surround
sound), encouraging Tony to intertwine his fingers with Clay’s. So he did. Soaking
in all the wild west action, Tony occasionally sneaked adoring glances at the
other, and Clay just pretended as if he didn’t notice; he was sneaking peeks,
too, after all. One time when they looked directly at each other and laughed. Smooth Tony, stop acting like a little girl,
he told himself. Next to him, Clay’s mind was elsewhere. I wonder what it would be like to kiss… a
guy. Would it feel any different? Probably less lip gloss…
The movie went on, with more epic
showdowns and horses galloping along the screen. Clay turned to take a glimpse
at the clock behind him, realizing it was just past midnight, though it only
felt like 11. As he turned back to the TV, he examined Tony, who must’ve fallen
asleep. His hand was limp in Clay’s, head resting back against the cushions. His
steady breathing and well-built figure caught Clay’s attention. He took note of
how whenever Tony breathed in, his shoulders moved along with his chest. He
looked at the intricate tattoos that danced on his arms, how precise and unique
each one was. He took a particular
interest in the cross on his right forearm. Catholic inspired for sure, and
beautiful; flawless. It was matched with a much simpler cross, with a semicolon
in the center, on his left. God, didn’t all
that hurt? Maybe he just has a really high pain tolerance, Clay concluded. Tony
shifted in his slumber, probably trying to get more comfortable. It made Clay
jump a little, shocking him out of his Tony-filled trance. Tony’s eyes fluttered
open, awoken by the sudden movement. “Hmm… Sorry, did I fall asleep?”His sleepy voice was smooth and velvety,
but still masculine and bold. It drew him in like a siren calling for sailors.
This sent Clay toward him, almost by instinct. Before he knew it, his hands
were traveling up the arms which he was admiring only moments ago, stopping at
his muscular shoulders. Clay leaned in, as Tony tried to grasp what was going
on, still half asleep. Soon as the reality hit him that Clay was about to kiss
him, so he lifted his head and they met. A moment Tony thought would only
happen in his daydreams; a moment Clay never expected, but would never forget.
At first, it was soft and almost
inquisitive, but it soon morphed into a true, meaningful kiss. Tony slid his
hands to Clay’s waist, tenderly drawing him in, careful not to be forceful.
Tony sat up straight, to get a better angle. When they parted, Tony peered into
his crushes eyes, needing reassurance. “This is okay, right? Just say the word
and I’ll stop,” he remarked. Clay shot him a glare saying, ‘are you kidding,’
before snickering, “Shut up.” He chuckled, then pushed Tony back against the couch.
He complied with this, encouraging it by pulling the taller boy closer. Clay’s
hands started to travel up to Tony’s hair, something he was very prideful
about, but he didn’t stop him. The hair could wait, right now, all he could
think about was Clay. About five minutes passed, the kissing getting more and
more fervent. There were fingers running through hair; hands all over each
other’s hips, arms, and back; and occasional, but extremely short air breaks. As
much as Tony loved the attention and attraction though, he knew Clay was barely
exploring this new territory. He was curious, and things were starting to
escalate too quickly. If him and Clay were going to be a thing, it had to
happen the right way. Tony broke their kiss, and held Clay a few inches away, looking
into his eyes. He started, “Clay, I know that you are new to all this, so just
take it slow. Don’t rush into anything.” Clay looked at him, confused. “I
thought you said you liked me,” he whined, drawing his hands away from the
other. Tony grasped his wrists, desperate not to ruin this. “Clay, no, no, no…
I do, I just don’t want you to rush into anything too quickly. Realizing
something so big about yourself… anyone would need time to process something
like that. That’s all.” Clay started to put his walls back up, regardless of
his efforts to prevent that. Tony lifted his chin up with a light, caring touch.
“I love you, Clay Jensen.” Those words slid off Tony’s tongue, out into the air
around them. Everything stopped, stood still. Even their breathing seemed to halt.
Clay just fell into Tony’s arms. He thought, How could anyone care so much? Clay had never been so… noticed before,
in such a sincere way. Sure, his mom pestered and baby guarded him, but this,
this was different. This was what it felt like to have someone truly invested
Tony just rubbed the back of Clay’s
head until he fell asleep, and held him close. He watched over Clay for about
an hour to make sure he didn’t wake up, then dozed off himself. They slept
peacefully and deeply, and this was the start of something truly beautiful. And
they both knew it.
Clay emerged from his bedroom,
stomach grumbling. Around him, pictures and paintings decorated the walls,
memories of his family and his lovely fiancé. At 7 o’clock in the morning,
however, the pictures were not what he sought out. He wanted to see the one who
must be cooking him breakfast, judging by the smell of bacon emanating from the
kitchen. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, shutting the bedroom door behind him.
Sleepily, he stumbled across the tile and into his fiancé’s kitchen, as it was
so commonly called. He saw Tony standing in front of the stove, finishing up some
bacon and pancakes. “Morning sunshine,” Tony called, and proceeded to kiss him
on the cheek. Clay briefly hugged him around his waist, and replied, “Good
morning.” He smiled, thinking about how lucky he was that Tony took such good
care of him, and went and sat on a bar stool. Tony was finishing up the last of
the cooking, and faced the stove as he spoke to Clay. “How many pancakes, mi
corazón? Two or three,” he questioned, wearing an apron with a tattooed buff
man’s body printed on the front. Clay came up behind him, running his hands up
the others’ shirt, planting sensual kisses on his neck. “I’ll eating anything
you want Tony…” he slyly remarked. Tony smacked Clay’s ass with his left hand
to get him to loosen his grip, then replied, “You’re eating breakfast first,
while its hot.” He turned around, smiled, and kissed his love deeply. Once they
separated, he raised the spatula as a playful little threat, and pointed toward
the bar stool. Clay just rolled his eyes, and accepted Tony’s wishes. He sat a
full plate in front of him, the pancakes in the shape of hearts. He uttered in
Clay’s ear, “Eat up, I put just a touch of cinnamon in the batter, just how you
like it.” He placed one last kiss on Clay’s forehead, then sat next to Clay,
salivating over his own plate of food.
“It looks really good, thank you.
But, ya know, you don’t have to cook breakfast for me so much. I can make
pancakes,” Clay began, knowing Tony doubted him instantly. Fits of laughter
escaped from the other man, amused at the thought of Clay successfully cooking.
“Babe, the last time you tried to cook breakfast for our guests, you set off
the smoke alarm. Besides, I like to take care of you,” Tony remarked. “At least
I didn’t beat a guy half to death at our neighborhood barbeque, and burn the
burgers in the process,” Clay muttered, munching on his bacon and grinning. He
thought it was adorable when Tony got defensive. “I told you, he was staring at
you and licking his lips! I had to keep him away from you.” Clay smiled, and sassed,
“By beating him senseless?” Tony chuckled, “Yes. I would beat anyone senseless for
you.” He winked playfully at him, adoring how precisely he carved into the
pancakes, as if they were fragile.
Once they were done eating, Tony
took away the desolate dishes, and set them in the sink. “Still hungry for
anything,” Tony teased, setting aside his apron, and opening his arms to
welcome Clay. “Yeah, definitely, and have I ever told you I love your arms,
babe?” Tony laughed, reminiscing on the night he was referring to. “Yes, yes
you have. And I love you.” They kissed and walked toward the bedroom, intending
to spend their day off together. Very close together. Clay smiled and took his
future husband’s hand, and sighed, “I love you too.”
Thank you for reading!
“Por qué, mijo,” = Why, son?
“Gringo” = White guy
“Mi corazón” = My love (Directly translated, it means my heart, but my love is how its used in this case)
okay this got way out of hand im sorry omg but this is for @0kbutmichaelclifford and @smartsetclifford‘s sports blurb night (but there really is not a lot of sports in this….sorry) edit: also this is punk!michael and ballet!you but yes anywho! enjoy! wc: 2,619
Michael fell in love. Again. He fell in love with the motions of your dancing, he fell in love with the way you pinned your hair up, and he fell in love with your little smile at the end of every dance. You were the beauty of the campus, the apple of every professor’s eye; yet he was the psycho, the bane of every professor’s existence. He shouldn’t have fallen for you, he should have just kept walking, but he didn’t. He stopped in front of the dance studio. He watched you twirl as if you were a feather caught in the wind. And he watched his heart jump off the deep end of love without his permission. Michael fell in love with you, but you only saw him as the boy with piercings and tattoos.
He works as a volunteer at the animal shelter across from your studio. That’s how he first noticed you, besides the astronomy class you both have. At first, he didn’t notice that it was you whom danced in the late evenings, but then he got a glance at your face. Michael likes to pride himself on the fact that he remembers faces quite well. And you, well, you were etched into his mind forever. You were a true masterpiece; from the bun that set on top of your head, to the pink tutu that surrounded your waist. If he was an artist, he’d paint you. But he wasn’t. Michael was the quiet guy with crazy hair and tattoos who occasionally volunteered to cuddle the animals that no one wanted. He supposes that maybe him and the animals aren’t that different.
He remembers the first day you came into the shelter. You still had your dance uniform on, and your bag was settled on your shoulder. Your hair was down, though, and he swore you looked like an angel who was gracing him with their presence. He was in the back, trying to focus on the puppy who was gnawing at his fingers, but he couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with the owner.
Jacob Black imagine requested by anon! “What abt like a jacob one where it’s just super fluffy? Like the reader&Jake could just be laying in bed&its pouring outside&they’re both just in this state of bliss&just so happy?? I know it doesn’t necessarily have a plot I just thought it was cute” That’s plot enough for me. Hope you like it!
Jacob’s bedroom windows were open to the rain outside, the soft fall of water on the sides of his house filling the air around you with a calming, hypnotic lull. His arms were slung over your stomach and beneath your head, supporting and shielding you as you both fought the urge to sleep, surrendering yourselves instead to the intrigue of your company. His fingers ran absentmindedly through your hair, his position allowing for only minor movement of the wrist, his eyes devouring every feature he could see in the minimal light of the streetlamp beyond his window. The pads of your fingertips traced the contours of his muscled chest, watching him shudder as you placed your palm over his beating heart, his warmth radiating through your body as if you were being kissed by the sun. You inched your body closer to his, your cheek shifting against his shoulder, his lips moving to press against your temple as you tightened your hold around his waist. You breathed in the scent of him, of the forest, of the sun, the golden cologne that clung to his skin dampened by the clean aroma of freshly fallen rain. He’d been out running before returning home, finding you just where he’d left you, bustling around his kitchen with Emily Young, soon to be Emily Uley, learning to bake her signature blueberry muffins. There was a faint trail left in the air, even after the hours that had passed since Jacob’s return home, further warming your atmosphere. His fingertips brushed the curve of your ear, your face angling to meet his adoring gaze.
“How much longer do we have before you have to book it into the forest?” you asked, your voice quiet in the darkness despite Billy’s knowledge of your presence. Old habits die hard, you supposed, but the old man had finally bent to having you around when Jacob’s border control shifts became more frequent. No one, not even a father, wanted to stand their ground between a wolf and his imprint. It was as good as a death sentence, not that Jacob would ever harm his father. It was all a matter of how much time he spent at home versus the time he spent by your side, and Billy had settled for the middle of the spectrum. Jacob smiled apologetically, the arm he had draped over your abdomen readjusting so as to allow his hand to cradle your face. He was stalling, you knew, but it was impossible not to melt into his every touch. The boy was molten, shattering sparks against your skin with his every embrace, his every kiss, even the simplicity of his fingers against your cheek. His thumb stroked against your cheekbone softly, the care behind his every action obvious. His silken skin was hardened by callouses, but gentle all the same, nearly distracting you from the movement of his tongue over his lips as he prepared to answer you. You sat in wait for the verdict, for the set number of hours (or, Hell, even minutes) until duty tore Jacob from your side.
“I’m supposed to meet Leah and Quil in a couple of hours,” he admitted, his palm spreading delectable warmth to your cheeks, heating the very bones beneath, his eyes focused lazily on yours, his attentiveness obvious despite his clear lust for sleep. You were both stubborn, in that way, remaining awake to spend time together, making up for what you lost during the daylight hours of every vampire scare, laying in each others’ arms beneath your bed sheets, the rain outside threatening to lull you to sleep. You shot him a look that demanded an exact time, hoping his couple meant morning. Jacob sighed, not unkindly nor out of frustration, his eyes lifting just above your head, his hand smoothing over your hair. “I’m yours until five, okay? Unless you want to go tooth to to tooth with Leah…?” You shook your head, your cheek rubbing gently against his shoulder, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You pressed a simple, sweet kiss to the curve of his jaw, relishing in his embrace as his hold on you tightened, his hand meeting behind your back, hugging you tight to the heat of his chest. Jacob sighed, content, a wistful taint lingering in his exhale. “Someone’s got to fight her one of these day,” he whispered, his breath stirring the stray hairs atop your head, his hands roaming over your back, fighting off the mild chill the rain pounded into the air that blew through his open windows. “Stall her for a few hours so we can have some time to ourselves.” You shifted in his arms, your lips at his throat, your voice slurred by your fading consciousness.
“We’re spending time together now,” you reminded him, your nose trailing along the side of his neck, his smile obvious even without seeing it. He twisted, pulling you to his side, his eyes level with yours, his lips wide over his teeth as he settled against his pillow, his arm extended beneath your head.
“Sure, sure, act like this is your ideal date night,” he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief, your own smile coaxed out of hiding by his infectious, though stifled, laughter. Even with Billy on board with your overnight stays, the last thing you needed was for Jacob’s father to wheel into his son’s room, roused by muffled giggles in the night, shotgun in hand. You didn’t want him thinking his son had imprinted on some sort of rogue succubus, out to tarnish his son’s virtue and dignity. Every now and then, you had to remind Jacob to keep his jests to a whisper, your eyes flitting to his bedroom door before returning to his face. “Look, I know it’s not the best of circumstances. I get that. I’m willing to get a lecture from Sam for chomping down on Leah if it means I can have a normal morning with you. We could eat breakfast together, all it takes is a few claws in Leah’s flank.” You rolled your eyes, your finger grazing over his lips, remaining perched on the curve of his mouth while you spoke.
“You’re very reckless, you know.” He smirked, twitching his face away from your hand, his lips descending on yours before you could continue your assessment of his hypothetical attack. His lips pulled against yours sweetly, slowly, unrushed by the sands of the hourglass draining away the hours that remained in his company, his tongue trailing over your lower lip, his smile present even when his lips were otherwise occupied. When he parted from you, his hands on your waist, his forehead leaning against yours, he was grinning still.
“I’m in love. There’s a difference.” You smiled, angling your chin to match your lips to his once more, his hands spreading over your hips, holding you to his form. His palm trailed along your rib cage on his way to cradle your cheek, securing your lips to his, his fingers tangling in your hair. You separated, his lips pressing to your cheek quickly, his eyes shrouded with the haze of happiness, sparkling dimly from the artificial light burning through his open window. He exhaled, his fingers toying with a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear, his hand falling to rest against the curve of your neck. “I’m so happy, Y/n. I don’t think I should be, with you not sleeping, and sneaking around La Push, waiting for me to come home just so we can spend another night trying not to fall asleep. I don’t have the right, but I can’t help myself.” He paused, his eyes flickering between yours, watching your face for a change in expression to alert him of the state of your emotions. “How selfish is it for me to look forward to this?” You laid against him, listening to his breathing and the rain outside as it struck the leaves and the earth, his eyes on your face as you relaxed into the serenity of his embrace.
“Why do you think I hang around waiting for you to come home, Jake? Every moment we can spend together keeps me tethered to this place. And it’s not like I sit in your living room and watch Antique Roadshow with Billy, I have friends here. Other wolfgirls. Emily and I get a lot done while you’re out chasing the undead with her fiance and the rest of the La Push youth. I pine a lot less than you think.” Jacob smirked, his breath blowing warmly over your face. “Imagine how I feel, though, watching you come home from your run just to stay awake for another twelve hours. If anyone’s selfish, Jake, it’s me.” His brow knotted in denial, his head tilting comically at your statement.
“No, it’s both of us,” he laughed, his smile crooked, his chest moving against yours as he laughed. “Does that make us less selfish, if we’re both actively destroying ourselves?” You rolled your eyes, watching Jacob’s exaggerated contemplation warp his features into a comic display of confusion. You lifted your hand to rest against his cheek, smoothing the lines from his face, his expression altering visibly beneath your touch. His hand caught yours, holding your palm to his face. “I really am sorry, though. It isn’t fair to you to keep you up all night just so we can spend time together.” You grinned, watching his eyes shine to see your smile. It took you aback every time you saw the true extent of his adoration burning behind his irises, staring at you like you were the sun and stars just for offering a smile.
“But you’re still happy, right?” you joked, Jacob’s smile growing as you spoke, twisting until you were in his grasp once again, your body resting weightlessly atop his, his hands in your hair. You muffled your squeal of surprise at having been moved so suddenly, your lips melting to his, his heartbeat fluttering against your own, your breathing in time with the expansion and deflation of Jacob’s lungs. He parted, twisting once more to lay you on your side, your forehead inches from his atop the same pillow, his contented exhale washing over you like a breeze off the ocean. In the quiet aftermath of his actions, you were once more drawn to notice the pattering of the rain, slowing now as the night progressed. Perhaps Jacob’s morning run wouldn’t be as soggy as formerly anticipated. There was at least that to look forward to. You wouldn’t have to tend to his cold later in the week from his constant exposure to the wet of the world you lived in.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He smiled softly, his eyelids drooping as he whispered a continuation to his statement. “A few months ago, I would have told you this sounded miserable. Jumping in and out of the house, staying up late and leaving early in the morning, running on vapors until the vamps left town… but I can’t say I’m not completely blissed-out right now. I leave every morning and count the hours until I can see you again. It’s a bit embarrassing, having the guys in my head for that part, but there’s only a handful of ‘em left that don’t feel the same way about someone. Even if I don’t take Leah on, I’ll still have you at the end of the day. Just… we’ll be exhausted, and it’ll suck. But you’ll be here. That’s all that matters.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, wrapping you in his warm embrace once again, your head snuggled against his chest. There was only so much fight left in your body to remain awake, and Jacob seemed just as wrecked from the events of the day and your stint into the night. His breathing slowed above you, his chest rising and falling easily against your cheek, the steady thrumming of his heartbeat twining with the simple song of rain outside, slowly but surely luring you to the unwanted escape of slumber. Your body bent to the will of your atmosphere, cradled in the comfort of Jacob’s arms, his quiet breath matching with yours, the both of you slipping off to sleep. Just before you succumbed, you heard Jacob mumble an “I love you,” his voice warped by your fading consciousness, his words prominent nonetheless. You only hoped your reply was as coherent as his proclamation had been, your eyelashes tickling against his skin as you closed your eyes and began to dream.