#i think it's the way he's looking i'm pretty sure it's an average stare but every time i see it

[mae-gi-writes]

let it be me | kuroo tetsurou (2)

In which you, as a new divorcée, can't help but crush on your 4-year-old's new PE Coach.

genre: singleparent!reader x coach! Kuroo, fluff, acquaintances-to-lovers

taglist: @patpatspatz @matchagirliris @multi-fandom-fanfic @alittlebirdahgaselx @kuroos--little--kitten @menacejelly12 @aeshiue @dreamlessnight @altheades @loonalockley @not-your-average-fangirl @bertqut1 @sunlixfl-blog @nabboo007

a/n: enjoy! <3 thanks for all the love given to the first part of this story! here's the second part. Third part is coming soon ~

---- previous | part two | next part >>>

"He can't be serious."

You sigh and watch the wine in your glass slosh around, creating beautiful patterns along the rim of your glass, "unfortunately, I think he is."

Your cousin has on an expression you can't quite place, in-between disgust and pure confusion. He's at the microwave, busy heating up some popcorn. Having adamantly asked you to sit on his couch while taking care of the snacks, you thus decided to watch Sakura play with her legos along the carpet, keeping a watchful eye in case one might end up in her mouth.

"He's only marrying her for the money," is what he concludes after a small pause.

You snort into your glass, take a sip of it and allow the bitterness to coat your tongue, "I wish that were true."

"How would you know that?"

" 'Tsumu, is it written stupid on my forehead?" your own wrinkles in distaste, "I see the way he looks at her. He's--" you choke on your words then, the knot in your throat growing tenfold, "--he's in love with her."

"Who is in love, mum?"

"No one at all," you're quick to answer upon noticing Sakura has been listening in. She normally doesn't, a kid that enjoys staring off into space and conjuring make-believe stories, where there's magic and only happy endings. You try and force a smile onto your face, "how's the house construction for Princess Peach going?"

Your daughter lets out a laugh as she presents to you a square that looks nothing like a house. Still, you coo at it, "so pretty! I bet princess peach would love it."

Your conversation with Atsumu has to wait until Sakura is tucked away in her uncle's bedroom and has listened to three stories about princesses, before you manage to join him back onto the couch where he's busy watching a rerun of volleyball matches.

You don't get to see him much now, courtesy of the fact that he's a national athlete and has been booked at the big games representing Japan. You couldn't be prouder, and yet his permanent absence does still leave a big hole in your heart whenever he flies over a thousand miles. Atsumu had been your rock since you guys were kids, defending you on the school playground and dragging you around to parties and birthdays without your consent. He'd taken care of you as a big brother would and he still is. You don't know how to repay this kind of kindness.

You're just thankful that he has one week off so that you can rant and ramble about the unfairness of the world. At least with Atsumu here, it appeases the pain, if just a little.

"Have you signed the papers yet?" he asks, handing you the bowl of popcorn.

You grab a handful, popping onto of them into your mouth as you answer, "not yet."

"You should ask him for alimony, at least."

"I'm not sure I'd win that, 'Tsumu."

"Still," his nose wrinkles in distaste, "this feels unfair. And why are you the one taking care of Sakura on your own? And I don't mean the parenting part. What about the finances? Why can't he contribute?"

"Because he's a dick and he thinks he can get away with it," you're glad that the tv is providing a welcome distraction, for you can't bear to look into Atsumu's eyes, "I'm just going to sign it and be done with it. I don't want Sakura to suffer any longer. It's not fair on her, she barely sees him."

"Well maybe it's time you find someone else too, y/n."

Your thoughts suddenly flash to Kuroo's beautiful smile and you have to physically force yourself to keep from grinning. You can feel the heat from the back of your neck and come up with the excuse that it's still too early and that Sakura wouldn't like her world shattering just for your happiness.

But it seems that Atsumu knows you better than that, for he asks, "are you blushing?"

"Wha--" Panic skitters through you, "no. No, why would I blush?"

His eyebrows raise, "you’ve met someone then?"

"N--No. Not at all. It's--" you realize you're blundering when his smile widens slightly, "it's not like that."

"So who's the lucky guy?"

"Atsumu."

"Y/N," his eyes glisten with playfulness and he nudges your shoulder, "c'mon. Tell me!"

You let out another breath and mumble, "He’'s not someone I met. He's...Just someone I know."

"And how do you know him?"

"He's Sakura's PE coach."

Atsumu lets out a whistle, "well that--" he shakes his head, "--that's not what I imagined at all."

"Shut up."

"So you like him?"

"It's not--It's really not like that. I--" you try and rack your brain for anything to say because this is really embarrassing. Who has a crush at the age of twenty-nine? Practically all of your friends are already married and have kids, talk about husband problems and how they wish for their youth back. And you? Here you are, thinking you might have a crush. You're no better than a middle school girl.

Which is why you say, "I don't even know him."

"You just think he's cute?"

"Precisely. But there are a lot of cute guys. It doesn't mean anything."

“Right,” Atsumu lets out a breath before he leans back into the couch, “but you know what I think?”

You hum in response.

“I think you should get laid—“

You almost spit out your wine in shock, gape at him in horror, “Atsumu!”

Again, your brain goes into overdrive at the thought of Kuroo and his sweaty chest, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he just towers over your small frame…

NO! You slam onto your mental brakes and shake your head, “you’re disgusting.” You spit out.

“I’m telling the truth princess. I really believe in the power of s—“

“Don’t—“ you cut him off with a raised palm, “don’t even say it.”

“So tell me,” Atsumu proceeds to wriggle his brows suggestively which makes it even harder to stop the blush igniting along your face, “this guy, how handsome is he? Must be pretty good-looking for you to be blushing like that.”

“Shut up ‘Tsumu, it’s not like that at all. Just stop. He's like--half of my age."

“Alright alright,” he laughs his deep-bellied laughter and wraps an arm around you in a gentle, comforting hug, “but if ever you do get lais with him, you gotta tell me.”

“Mum, what does ‘getting laid’ mean?”

“Oh!” Your head snaps to the doorway only to see your daughter all sleepy-eyed and clutching a spare pillow.

“Sakura!” You scramble to over, casting your cousin a scowl as you do, “c’mon, sweetie. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You hear Atsumu’s laughter follow you all the way to the bedroom.

————

It’s weird when Sakura isn’t around.

It’s almost like you’ve lost your purpose. But then again, you should be taking advantage of this right? That’s what everyone keeps telling you.

But alas, something in you cannot just let yourself rest for fear that your thoughts may go into a black hole of what ifs and images of Sakura with your ex-husband’s wife —well, almost ex-husband— and thus decide to take on a last-minute order.

It’s a simple enough request— a birthday cake. While you usually plan events from A to Z, this order merely requested a cake of any kind. So that’s how you spend your Saturday morning — creating a dough and sugar decorations that would fit into the theme of “Halloween”, as per what your client has asked.

You drive up to the pin location around four in the afternoon, strolling through the streets until the google maps signals you that you’ve arrived to your destination. Turning off the ignition at the said house — a beautiful Victorian home adorned with columns twice your height and size — you open your door only to come face to face with a familiar pair of golden eyes.

“Coach?”

“Kosuke-san?”

You both stare. And stare.

It’s shock that comes first. Before realization slaps you in the face, “oh!” You quickly bow in hopes that you haven’t been staring too long, “good afternoon, Coach. What—What brings you here?”

"Kosuke-san," he bows and looks just as surprised as you are, before he notices the way you're struggling to juggle to cake in your arms, "here, let me help you."

Without hesitation, he opens the door a bit wider and closes the gap between you, lifting the box from your arms, "jeez how heavy is this thing?"

You let out a small laugh, "it's all the icing sugar."

"Come in," he gestures with his chin for you to follow and as you step into the threshold he continues, "so when you said you were an event planner--I didn't expect you to be a cake designer too."

"It's an extra service I provide," you shrug, "I'm a patissier by career. Event planning is just something that keeps the cash flowing."

Kuroo pauses in mid-step then, "you're a patissier?"

"Yeah. Well, I was," you chuckle, "but anyway, it's been a while since I've baked now. So I hope it's just as good as you expect it to be."

Kuroo opens his mouth only to be cut off by a horde of boys stumbling into what appears to be the kitchen area. Now that you have a better look, it's all white marble and golden taps and golden handles on every piece of furniture to match. In any case, this house screams of money and for a minute, you feel a bit small and insignificant in your stained-flour blouse, the splotches of paint across your faded out jeans, courtesy of Sakura's art skills.

"You must be y/n!" one of the boys detaches himself. His orange hair glistens in the sun streaming through the window and he's a bit shorter than Kuroo. He beams at you and you can't help but be reminded of a puppy, "thanks for taking my order on such a short notice!"

"No worries at all. You must be...Hinata?"

"Yes!" he shakes your hand, "so I see you've met Kuroo! He's one of my best mates! We used to play against each other back in high school."

"Really now?" you quirk a brow in Kuroo's direction, watching the muscles of his arms ripple as he places the cake in an orderly manner inside the fridge. His voice is muffled when he replies, "yeah, he's the midget that made us jump for our lives. I hated him."

"You're just sour because you lost that one time," Hinata pouts, "but anyway, this is the rest of the ex-team!"

And so that's how you get a round of names that you will probably forget in five minutes and Kuroo, having seen the confusion in your eyes, can't help but laugh to himself because the sight is somewhat adorable. And he knows he shouldn't find it, he knows you're off limits because first, you're a mom from the school and two, you're married and have a kid. It's definitely not at all appropriate for his eyes to be roaming over your curves or to linger over the light glittering in your eyes.

Get a hold of yourself, he mentally whacks the back of his head.

“Where’s the little munchkin?” Kuroo asks you once you’re all settled after having been wheedled by Hinata to stay (“please please please you did such a great job on the cake” is what he’d begged). You’re now perched onto a plush lounge chair, a mixture of juice and vodka in your hand and watching the nth match of pingpong between someone whose name you forget and the other whose name sounds like Daichi. Though yoj might be wrong.

You’re glad for Kuroo’s presence, for even if he is a stranger, he still feels familiar to you right now in this setting.

“Sakura’s with her father today,” you explain with a slight smile in hopes it doesn’t give any of that bitterness away.

Kuroo opens his mouth like he wants so say something — anything— but you beat him to it, “we’re not together. Not anymore.”

His eyes widen with realization and you see it, the way he’s putting all the puzzle pieces together, “I’m sorry to hear,” is what he finally musters.

“Nothing be to be sorry about.”

“So… the name Kosuke…”

“Is my maiden name,” you reply, “I’ve never changed names. Looking back, I think I’ve done the right thing.”

Kuroo isn’t sure whether he should be mad for you or hurt in your place. After all, who in their right mind would leave their wife and their toddler daughter?

He deals with little kids every day, so he knows exactly what they’re like on a daily basis, and it’s not easy.

“I’m sorry,” it seems that’s the only thing he knows how to say.

“Really,” you laugh at him, “how can you be sorry when it’s not even your fault?”

Kuroo shrugs and grins bashfully because yes, it’s true and he still doesn’t know what to say. So he decides to ask, “And Sakura… how is she?”

“She doesn’t realize it. She’s too young,” your smile fades slightly, “in a way, I hope that’s a good sign.”

His heart clenches at the thought of you raising this kid alone. He can’t even imagine it. It makes sympathy swim inside his chest like an ache he can’t quite ignore. The look on your face suggests that you’ve been let down and he has the sudden impulse to tell you that everything will be alright, will be okay.

But he can’t do that. You’ll think of him as a creep. So he bites his tongue and look away instead, at the war of pingpong ongoing between his two friends. In a way, he’s glad for the distraction as he sips on his beer.

“And you?” Your voice piping up surprises him. His eyes flit back to your face. You continue, “married? Engaged?”

Kuroo’s throat bobs as he chuckles, “no. None of that.”

“How come?” You take a sip of your cocktail, “you don’t seem like the type to wound up alone with a hundred cats.”

“No no,” he can’t help but laugh because one, you’re hella attractive to him; tiny and frail and looking like he can fit you in a box no problem and two; you’re actually entertaining to be around. Something that he’s found lacking in his previous dates, “I just didn’t find anyone special yet.”

“Well there's no rush,” you lift your cocktail as you speak, “and anyway, you’re still young. You should enjoy it while you can.”

“Young?” Kuroo’s face breaks into a grin as his golden orbs glimmer down at you, amused, “how old do you think I am?”

"Uhm--I don't know. Early twenties?"

"I'm twenty-five," he gives you a look, "how old are you?"

"Twenty-eight. Going on twenty-nine."

"You look like you've just gotten out of college though," Kuroo's smirk is visible even behind his beer as he chugs down most of his drink, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you and Sakura were sisters."

"Not even," you retort, "And excuse me, but you look younger than twenty-five."

"I make up for it in height," he peers down at you, "but I suppose you wouldn't understand that considering--"

Your arm whacks at his shoulder before you know it. A playful gesture surely, but one that you don't really use on your daughter's teachers. Let alone ones that have bulging muscles and a figure to die for. You stare at your hand for a long minute, your brain going blank, before your eyes whip up to his and horror seeps into your gaze.

"Oh my god!" you screech and recoil like he's the one that had slapped you, "I'm so sorry, I--It's just--automatic you know, my cousin--he's got the same humor and--well I--I'm really sorry--"

The guffaw that leaves Kuroo's mouth is so loud that it causes heads to turn, even the ones invested in the ping pong game. He bends over while holding his stomach and the initial panic that you have wears off upon seeing him look so joyously happy. You can't help but chuckle along.

"What?" you say when he's regained most of his breath, "what's so funny?"

"You are," he grins, before it turns mischievous, "senpai."

"Hey--now that's going a bit too far!"

You're not quite sure what time you get home that night. But you do know that you've gone to sleep with a smile on your face.

————

"Kuroo sensei! He stole my ball!"

A typical Monday morning where Kuroo is busy surveilling the fifth graders as they decided to play basketball during their free time. He's not one to deny such requests, actually enjoys watching them play and seeing them grow day by day, developing their techniques. But to say that he's a bit in the clouds would be an understatement.

"Kuroo sensei!"

He finally snaps back to reality. Blinks down at the tiny boy with the biggest scowl he's ever seen yet, "yes I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

"He stole my ball!" the young boy points at one of the chubby classmates who seems quite content in playing by himself, "and now he's saying that it was his!"

Kuroo can't help but raise a brow. He's taught that class before, knows exactly that the chubby little kid doesn't have that many friends, including the boy standing before him.

"I don't think he stole your ball."

It's a bold statement, but from the way the tiny student squirms and averts his gaze, Kuroo believes he is right, "but--but he did! He really did steal my ball!"

"I have an idea," Kuroo bends down to his height, not able to restrain the grin along his face at the pout forming on the student's lips, "why don't you go and play with him? He seems a bit lonely."

"Yeah that's because he never talks to anyone in class."

"Then why don't you be the first? hm?" he nudges the boy's shoulder, "show your class a good example. Come on."

With a bit more reassurance, the said student goes over and Kuroo watches fondly as the two exchange awkward greetings before the chubby student nods his head, glancing at his PE coach like he'd just dropped a bomb.

Five minutes later, they're playing together like best friends.

And Kuroo goes back to daydreaming.

He's not usually like this. So out of it, so inside his own head that he can't see the outside world. But ever since that party he's been wondering when's the next time he'd get to see you, to talk to you. Not just as Sakura's mum but as someone, maybe a friend. He's addicted to the way your eyes curve up before your lips are even drawn into a smile, like you're sharing a special secret with him before the world gets a flash of blinding white teeth. He enjoys watching you move about because you're just so tiny, holding cups with two hands and always having to tiptoe about to find stuff. But most of all, that conversation with you had him dreaming of more. He wants to know you, that initial curiosity turning to what he'd define as stupid infatuation.

Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou has a crush, and he's not quite sure how to feel about it.

"--Earth to Kuroo?"

He blinks. In front of him stands his colleague and friend Bokuto. Having faced each other off countlessly during their high school days, it was a miracle and lovely surprise to see him at the new year induction. Since then, they’d been a constant pair inside the school walls and creating assignments, organizing and coordinating events had never been so fun.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and rubs a hand over his face.

“You look like death, mate,” Bokuto leans on the fencing that separates the courts from the building, “why the long face?”

“Haven’t slept well,” Kuroo says, but he knows he’s not convincing when Bokuto’s eyebrows raise in question.

“You? Firm believer of 10hrs of sleep every day?” His friend shakes his head, “no way. Tell me what happened. What’s got you looking so dazed?”

“It’s noth—“ he halts. Maybe he can find some advice? Bokuto’s known for being a badass romantic after all. Maybe he can have something wise to say.

Like tell Kuroo you’re way out of his league and— what the hell is he even thinking, dating someone’s mom? Someone older than him, at that?

The words burst out of his mouth without warning:

“I think I like someone.”

Bokuto merely blinks. His face lights up, “well that explains it. Who?”

Kuroo’s arm swings to the back to scratch his neck, “it’s… one of the student’s mom’s.”

The last few words are said in a mumble, causing Bokuto to lean into his friend with a wide-eyed gaze, surprise flitting across his face when he realizes what Kuroo has just said.

“No,” the grey-haired man’s mouth turns into an “o” as he stares his friend down, “no way. Who?”

“I don’t think you know her. Sakura Kosuke?” Kuroo prompts.

“Sakura Kosuke…” Bokuto shakes his head in thought, “haven’t heard of that one. But—-Kuroo! I thought older women weren’t your style!”

“She’s not that old,” Kuroo’s face flames, “only by three years.”

"Who would've thought," Bokuto breathes out with a chuckle when a thought suddenly occurs to him, "wait-- it's not the chick who came by with the cake last weekend?"

Kuroo nods and awkwardly clears his throat, "yeah, the very same."

"Ha! If only I knew! I would've done my best to set you up!"

"It's not funny!"

But now that Bokuto has some leverage of information, he's definitely not going to let it go and Kuroo kind of regrets spilling the beans to him, of all people. That, and the probably fact that he’ll be spreading this news like wildfire across their friend group.

Thankfully, Kuroo’s schedule makes it that it’s hard to think about anything but work since midterm season is approaching for his other primary school colleagues. There’s after-school shows and events for every single activity and since he’s being asked to help for every single thing (because he’s the preschool teacher and, yeah! How come you don’t have any events planned for your preschoolers?!). Which means that he doesn’t have actual time to think about you, not even when he’s finally home and mustering up enough strength to brush his teeth, take a shower and dump himself in bed.

He does, however, collide head-first into you one week day as you’re hurrying out of the principal’s office, looking flustered and red-faced.

“Kosuke-san,” he takes a longing glance your rosy cheeks and felt his hand tingle with want. Just to see if it’s as soft as he imagines it to be? “You okay?”

“Kuroo sensei,” you run a hand through your locks and causing your hair to get even more disheveled, “hi, sorry— how are you? It’s been a while.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You’re looking a bit more greenish now that he sees you in the light.

“Yes I—“ your hands flutter up before you in an attempt to find an explanation, “—just came back from a meeting with Sakura’s teacher.”

“Oh?” Kuroo frowns, “what—nothing bad, I hope?”

“It’s just—well,” you try to chuckle but it comes out like a whimper, “apparently she got into a fight with one of the other girls in her class. Got a few injuries herself so…”

Your eyes are wet and it seems you’re half a second away from a breakdown. So it’s only natural for Kuroo to take a few steps closer to you before he whispers a soft, “hey hey, you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you take a shaky breath, “it’s just been a long, hard morning.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo bites onto his lower lip, not sure what to do to make things better as he watches your chest move up and down in staggered breaths.

That’s when an idea hits him. He makes a grab for the back of your elbow and the smallness, the thinness of your limb takes him be surprise as he steers you out of the corridor.

And when your wide eyes flutter up to his, he quickly says something along the lines of, “I know a place. It’ll make you feel better.”

That’s how he finds himself dragging you to the nearby coffee place he always frequents— called Espresso Block— a small vintage bakery run by none other than his good friend Osamu Miya, as part of his expansion branch from his onigiri restaurants.

"Y/N!" Osamu greets as soon as he spots your face trailing behind Kuroo's tall figure. He pushes the raven-haired man aside with impatience before sauntering over and wrapping you up in a bear hug.

"Osamu," you breathe in the scent of baked croissants lingering on his uniform, "you're choking me."

"Oh--sorry," he drops you and grins sheepishly, that is before he registers that you're together with one of his friends, causing his eyes to narrow, "how do you two know each other?"

"Kosuke-san is Sakura's mother and she was having a bad day," Kuroo explains before he turns to you, "how do you know him?"

Did you imagine the five-second frostiness that came from his tone? Maybe not, as you reply, "he's my cousin. We grew up together. I taught him how to play volleyball back in primary school."

Kuroo's relief is instant. Thank god, it's not a close friend, nor is it a romantic partner candidate. His mood brightens instantly and without further ado he proceeds to lead you towards a table in the back.

He doesn’t fail to ignore the way Osamu’s eyes are following him all the way back to his table as he carries the two drinks — strawberry latte for him and a black coffee for you — and Kuroo can just hope that his dear friend can keep his distance until you've gone.

Becayse he's quite certain he will be subject to interrogation. Especially if you're that close to Osamu.

Placing the tray on the table, he takes out the mug and pushes it into your hands before finding his seat opposite you. You grab the cup between your two palms and take a deep breath as Kuroo sips on his latte.

The sweetness of the strawberry never disappoints. It’s refreshing and brings a smile to his lips. Osamu sure knows his desserts.

“I'm really sorry about what happened earlier," you seem to have composed yourself from earlier. You take a small sip of your coffee and Kuroo watches in amusement as you shudder.

"Do you want some milk with that?" he can't help but ask.

You nod and look shameful, and Kuroo's heart squeezes with sympathy. Your eyes are tinged with aprons of blue and there are tired lines lining your eyes and the corners of your mouth. It's only when he comes back -- from having gotten some steamed milk from Osamu and a suggestive wink to match -- you dip your head into a nod and mumble out a soft 'thanks', eyes glued to the way the dark brown turned into a creamy latte.

"You could've asked me for a latte," Kuroo smiled to show that he didn't mind at all. But you winced.

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't say sorry," he softened, "just--next time, you can tell me what you want, Kosuke-san. I'm not here to bite you...unless you want me to."

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise and Kuroo pinks at his words. They'd just slipped out on their own. It's not like he'd wanted to sound flirty when you're looking all shaky and worse for wear. He quickly clear his throat and tries to change the subject, "how are Sakura's injuries?"

"She's fine, got herself a bruised lip."

His eyebrows raise in surprise, "woah, that's still something."

"Yeah," you mutter and take another sip. And then another, "I hope this doesn't become a habit."

"I've taught Sakura since the start of this semester," Kuroo leans forward, elbows propped onto the table, "and I can tell you--she's anything but violent."

"I really hope you're right about this. I can't have her running around beating up everyone."

Kuroo stifled a small laugh, "to be honest, I think it's good she knows how to defend herself."

You shoot him a look and he can't help but laugh. And it's so contagious, the way it booms out of him like a melody, that you cannot restrain yourself from joining in.

"You're right," you say in-between chuckles.

"Maybe she got her mom's feisty spirit," Kuroo adds.

"No way. I was as silent as a mouse," you retort, "if she got anything like that, it's probably from her father's--"

You halt in mid-conversation, wanting to bite down your tongue for even mentioning him and quickly flash Kuroo a bashful smile in hopes he'll just brush it off, "sorry, let's not talk about him--"

"Kosuke-san, you really have to stop saying sorry all the time," Kuroo says with a grin, "it's not healthy."

"I know, I'm--" you catch yourself and he bursts out laughing once more at your face, "don't say it! No matter what!" he chides.

"Stop--" but you're grinning from ear to ear, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, "--Kuroo sensei, I hope you're not as playful with your students or they'd never learn anything from you."

"Course not," he winks, "I keep that solely for the pretty ladies."

His suggestive tone makes you blush despite it all and you look down at your coffee with the blush blazing so hard across your cheeks you swear everyone can see its colour from afar.

"I don't know how it is at home though," Kuroo's voice brings you out of your small bubble of warmth, "it must be tough handling Sakura all alone. Do you ever take a break?"

"Well, she goes to see her dad ever two weeks. But other than that, she's always with me unless my parents decide to come over. Which isn't as often as I would like."

"Why's that?"

"They live in the countryside and have a farm. It's hard for them to take days off, and I don't blame them not wanting to be around," your voice lowers to a mutter at the last few words, "especially after what happened with the marriage and all..."

"Marriages fail every time," Kuroo says gently then, "that too, isn't your fault."

"I wish my parents believed that," you let out a small laugh, "but they're right. We were too young to get married."

"But you have Sakura right? Isn't she worth it?"

His eyes, golden flecked and filled with so much hope and softness, meet yours from across the table. You suddenly feel a bit hot in your seat, wanting to squirm as you quickly look away from Kuroo's gaze because dear god, it's almost like he's ripping away, ripping apart every single layer of self-protection and preservation and reading you out like an open book.

"You're right," you clear your throat upon realizing he'd still been waiting for your response, "she is worth every single second. I wouldn't change anything about what happened. I just--I wish my parents could see it that way too."

"I think you spend a little too much time stressing about things you can't control," Kuroo takes another sip of his latte, "how about you learn to let go a bit? Maybe take the day off? Go hiking?"

"With Sakura?" you shake your head, "impossible, I--"

"Surely you have someone that can take care of her while you're gone," he tilts his head, jaw resting into one of his hands and making him appear all the more handsome.

Your thoughts flash to Atsumu. He's right, you could technically take a day off by dropping Sakura with the blonde. But she's not his responsibility and Atsumu has other priorities in his life rather than hang out with his niece. But Kuroo's persistence is strong and he makes you -- practically orders you -- to text him when he connects the dots that you two are also family.

"That guy can learn a thing or two about being responsible anyway," grins Kuroo, "so I'm sure he won't mind."

————

How did you end up here?

That's the question you keep asking yourself -- even when you're busy picking out your clothes only to realize that you barely have anything that's worth 'party material', even when you're attempting to do your makeup even though it's been almost three (or four?) years since you've tried to look your best because Sakura's wellbeing always came first.

Even when you're strapping up your black ankle boots, the question is getting drilled into your brain like a broken mixtape as you wonder whether this is a good idea after all.

"Go," Atsumu is firm when you call him for the nth time. It's five minutes until Kuroo's supposed to pick you up and feeling the pressure on your shoulders, you quickly decide to call your cousin in an emergency, "you have to do it, y/n. Stop making this all about Sakura. You need to be happy too."

"I am happy," was what you'd mumbled out in the phone receiver. You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the phone, so tight that your knuckles have turned white.

"I know you are, but you'll be happier if you live for yourself. At least for one night," Atsumu responds, "and Sakura's safe with me. And if ever there's an issue I'll call Osamu first to--"

"What?! No! No you call me first, okay?"

"Y/n please just relax. It's supposed to be a fun night."

You slump against the wall in defeat, "I don't even know why I'm doing this," you mumble mostly to yourself, though you're certain he can hear it too, "there's no point trying to prove that I'm content with my life. There are things that are going to leave me unsatisfied. I'm--I was fine with that, really."

"Are you though?" your cousin's voice is accusatory this time, "you're ready to live just for Sakura? Making her happy will make you happy too? Is this how it's supposed to work?"

"Technically yes, I'm her mother--"

"--And you've been left behind!"

The words are like a slap. You bite down onto your lower lip.

It draws blood.

You hiss, sucking on the skin as the metallic taste hits your tongue.

In truth, Atsumu has a point. You can't just live to make Sakura happy because that will ultimately destroy you. Not because she's not the only thing you need in your life. But because despite having your little girl being the center of your world, despite being able to sustain her with your career, you still feel like it's just yesterday when Aoi had upped and left you. His excuses, as pathetic as they had been, were arrows shooting straight into your heart. He left you crying into your pillow that night, hovering over your figure until you'd told him to 'get lost or I'll call the cops on you' before curling up on the small couch that you'd gotten rid of once he'd moved out for good.

So much pain. So much pain and haunted nights and obstacles that had come your way. That, along with caring for Sakura, had been a big hurdle. You remembered the long mornings, how hard it had been to drag yourself out of bed for the first few days. Atsumu had volunteered to stay with you then, giving you all the support you needed until you'd had enough strength to get back on your feet.

So he knew exactly what you'd gone through. Had seen it all first-hand. He wasn't kidding when he said you really needed to get laid. Somehow, he seems to have a valid point.

But it's been so long since you've left the dating scene that the thought of it makes you want to vomit.

"I'm sorry y/n, that wasn't cool." Atsumu's voice flows through the receiver like a lullaby and you take a deep, staggering breath, "I just--I know how hard it's been pulling your weight and caring for Sakura. It practically consumed your entire life. It's about time you get that motherfucker back for screwing things up--"

"Language," you tsk at him.

"You know what I mean," he replies impatiently, "So go out there, have fun. Get smashed. And at least do something to make you happy for a change. Alright?"

"Yeah okay," you mumble.

"And plus, you're with a bunch of guys that I know. They're cool. They'll keep an eye on you."

"Thanks mom."

"Anytime hun."

You can't help but giggle before you hear a car pulling up outside, "alright. I think my ride's here."

"Yeah, try to get laid okay--"

"Atsumu!" your cheeks flame, "I hope you're not saying all this in front of Sakura!"

A burst of laughter echoes from the receiver, "don't worry, miss Sakura is asleep. Have fun y/n! Take pictures!"

The drive there is less awkward than you'd imagined it to be, despite the fact that Kuroo's get-up does make your mouth salivate. And not just you. You realize a bunch of girls have him on their radar, from the stolen glances driven his way as you follow his broad back out of the parking and into the small terrace-looking entrance flanked by colored glowing palm trees.

"I haven't been in a club for like four years," you confess to him as you trudge into the queue. The air smells like cigarette and smoke. And something else. Something dangerous. It makes you giddy, you realize.

"Four years?" his eyes grow round as he looks down at you, "you have drunk before right? To the brink of passing out?"

"Like...maybe four years ago?"

His mouth opens, then closes. He shakes his head, a smile curving at the edges of his lips, "remind me not to drown you with tequila."

"I'll try my best."

You meet the rest of the gang upon stumbling into the club. It's dark and pulsating with music, with two dance floors separated by the DJ stationed on a platform right in the middle. Lights are bouncing off the space like crazy and all around you are moving bodies that writh and mold together until you're not sure where one ends and the other begins.

“Y/N! You’re here!” A drunk Hinata hooks an arm around your shoulder before steering you towards the bar, “you’re just in time! We were going for a round of lambos.”

“Lambos?” You balk and meet Kuroo’s eye, “you mean— Lamborgini’s?”

“Hell yeah!” Another one of the guys chimes in. It’s almost comical, the way they’re all stumbling against each other as you move like a congregation until you’re straight up in front of the barman.

“Ten Lambo’s please!” Hinata slams his card ontot he counter.

It brings back a wave of nostalgia, seeing the line of glasses and the way the bartender drops the alcohol in like he can do it with his eyes closed. You’re jostled and pressed against warm chests and shoulders, surrounded from all sides and yet, you feel safe with them all. That is, until you feel a soft brush against your elbow.

You turn to see Kuroo’s warm golden orbs.

“All okay?” He mouths to you.

You nod and give him a smile in return, and the grin that he cracks makes a troop of butterflies swoop into your stomach.

You look away just as Hinata thrusts a glass into your hands, “come y/n! This one’s on me!”

One shot becomes two. And two become three. Soon enough you find yourself on the dance floor and moving to the beat with one of the girls from the group— Yachi?— while the guys are trying to pay each other back their shots. The music vibrates through the floor up your body and flood your veins so that you get lost in it, ecstasy and the thrill of just being alive finally gushing through your brain, fogged up and amplified by the alcohol in your bloodstream.

It’s amazing. You feel free. Like nothing can stop you.

It’s honestly the best you’ve felt in a while.

After a while, you and Yachi decide to take a well-deserved break, stumbling over to the clustered seating space filled with red cushions as the boys scatter to find more alcohol. At this point you’re surprised that they’re still moving around and conscious, considering the amount they’ve drunk.

One of the boys— the one with the kind smile called Daichi— offers to get you guys some water as you take a seat, allowing your tired legs to take a break.

“I’m going to fine Hinata!” Yachi says into your ear and you nod before ushering her out of your way. There’s something between those two, a kind of tension that will develop into something more if they just allow it.

But you’re not one to meddle, not when your own love life’s a mess.

That’s when you notice.

It’s the lingering stare out of the corner of your peripheral that makes you turn your head.

Then you see him.

A tall, lanky man. He’s seated right opposite you, a drink in his hand and taking a swig. But there’s no mistake, for when his eyes meet yours across the room you can only jolt in shock.

You look away with embarrassment and disgust. Heat spreads to the back of your neck and goosebumps run up your arms. Suddenly, it’s a little too cold in this hot, sweaty club.

Why is he looking at you like that?

There’s no mistaking the intention. You risk one more glance and confirm that indeed, there’s a darkness in his eyes; the kind of a predator.

The kind that wants to strip you bare.

It’s unsetttling, unnerving.

Disgusting.

You don’t even hesitate. It’s like instinct for you jump off your seat with the only purpose to find Kuroo. But to your terror, the man starts to follow you. And soon enough it becomes a game of catch: of cat and mouse. You almost trip over your high heels as you push through the moving bodies as quickly as you can.

But the figure is there, hovering over you like a dark shadow that causes your heart to clench.

You bite back a whimper, pushing through a throng of girls as you frantically search for a sign of Kuroo’s familiar mop of hair. Or Hinata’s. Or just about anyone for that matter—

Bumping into a chest, you’re more than surprised as you let out a small yelp only to hear a familiar alto.

“Kosuke-san, everything alright?”

“K—Kuroo sensei,” your mumble is drowned in the beats of the music, eyes darting between his face and the dodgy man.

He’s now standing by the bar a few feet away from you. The same kind of withering stare that makes you wince.

Hurriedly, you turn to Kuroo and grip his shirt, wanting nothing more than to hide behind him, “I—uhm— there’s someone—“ the words jumble up as they pour out of your mouth and you find you can do nothing but grip his shirt for dear life, like Kuroo’s the only thing that can help you out of here.

Thankfully, he seems to understand your dilemma, for he puts a hand on your shoulder before steering you a little closer to him and away from the main path, a frown evident on his face, “what’s wrong Kosuke-san?”

But it’s only when he follows your fear-stricken eyes that Kuroo realizes there’s something — someone tormenting you. He recognizes the dark hunger, the prowling intent.

Instantly, his hand grips your waist. Tugs you closer.

You stumble into him, “Kuroo sensei—“

But Kuroo’s not having it. He stares the man down with a glower, longer body practically wrapped around yours in a protective embrace as he dares the man to do something, anything.

Try me, his eyes are saying, you’re not going to lay a single hand on her.

The stranger finally breaks eye contact after a few beats of silence and Kuroo keeps watch, golden eyes blazing until the man is nothing more but a memory of smoke as he disappears into the crowd.

Only then does he allow his hold to relax. Tilting down towards you. He murmurs out softly:

“He’s gone, Kosuke-san.”

You’re practically glued to him at this point, face buried in his chest and hands gripping so tightly onto his shirt that you might’ve grown claws. Kuroo nudges you gently once more, and that’s when you look up from the depths of his shirt.

The sight makes him almost coo because goddamnit even in the dim disco lights you look adorable. He has the sudden urge to pinch your cheeks and he’s glad his hands are somewhat occupied along your waist.

“You okay?” Is what he whispers.

You nod, looking a bit shaky and green int the face, “yeah—I’m—I’m fine. Thank you. He was—it scared me.”

“I know,” Kuroo draws away ever so slightly so he can have a better look at your face, “I’ll bring you home, alright?”

“No no it’s okay,” you shake your head and attempt a smile, but even Kuroo can see past those shaky lips, “you stay and have fun. I’ll call an Uber and—“

“Nonsense,” he grabs your elbow once more, “I’ll accompany you. C’mon.”

———

It’s definitely unnerving. It leaves you shaking with fear and you’re thankful for Kuroo’s strong grip on your arm as he maneuvers you out of the club.

The rush of cold wind hits your cheeks, leaving the soft beats of the club behind. Slowly, the world comes back into focus as the air rushes through your lungs and the sound bustling traffic in the distance is brought back into focus.

Only then do you realize how close you’re standing to the coach.

With a start, you stumble away with a muttered “sorry”, not daring to meet his eyes while quickly brushing off your clothes because dear god you weren’t sure what to do with your hands.

The uber arrives without much delay — thankfully — and the ride home is silent, almost as if there’s an awkward tension that has settled between the two of you. Away from the alcohol and now sobering up, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that you’d practically glued yourself to this man earlier. The act is so embarrassing you decidedly keep your gaze on the flurry of bustling streets and dim lamps flying by.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until a warm hand is shaking your shoulder, followed by a soft; “we’re here.”

You gasp, noticing that you’ve been pressed against Kuroo’s shoulder all this time.

“Oh,” you scramble away as quick as lightning, “I’m so sorry—“

His lips quirk upwards, “no harm done, senpai.”

You hate it when he calls you that. It makes you sound… old.

Nevertheless, you decide to be quiet as he accompanies you up to your flat, hands in his pockets while following you up the rusty stairs. You hope he’s not judging; it’s not like you have unlimited amounts of funding, what with Sakura’s education and activities.

“Well,” you finally reach the door to your flat and turn on your heel so that you face him, “thanks… for everything.”

"No problem," he's smiling down at you. Still so patient, still so happy to help. Your heart swells in your chest and you ask, "how are you getting back?"

"Oh, probably Uber..." he trails off, already turning away to fish his phone out of his pocket, "it's not far."

"Where do you live?"

You almost bawk when he tells you his address, because it's practically at the other end of town. He'll be there in forty-five minutes, at least.

The words are automatic, shooting out of you, "I'm so--"

But Kuroo's hand whips out, clamping over your lips. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, only to see the young man grinning like there's no tomorrow.

"You really need to stop doing that," he finally says before drawing back. Already, you're hit with the cold air following Kuroo's touch upon your skin, "I wanted to accompany you. There's nothing to apologize for."

"I know, but--"

He throws you another pointed look that has you clamping down on your mouth. You're about to say sorry once more because you're being a pathetic blubbery mess, but the look in his eyes makes you say a soft, "thank you" instead.

"You're welcome," and with one final grin and a wave to match, the school Coach disappears down the corridor, leaving you gazing at his broad back until his silhouette turns the corner and away from your sight.

[romance-rambles]

would just like to confess my undying love for this particular shot of ayn

[mrsbarnesxxx]

Eddie Diaz x reader

Angst but fluff at the end

Where maybe the reader is married to Eddie and she asks him about if he ever wants a kid with her and he takes it the wrong way and says something like I only need Christopher and he’s enough, and the reader gets upset and walks off and maybe drives to Maddie’s and chimneys and while she’s gone he goes to their room and finds a box on the bed and he opens it to see the readers ultrasound and he immediately feels bad and goes to talk to her and happy ending.

Thank you so much for the request! I altered it only slightly (just where Eddie finds the ultrasound) but I loved this concept. I love angst with a happy ending!

It was a pretty normal day all in all. Carla was taking care of Christopher, Eddie was at the station, your boss kept sending hundreds of emails, oh and you had found out you were pregnant. Just an average day. You hadn't planned this by any means. You and Eddie had never talked about having a baby. You had been married for a year and a half, but the subject had never come up and you had never pushed it. Look how well that had gone. After staring at the stick in your hand for what felt like an eternity, you finally pushed yourself up from the floor and left the bathroom.

"Hey, Carla, are you okay if I run out? I have to go do something. It should only be about an hour." You say grabbing your keys.

"Of course, honey. Go right ahead." She says.

"Thanks, Carla. Bye bud," you say kissing Christopher on the top of his head before heading out of your and Eddie's shared house.

You didn't even know what you were doing until you were sitting in the waiting room of the local doctor's office reading a magazine.

It wasn't until one of the nurses had called your name 3 times that you seemed to realize they were calling you.

"Sorry." You apologize sheepishly standing and following her back to a room.

Sure enough, the doctor confirmed you were about 6 weeks pregnant and sent you home with a picture of the tiny baby. You knew you couldn't hide this from Eddie for long since you were likely to start experiencing more symptoms, but a part of you was worried about how he would react. Everything had finally settled down with Christopher and work. Everything was stable per se. And now you were throwing a wrench into the serenity the two of you had worked so hard to create. Finally, you decided you would broach the subject once Christopher had gone to bed. You would just ask him if he ever thought about having more kids. Yeah. That would work.

So, that night after Christopher was in bed and you and Eddie were alone in your room getting ready for bed, you took a deep breath before deciding now was a good time to approach the subject.

"Hey, Eddie?" You asked putting lotion onto your arms. "Have you ever thought about maybe having another kid?"

"What?" He asks brows furrowed as he pulls the covers down and joins you in the bed.

"Have you ever wanted another kid? I mean I love Christopher, but I was just curious." You explain, heart racing.

"Not really. I mean, I'm happy with Chris. He's a handful as it is and with him getting older, I don't know. I'm happy that the diaper changes and waking up to screaming is over." He says.

Anger surges through you at his admission. How could he say that? How could he openly admit to your face that he didn't want the baby growing inside of you...not that he knew about that, but that wasn't important.

"Were you even around for that?" You ask not thinking about what you're saying, just infuriated at him. "I mean didn't you enlist right after Shannon had Chris so didn't you pretty much luck out and miss all of those years?"

"What the hell are you saying?" He asks, confused at why you're attacking him all of a sudden.

"I just mean don't you not even know what it's like to be there for those years, so isn't that not a fair standard to measure it by?" You argue.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, turning to you, trying to contain his anger.

You scoff, "Nothing."

"Something's going on 'cause you're acting like a real bitch to me right now for no reason." He says. Instantly his face drops, realizing what he just said to you. "I-"

"Fuck you, Eddie." You say standing up and grabbing your coat. You don't listen to him as he follows after you, grabbing your keys and walking out of the house. You just get in your car and drive.

Eddie watches as you leave, slamming the door behind you. He really messed up this time. "Fuck!" He exclaims hitting the table. Your purse tips over as his fist makes contact with the table. a paper falling out. The paper catches his attention, the white clashing against the dark oak of the table. He reaches to put it back in your purse when the other side of the paper intrigues him. He turns it over to see a blob in the middle of the page. His face drops instantly, he runs his hand through his hair staring at the blob that is the reason for your outburst a few minutes earlier. He sighs texting Buck asking him to come stay with Christopher. 15 minutes later, a confused Buck shows up at Eddie's door.

"Uh...Everything alright? It's kinda late for a sleepover." He says.

"I messed up." He sighs stepping aside. After a quick explanation to Buck after letting him inside, Eddie is on his way out the door, texting everyone if you're with them. A few minutes into his search, Chimney texts back saying that you're there with Maddie and that he really messed up this time.

20 minutes later he's standing outside of Maddie's apartment, ultrasound in hand as he knocks with his free hand. Maddie answers, hands on her hips, brow raised at him, and sass written all over her face.

"I know, I know. Can I just talk to her?" He sighs. Maddie steps aside and lets him find you on the couch.

"Amor?" He asks cautiously, approaching you carefully.

"What do you want, Eddie?" You ask not looking at him.

"Can we talk?" He asks coming to sit next to you. The picture in his hand is what catches your eye. You look up at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. "When you asked me if I wanted more kids, you should have told me you were pregnant."

"I was trying to figure out how you would react." You explain.

"Just because it wasn't in my plan to have more kids doesn't mean I won't love this baby." He sighs.

"Well, when I broached the subject you didn't seem thrilled." You say sadly.

"Well, you started attacking me when I said I didn't want more kids." He says softly.

"I'm sorry." You say.

"Me too." He says taking my hand in his. "Come on, let's go home."

"Okay." You say taking his hand and standing with him. After saying goodbye to Maddie and Chim, you and Eddie make your way to his truck and start back home.

"So, how far along are you?" Eddie asks as we pull out of their driveway.

"6 weeks." You say quietly. He starts laughing and you look at him with amusement.

"Does that mean-" He cuts himself off with a laugh. "That we made a baby-"

"At Bobby and Athena's party, yep." You chime in laughing along with him.

He smiles taking your hand in his and kissing the top of it. Looking into his eyes, you knew that soon, everything would be back to normal and you'd have a new addition to your family.

[geeky-politics-46]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 6

Sex Tape with Doctor Stephen Strange

"A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words"

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Summary: You are feeling self-concious & down on your appearance, but Stephen has an unconventional idea of how to make you realize how sexy & beautiful you really are.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - body image issues, voyeurism & exhibitionism via photo & video, dirty talk, swearing, pet names, oral sex, creampie, vaginal sex, slight daddy kink, a bit of fluff & a little angst.

You weren't even sure what had triggered your self-image issues at the moment. Honest to God, you were just sitting in bed watching a YouTube video, pursuing the sidebar recommended videos when you started comparing yourself to other people.

It didn't matter if it was just a random ad or a promo for a TV show. You started sizing yourself up to all the actresses, models, and even some normal people. No matter who it was, you felt you couldn't compare.

Your stomach was too big. Your butt was too small. You were too short. Too plain looking. Hell, sometimes you weren't even sure how you compared to average. You didn't think you were hideous, but you forever felt like the ugly duckling. Like the potential to be beautiful was there. It just never blossomed. Or, like you sabotaged being pretty by not having enough restraint to eat better or lose weight. 

For once in your life, you wanted to be the bombshell. You were too weird to be the girl next door. You always fell into the quirky/cute and funny category. People fell for you once they got to know your personality, but you knew that never once had you stopped a guy dead in his tracks across the room. 

In an effort to make yourself feel smaller, you dug around for your massive old sweatshirt. The one you wore whenever you were feeling sad. The material had piled up in places, and it was starting to get holes in others, but the super stretchy material still felt just as big and cozy as if it was brand new. The dark eggplant purple color was also somehow soothing compared to the mostly blacks and grays of your daily wardrobe.

You had settled back in, deep in your own thoughts, when your partner entered the bedroom. You had been with Doctor Stephen Strange for a while now. Long enough that you had more or less informally moved into the Sanctum. You got to spend more time with Stephen and didn't have to pay rent. It was a win-win. The only downside was that you couldn't hide from him when your inner demons reared up. 

You didn't even realize he had been talking to you as he changed out of his sorcerer's robes and into his sweats for bed. It wasn't until he sat down in front of you and lifted your chin up to look directly at him that you realized you weren't paying any attention to a thing he was saying. 

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

You hated the genuine concern on his face. He spent his days literally saving the universe, and here you were trapped inside your own spiraling thoughts. 

"Nothing is wrong."

You said it while staring down at your hands. You were never good at hiding things from Stephen when you were face to face.

"Even if I wasn't a brilliant doctor, MD, and PhD, I know that's your 'I'm sad' sweatshirt. So something is definitely wrong." 

You closed your eyes and shook your head, trying to jiggle loose the thoughts that were waying you down. Not wanting to waste Stephen's time with your shallow worries. Yeah, he was your boyfriend, but he had plenty more vastly important things to do than talk you off a self-image cliff.

"It's stupid, Stephen."

"Don't care. You've listened to me say stupid stuff plenty of times. This just makes us one closer to even."

You rolled your eyes at him, and you knew he wasn't about to give up. Stephen was the most stubborn person you had ever met. In fact, his stubbornness was part of why he pursued you for so long before you finally agreed to go out with him. If he was set on finding out what was bothering you, nothing would stop him until you told him.

So after another moment of trying to get him off the topic, you finally relented and told him what had you feeling down. Shrinking down farther into your sweatshirt as you spoke, fumbling for the right words. Letting the cozy fabric serve as its own kind of armor.

"I don't even know what got me thinking it, but I'm just feeling down on myself. That there just isn't anything about me physically that is special. I don't think I'm ugly, I just don't get why you bothered to even give me a second glance. Let alone what keeps you interested. You are the great Doctor Strange. You are so hot, Stephen, and I'm just me. I'm just plain. I'm chubby with stretch marks. You are gorgeous. You could literally be with the most beautiful women in the world."

You could see him almost flinch when you called yourself plain and that you doubted how enamored he was with you. Even if he knew it was only a passing thought, he never wanted you to question his love for you. Ever.

When it took a few moments for him to say anything in response, you immediately started to take it all back. Not wanting to drag him down into your funk with you.

"See, I shouldn't have said anything, I'm just having a bad night and -" 

Stephen cut you off with a passionate kiss. The kind of kiss that could make you forget your own name. Cupping your face in both of his hands before pulling away from your lips to place several more small kisses on your forehead and in your hairline. Gradually adjusting so he could pull you closer and wrap his arms tighter around you.

"First of all, I love you so much you don't even know. So don't think for one second I would rather be with anyone else. Second of all, I know that you don't necessarily see what I see when you look in the mirror, and you don't even have to believe me, but you are gorgeous. Do you not see that half the other guys practically trail you around like puppies? Rogers turns bright red when you smile at him, and it's a wonder Barnes and Wilson haven't followed you home like strays yet."

That made you laugh. You did know Steve had harbored a crush on you before you started dating Stephen. Tony had let that spill one night after a party. Both Sam and Bucky were such flirts all the time with everyone. Of course, they always acted sweet on you. You assumed it was just them or their way of being nice. You would have to pay better attention next time you saw them, though. Just to see. 

"If one of them does follow me home, can I keep him?" 

You squinted your eyes and pouted your lips at Stephen. You loved giving him a hard time, and he loved giving you one right back.

"Absolutely not. Even if they scratch and howl at the door all night long. I'm the only one who gets to keep strays, and that only applies to America. On a good day, maybe Parker."

You giggled and shook your head in agreement. America was definitely a great addition to your little family. It did lift your spirits a little thinking about all of that, but it still didn't leave you feeling better about yourself. 

Stephen could see the way you were picking at the skin on your hands. Like you were trying to pick away the self-consciousness or what you felt were imperfections. It was a habit he noticed you fell into when you were extra hard on yourself. So, in an effort to distract you and stop you from picking at your skin, he took one of your hands in both of his.

"Do you remember the day you held my hand the first time? Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I was terrified that you were suddenly going to realize how broken and ugly my hands are. How damaged I am, and realize just how below your own league you were dating. Still are, by the way, so maybe I shouldn't say anything. You are the sexiest most beautiful woman I have ever met, inside and out. Every inch of you is incredible and perfect to me. I thought that before you even said a word to me, and getting to know you, and falling in love with you has only made me more sure. There is no one in this universe I could ever find sexier or more special."

"Tell you what, I have an idea..." 

Stephen stood up from the bed, moving over to shut the bedroom door. Throwing the lock, too. Now that you had a teenager running about the Sanctum, it was better safe than sorry. Then, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Setting it on airplane mode as he walked back over to you.

"How about I show you what I see? Give you some actual physical proof of how beautiful you are? A picture is worth a thousand words. I imagine some more revealing, naughty photos would be worth even more."

You chuffed at him and raised a questioning brow at his suggestion. 

"Stephen, are you seriously suggesting that I let you take naked photos of me as a way of making me feel better about myself? Are you sure that isn't just gonna make you feel better?" 

His signature cheeky grin was plastered on his face, and his bright blue eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"Can't it do both? Besides, you know I've asked before for something I can enjoy when I can't have you with me, and I think you look perfect right now. Already in our bed. Already cozy and dressed for bed. Few layers to take off. This is the you I want to see when I'm not here with you."

He came over to where you were still sitting on the bed. An extra swagger in his step and a grin because of the blush you were now sporting. He started to pull teasingly at the hem of your sweatshirt with the hand he didn't have his phone in.

"Come on, take this off. I want you to see how sexy you are. I promise I will let you delete them if you want, although I certainly wouldn't mind keeping a couple for myself, but I want you to see how you look when it's just you and me. Right here, in this bed. The version of you that only I get to see, at least I do hope it's only me. A woman who puts all those supermodels and Playmates to shame. Even first thing in the morning. A goddess if one ever existed, even with bedhead and morning breath." 

Layer by layer, you let Stephen slowly strip off your clothes and arrange you on the bed. His fingers and lips adoring every new inch of skin that he exposed before proceeding to take picture after picture. Lovingly caressing every spot you deemed less than perfect. Letting him talk you through pose after pose. Some were simple and basic, normal poses. Some a bit more sultry with little left to imagine. The less clothing remained, the more bold he got with your poses. 

As your impromptu photoshoot went on, he also tried to distract you from feeling self-conscious about your body coming into view. Sometimes, by making you laugh. Sometimes, by getting a goofy look on his face as he just kind of stared at you. Almost awestruck. 

"You really have no idea how much I fantasize about you, do you? How much of my day I spend trying not to think about you? How when we first started dating, I felt like a teenager trying to control his raging hormones because all I could think of was this. What it would be like if I got the privilege to get this beautiful, incredible woman naked in my bed. That I swore if I got you here, I would never let you leave. I hate that someone ever made you feel like you are anything less than gorgeous, whether in your ratty sad sweatshirt or all dressed up. Although, this, no clothes at all, is definitely my personal favorite."

You tried not to tear up at his genuine sweetness. You could feel your cheeks blushing at his statement, too. You buried your face into the pillow you were holding before softly turning and peeking out at him from the side. Only to find him waiting for the moment you locked eyes with him to take a photo. 

In a sudden burst of confidence, you bit your bottom lip and rolled onto your back. Letting the entirety of your body be on display. Laying back and resting your head on the pillow and stretching your arms up overhead, your legs spreading on their own. You closed your eyes and arched your back as you inhaled deeply. Like you were a cat basking in the warmth of the sun. 

Your mind was completely clear of all thought until you heard a stuttered breath from your lover. It was a sound you had never heard Stephen make before. It sounded like he was looking at a priceless piece of art or one of the seven wonders. He sounded like he was in awe. Like he was in awe at the sight of your body and your beauty.

You were about to dismiss his, what you were sure had to be, over embellished praise, but then you opened your eyes. You were rendered speechless by the look of utter wonder on his face as he let his cerulean blue eyes wash over every inch of you. For possibly the first time, you saw him really seeing you, and it melted any remaining self-doubt you had in that moment.

You immediately reached out to pull Stephen to you. Wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him sweetly. Rubbing your nose against his and whispering loving thanks against his lips.

"Thank you, Stephen. I love you, and even though I don't necessarily see what you see, you always make me feel beautiful. Why don't we take a few pictures together, or maybe a video or two? Maybe I want something for when you aren't here too." 

Stephen's eyes darkened at the suggestion. You had your suspicion that Stephen had a bit of an exhibition kink. You had sent each other pics before, a short video clip or two, and sexted all the time. You knew the idea of filming the two of you fucking would intrigue him. A wicked smile found it's way to his face. 

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea how many times I've thought of you asking that or that I've thought of asking. Are you really okay with filming us fucking? Of course it's just for the two of us. Sorcerer's honor. " 

Stephen started trying to fiddle with the phone, trying to figure out the best way to set it up to film the two of you. Finding it hard to concentrate after you started leaving kisses on his neck. Stopping to bite and suck at the spot just below his earlobe before continuing to whisper his darkest desires in his ear.

"Well, Stephen, actually the idea does get me a little hot. Maybe if the video turns out really good, a few seconds or minutes can get leaked to a naughty site or two. Anonymously, of course. I don't want to share you with any other woman, but I wouldn't mind showing off all the ways I worship you. Let everyone see how lucky I am. Maybe get some outside opinions of how we look together." 

Stephen's eyes practically rolled back in his head at the thought. He never would suggest it himself, but he kind of loved the sound of that. Of the world getting to see how good the two of you looked together. Of seeing how well you both fit together. How your bodies were made for each other.

He scrambled off the bed using the pile of books on the dresser to create a tripod to set up the phone. Hitting record and making sure the bed was centered in the frame before coming back to join you in the sheets again. He used his magic to strip himself of his clothes. If you two were going to make a sex tape, he was gonna put some extra showmanship in it.

You couldn't help but giggle as you reach your arms out towards him. Stepben didn't waste a minute before he started crawling up your body. Teasing and nipping at your bare skin and making sure to snuggle and rub his goatee against you. Your hands immediately grabbed in his dark brown hair, loving how soft and full it felt in your fingers. 

As your lips connected, you both groaned in pleasure. Your bodies grinding and rubbing. Letting your hands roam all over Stephen's body now that you had plenty of him to touch. You could feel Stephen's cock already erect between you. Truth be told, taking those photos of you had essentially acted as foreplay for him. He was ready to go by the time he was setting up the camera. 

You moaned when you felt his hard shaft slide against the crease of your hip, so close to your sex that was starting to ache for him. Your legs reflexively spread even more on the large bed, and your nails scraped down Stephen's sides. 

"Is there something you want, baby? Tell Daddy what you need."

A sly smile on his face as he spoke. Loud enough to make sure the camera heard. Descending back on you and starting to kiss your neck. Sucking a patch or skin into his mouth hard enough to ensure you would bear a mark the next day.

Your brain finally coming back into focus when he playfully bit the same sensitive spot. His bright blue eyes met yours, and he gave you a cheeky wink. 

"Come on, pretty baby. Don't get all shy on me now. Not after you let me take all those naughty pictures of you. Plus, this part was your idea, after all. So you better speak up."

A soft groan pulled from your throat as you arched your back and ran your hands up his strong arms. Letting your fingernails scrape along his shoulders. Leaving little red scratches marking him as yours. 

"Want you, Stephen. Want you to fuck me. Pretty please, Stephen. Fuck me like only you can, baby."

He rewarded you with a deep kiss, letting his teeth nip at your bottom lip before he started working his way down your neck. Stopping to whisper a "that's my good girl" in your ear before continuing down to your collarbones. Raising his voice once again so it would be audible on the video when he started speaking again.

"You know you are the only one I want to fuck right? This is the only body that gets me this fucking hard. Your's is the only pretty little pussy I dream about filling up every chance I get. Want you full of my cum all the time. Want everyone to know you're mine." 

You felt over the moon as Stephen started to kiss his way down your body. Stopping and spending a little bit of extra attention every time he hit a spot that elicited a gasp or moan. Making you arch your back to give him access to every inch of bare skin you could.

He momentarily popped back up to kiss your lips. Suddenly taking your hand in his and lowering it so you were cupping his hard length. Letting his hips rut forward as you started to eagerly massage his hard cock. Already moving to sit up, anticipating taking him in your mouth, only for him to push you back down on the bed.

"Nope, I'm not done with you, baby, lay back. Just wanted you to feel how hard you got me. Feel how much taking those naughty photos of you turned me on? And they are all mine to enjoy, just like my cock is all yours to enjoy."

With that, he promptly began working his way back down your body. Coming to rest between your thighs, pulling your legs up over his shoulders. Leaving small nips on the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh and rubbing his facial hair against your skin to tease you.

A soft "Stephen, please!" escaped from your lips as you impatiently waited for his lips and tongue to work their magic on you. Feeling your hips thrust on their own when you felt him blow against your wet cunt. Making your sex flutter and clench. One of his favorite sights. 

"Make sure you don't hold back any of those pretty noises darling, want to make sure everyone can hear. Look at the camera as I eat you out, baby." 

You followed his instructions and let your head turn to the side. Keeping your eyes open as you stared into the lens. Trying to fight the inkling of self-consciousness tugging at the back of your mind. 

Those thoughts vanished completely the moment you felt Stephen's warm tongue make its first pass through your folds. All you could focus on was the feeling of his mouth on you. The scratch of his goatee against your most sensitive spots. He was taking his time. Lavishing your cunt with long licks and sucking kisses.

Stephen was a perfectionist, and that translated into every aspect of his life. Including sex. His photographic memory helping to make sure he knew exactly what way to lick and suck at your pussy to bring you to climax in record time. Only using his fingers on occasion. He could get you there with his mouth alone. Tonight was clearly going to be one of those nights.

Your back arched as he suckled on your clit. Keeping your gaze locked on the camera lens. Making sure to give Stephen the sights and sounds he wanted for your video. A long moan falling when you felt his tongue thrusting in and out of you. Hitching your legs up higher and farther apart so he could go deeper while letting your hips start to rut against his face.

As soon as he could feel you getting close to orgasm, Stephen pulled away and pounced on you once again. Wasting no time before he started to slowly thrust his hard cock into you. His lips biting at your neck.

He growled when you whimpered at the feeling of his cock bottoming out inside you. Holding perfectly still and letting you start to squirm beneath him. Wanting you to beg him to move. 

"Tell me what you want. Want you to say it again. Say it to the camera, sweetheart. Tell them why you're whimpering."

Your face now contorted into a pout as you tried so hard to get any sort of friction. Stephen's hips pushed flush to yours, holding you firmly in place.

"Want you to fuck me, Stephen. Need you to fuck me hard. Make me feel good, daddy. Please make me cum. Please."

He smiled and kissed you deeply. Bringing his hands to cup your face and giving you another moment of sweet intimacy before he gave you what you wanted. Pulling away and pulling your legs up over his shoulders. Scooting you just a little so the camera would be able to see his cock stretching and filling you. Once he had you right where he wanted you he began thrusting. 

"You asked for it, sweetheart. You turn me on so fucking much. This is just gonna be the first time I make you cum tonight. I'm not gonna stop until you feel like a goddess. My goddess." 

You reached up to intertwine you fingers with his as he started fucking you harder. Leaning forward so your ass was slightly lifted up off of the bed and his tip was pummeling that sweet spongy spot on your front wall. Making you clench around him each time he hit it. Your voice coming out in little squeaks and the sound of skin slapping punctuating Stephen's movements. 

You could already feel your orgasm building when Stephen moved to bring one hand down to begin rubbing at your clit. Pulling his cock out long enough to smear some of your wetness on the swollen bundle of nerves. Your cunt immediately clenching around him as he started tracing small circles there with his thumb. 

"That's it, my love. Can feel you getting close. You better cum soon because I'm not gonna be able to hold on much longer. Wanna fill you up every day. Mark you as mine. Inside and out. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum."

Stephen's own dirty talk getting the best of him. His head dropping down to watch his cock slamming in and out of your drenched cunt. Your pussy gripping tight around him sending him over the edge. His thrusts getting faster and his fingers on your clit mirroring his hips.

He let out a deep groan as he started cumming inside you. The feeling of his warm thick cum filling you triggering your own orgasm. Your cunt drenching his cock and his cum filling you completely. Your moans mingling in harmony with Stephen's. Your hands that were still clasped gripping each other tighter. 

Stephen's body falling onto yours and your lips meeting for slow, sweet kisses as your highs continued to ebb and flow. The sensations slowly fading as you came back down together. The feeling of Stephen's weight on top of you lulling you closer to sleep. All worries and neuroses disappearing and receding back into the depths of your mind. 

You were with Stephen, and Stephen loved you exactly as you were. He only had eyes for you, and he would love you no matter what. Even on days when you couldn't see your beauty, you knew he would help you to see it. Even when you didn't love yourself, he would give you enough love for both of you.

Eventually, Stephen rolled to the side and pulled you with him. Settling you under the covers and holding you close. Pressing kisses all over your face as you floated in the twilight space between waking and sleep. Not moving or pulling away until your breath settled into a steady rhythm that told him you were close to sleep.

Then Stephen stood up and went over to the phone. Stopping the recording and bringing the phone back over to the bed. Setting it down on his nightstand and purposely not setting his usual morning alarm. He wanted to sleep in with you tomorrow. He would deal with Wong later.

You were too exhausted to review the products of your photoshoot right now, but the next time you were feeling down or self-conscious, Stephen would be ready to show you just how beautiful you really were. If you still didn't believe him, maybe he would bring up the idea of an outside opinion like you suggested. You would have the world drooling over you, and he would get to gloat that you were all his.

--------------------------------

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[starsofmilos]

Shadow (Logan Howlett x reader)

Synopsis: He was supposed to love her...Not you....

So I've decided to come back and I'm doing better than ever. I have also decided to no longer limit myself to just one character I love Adrian Chase but I'm gonna write what makes me happy. Send requests for Wolverine if you'd like!!!

Logan Howlett Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of sex, kissing, angst, fluff,scenting

Jean Grey...

The very name was more pretty than yours. She was everything you weren't.

You could never be her.

That's why you understood why Logan loved her. You craved that same gazing look he gave her. The way his eyes seemed to grow almost soft when he would stare at her.

The crinkles in the corner of his eyes when he would smile at her.

You could never be Jean Grey. Especially considering the fact that Logan couldn't even spare you a glance half the time.

You were a background person. A wallflower. Even before you developed your mutation, you had always just been average.

Ironically enough your mutation allowed you to control the vines and flowers.

You built a garden for the students to play in. It was your pride and Charles loved it. It's where you spent most your time, tending to it.

Jean loved books while you loved the mud.

It was another boring blissful day. Nothing new. Nothing exciting. Another mission for the team. You went on them anytime you could. Your florals allowed you to heal wounds.

You always went as support. The only person never really needing it being Logan. Nothing you did ever really benefitted him it seemed.

Jumping a bit, you looked to your side seeing Logan. His eyes staring ahead. Jean and Scott had just gotten together making it known to everyone.

Logan hadn't seemed to care but you could see the longing in his eyes. How he wished it was him

Jean was leaning against. Him that she was kissing gently as she caressed his chest.

Not that you knew, but you were wrong.

Logan stared in longing, but not for Jean. He stared for the craving of being loved.

As you fiddled with your thumbs, he stared down at you. Wishing it could be you holding his arm. Kissing his cheek as he grumbled.

Logan knew he was a unworthy man, but he'd kill for the very touch of your lips against his cheek. For the idea that maybe you could love him in the way Jean loved Scott.

Anytime you believed he was staring at Jean, he hadn't been looking at her. He was looking at the you.

He was only looking at her wishing it would be you staring at him the way she stared at Scott.

Jean and him had a complicated relationship, but the way he felt for you surpassed anything he ever believed he felt for Jean.

You lit the room up.

He never even really liked flowers till he met you.

"Doll what's goin on in that mind of yours?" His smooth voice sounded out as he whispered in your ear.

You jumped in surprise hearing his voice. "Oh nothing. I was just thinking about what new flowers I wanna add to the garden back at the manor."

Logan chuckled a bit. "Always thinkin about flowers huh? What kind were you thinking though?" He smirked lightly at you.

"Bleeding hearts." You grinned at him bashfully. It was hard not to feel anything when he would smile at you.

"Those sure are beautiful." He huffed a bit.

"You know what those are?" You teased a bit laughing as he glared at you.

"Course I do. I'm not an idiot all the time." Logan grumbled a bit puffing his cigar.

"I never said you were." You quickly reassured him. "Just not many people know plants."

"I learned for you." He whispered out.

Your smiled dropped as you looked at him in slight shock. That was unexpected.

"Did you really?" You whispered out now. Logan smirked at you ruffling your hair.

"So bleeding hearts for the garden?" He asked again changing the subject.

"Yeah..bleeding hearts." You repeated still staring at him dazed.

The mission went smoothly as usual. Logan always made sure any mission he went on for you did. He never wanted you overworked.

Jean smiled as you tended to her minor wounds. "Thank you." She smiled as you worked.

"You don't gotta thank me. I'm just happy I could be of some use." You chuckled a bit.

Jean shook her head, "You shouldn't do that. Don't talk down on your self like that."

"I can't help it." You tried to joke. Jean shook her head again.

"You should ask him out." She spoke up. You looked at her in shock.

"Who?" You tried to play it off. Jean couldn't afford to know. He was once someone she saw romantically.

"You know who. He's staring at us right now." She smiled. You turned your head finding Logan.

"He's staring at you. He always does." You sighed out. Jean shook her head.

"You're wrong. He's staring at you. I know. I could tell. Trust me..I don't hold a candle to how he looks at you." She smiled walking away.

Rolling your eyes, you began to pack your things. How could she know what Logan truly wanted?

You knew she could read minds but she would never pry in his. At least you hoped she wouldn't.

Once home, you were the first off the quinjet not noticing how Logan's eyes followed you.

Quickly you ran to the garden smiling as you saw it intact beautifully.

You used your mutation to brighten the flowers making a vine above hanging the bleeding hearts.

"Here I thought you'd race to get some rest after a mission. Should've known you'd be out here." Logan's voice sounded out.

You turned to face him smiling.

"Couldn't help it. Been thinking about this the entire fly back."

Logan approached gently touching the flowers. "They sure are beautiful..."

"Thank you.." You whispered in response. Logan stared in amazement at you not looking away as you met his gaze.

It felt impossible. How was he staring at you this way?

You weren't Jean.

That's why he was looking at you though. You weren't Jean. You were you.

Logan was always a man of action. Not words. He leaned in giving you the opportunity to move. T

o push him and ask what he was doing. He didn't even know what he was doing , but he wanted to kiss you.

God did he want to kiss you.

His lips brushed against yours.

A small breath left you as he shut his eyes. Your hands moved up his shoulders whining as he pressed himself against you.

He kissed you with everything he had.

You pulled away looking at him in shock. His hand caressed your cheek.

"God I am so selfish for asking this. I don't deserve you, but please let me have you.." He whispered kissing you again.

You panted nodding as he kissed you again. His head moving to nuzzle against your neck.

He inhaled your scent deeply growling as his hands moved your waist caressing your hips.

"Logan.." You whispered pulling back to look at him. "I'm not..I'm not used to this..do you really want me?" You asked him in shock.

"You have no idea doll. No fucking clue what I would do for you." He whispered panting.

"Logan.." You whimpered his name as he caressed your head.

"I'm right here. I want you..so let me have you.." He spoke in a slight desperate growl.

"I thought you wanted her.." You spoke softly. Logan shook his head.

"Don't say stupid shit. All I want is you."

You smiled at his attitude laughing as he lifted you up carrying you away.

"Shush..we're getting food." He grumbled.

"Okay..guess I belong to you now." You teased.

"Damn straight you do." Logan huffed a laugh knowing you'd be stuck next to him forever.

Not that you'd complain though.

[mrsrileywrites]

Hi! I read lots of your work and im SO IN LOVE!!! Like I absolutely fell so hard for papa simon 😭😭 i wanna give him a babyy! But i was wondering, how would pregnancy be like with his child. I mean bro is HUGE so his baby would probably be not only pretty big and probably weight a little bit more too than an average newborn. If its okay with you would it be possible for you to write a little story maybe add a little bit of angst? (Idk like argument about something that made the reader really sad?) but please a happy ending 🥹

Feel free to ignore if thats not your thing or just not feeling comfortable writing about it!! LOVE YOUU!! Btw sorry for any misspelling English is not my first language.

First of, as a not native English speaker, your English is perfect.

And second, thank you for your kind words, it really encourages me to keep writing and also boosts my ego 😁

You asked in such a nice and respectful way so I really want to make you happy.

Now here's the thing, I'm an adult with lots of responsibilities and sometimes adulting makes me tired, like last night when I was trying to finish this but I fell asleep and I woke up this morning to find half of my writing disappeared, it just vanished 🥲

But I'll give you this to munch on and I promise I'll finish this before the end of the week.

I hope this is what you were expecting... Enjoy 🫶

A little over 700 words.

_______________________

You stood in front of the sink of your bathroom, holding a pregnancy test on your shaky hands, two little red lines staring right back at you.

How did this happen? How would you tell him? He doesn't want kids, he made it clear from the beginning and you accepted it without a fuss, that's why you've been taking your pills diligently every day, you didn't forget one, did you?... No, you know you didn't, how did this happen?

"You okay there, love?" Simon knocks on the bathroom door and you jump in surprise, like a child that's been caught red handed.

"Y-yes Si, j-just give me a minute... I'll be right there." Your period is about three weeks late so you bought a pregnancy test, your best friends advice, it wouldn't hurt, it was just to make sure, you certainly were not expecting this.

You hid the test on the cabinet under the sink and washed your face before coming out.

It's been a week since your ob-gyn confirmed a six weeks pregnancy and you still haven't found the courage nor the right time to break the news to Simon, so when he gets a call from Price to get deployed on a long mission you fear it would be too late by the time he comes back.

One month at most he said when he kissed you goodbye almost two months ago, you are 16 weeks into your pregnancy and your bump is starting to show, which only adds to your anxiety, between the morning sickness and your hormones being all over the place you still haven't figured out how to tell him.

As you ponder how to break the news to him, you realize that a simple phone call wouldn't suffice. With him stationed on the other side of the globe, risking his life every day, you hesitate to burden him further. At the same time, you know it wouldn't be ideal for him to return home and suddenly find you waddling around with a baby bump.

So you stay quiet and whenever he calls and asks why you sound so exhausted you blame it on your job, you say you are just stressed out, and he promises he'll take care of you once he's back, he'll relieve you from the stress the way you like it, the way only he knows how to.

You are laying on the couch wearing Simon's t-shirt, stuffing yourself with your favorite ice cream and watching trash tv when you hear fumbling outside your front door before it swings open, a very rugged Simon stands in the threshold , you curse under your breath, he didn't say he was coming home the last time you talked on the phone three days ago so you stand there and look at him overly conscious of the bump hiding under his t-shir and you thank the heavens he is a big man, you think the loose fit of his T-shirt would buy you time, your ice cream long forgotten in the coffee table.

He walks towards you with long strides as he pulls his balaclava over his head running his fingers through his messy hair and you shy away, you step back and freeze, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, he stops in his tracks and tilts her head, his eyebrows pinch as his eyes linger on your midsection and you know you're fucked, he noticed, how wouldn't he, and you hope and pray he'd say something, anything, but he doesn't, he turns on his heels ready to walk out.

"Simon wait!" You call for him and he stops, his hand lingers on the door knob, "I can explain, please just hear me out" your voice cracks and you wish you had been brave enough to tell him before, you know about his childhood and his trauma, you know his struggles and why he didn't want children in the first place, he trusted you and you broke his trust, you deceived him from the moment you found out you were pregnant and decided to keep it to yourself because you were too scared to trust him back.

"Explain what?" He shouts turning around and walking towards you again, your hands fly to your belly instinctively, protective. You lower your head, eyes glued to the floor, ashamed.

[thesecretmansion]

heyyy could you please write smth where remus is with a taller reader (think 5'10 or 5'9) and other girls are talkinga bout how she won't fidn love bc guys will be intimidated and then this absoloute GOLIATH of a man (remus) appears and like hugs her and the girls have to shut up. also could you please please make her a girly girl. Im so tired of tall girls always being portrayed as masculine.

thanks a tonnnnnnnn!!!

"I mean she's pretty sure but she is just… so tall"

"Yeah I mean what guy would want that"

"Brad told me that guys like short girls specifically ones at yknow what height"

You heard all of these comments but none really stuck out to you. They were all phrases that you had heard before throughout your life. You were above average and lived in a town with mostly below average girls which made you seem even more massive. The gaggle of girls picked up their volume as they got closer.

"It's a waste she doesn't play basketball"

You almost let out a snort at that one. You were highly uncoordinated when it came to sports. You had in fact been pushed into basketball when you were younger but when it became clear that it was not something you enjoyed, you dropped out.

"I wonder how tall she is exactly"

5'10. That's how tall you were, give or take a few centimeters. You checked the time. Remus was supposed to meet you at 3:30 and it was currently 3:45.

"And she wears heels to parties. She is SO brave"

"Right? I wonder where she gets her clothes"

They couldn't be serious. You felt your eyes roll. They were acting like you were some ginormous creature and not 4 inches taller than them. You checked your watch again.

"I just wonder how hard it is for her to find a boyfriend?"

You heard someone behind you call your name and as you turned you caught a brief glimpse of the girls mouths hanging wide open. There a few feet in front of you was your glorious boyfriend holding flowers.

Remus hustled to catch up with you and gave you a sweet hug. His arms were huge as they wrapped around you and you felt bad for the way his poor back had to bend in order to give you a proper hug.

"I got these for you as an apology", He blurted before you could say anything.

"Remus", you laughed as you accepted the flowers, "you could have just called"

"Yeah but...", He trailed off as he shrugged. You craned your neck up even further too look him in the eyes. You felt your eyes crinkle from your smile.

Your smile only got wider as he grabbed your hand to walk. And it didn't even twitch when you passed the group of girls who were talking.

"Is that her boyfriend? Crikey how tall is he?", an incredulous voice spoke up from the group.

"6'6", Remus called over his shoulder smirking as he did so.

They quickly turned as to make it look as if they weren't staring but you didn't even notice too infatuated with your Goliath of a boyfriend.

heyy. I hope you liked this. my writings a bit rusty but I swear this time that I will actually write anything you guys send in within reason. I got a bit carried away with the comments. I'm not that tall myself (5'5) but there was a girl at my hs that was 6'2 and I wanted to be her so badd. Also unrelated fun fact but ginormous isn't a real word. Its a combo of gigantic and enormous and was first used in ELF.

[cloangi]

Things I like to think about for Keegan

(Huge ass ramble, so be aware of a yapping session 🗣🔥)

Even though we don't know what the Ghosts members' parents look like, I like to think that Keegan looks a lot like his mom

Keegan P. Russ, a man born to a beautiful mother and average ahh dad (/j)

I actually feel like maybe Keegans parents were actually pretty good-looking. Or at least leaned towards being attractive, like seriously take a good look at Keegan and tell me he has bad genetics (he doesn't)

Prob got his facial structure from his dad or sum, however genetics work. But his eyes? Hair color? Definitely his mom. So imagine Keegans mom, a rough image of her, then Keegan standing right next to her. Just 2 pairs of blue eyes staring into your soul.

They look like twins, man 💀

Nah, cause imagine blue-eyed Keegans mama holding baby Keegan himself with eyes that are grayish-bluish (babies can have different colored eyes when they're born. I had gray eyes instead of brown in the beginning in my case) and they're both just...staring.

Okay maybe Keegan got his emotionless stare from his dad, or maybe it's the aftermath of the whole Sand Viper mission he experienced back in his early days (bet ya forget the mf is basically old compared to most of us). I think his mom's eyes may have carried a type of confidence, a type of softness in them (that's why his Keegans dad fell in love with Keegans mother fr /j)

And yeah Keegans dad has brown or hazel eyes lololol. Plus brunette or very dark colored hair. (He and his son do look related, he's not completely the odd one out)

Great, now I wanna hold a baby version of Keegan in my arms 😔 (I feel like he was lowkey a very vocal baby. Always whining and babbling, not crying, just making sounds. Definitely loved his mom a lot more than his dad though)

Can't be too sure about his childhood though. I think maybe he came from a semi-broke family, yeah his parents loved him and each other (maybe Keegan even had some siblings. But he strikes me as an only child due to how quiet and mature he is, an only child like me fr). But yeah, I feel like he had a bit of a rough upbringing in terms of a financial situation. Makes sense as to why he would be in Sand Viper as a barely 15-16 year old highschooler.

Speaking of which, how could Keegan even be 16 at the time of Sand Viper? You have to be at least 17 to even be able to join. Like, for the National Guard, you can join as a junior in high school, but only when you turn 17. So, in a way , it doesn’t make sense as to how Keegan happened to be there at an age below 17.

(maybe he got stuck there and decided to fight with the others cause they weren't able to evacuate him like everyone else or sum, or make him go back to the hospital where all the civilians were. I forgot a good portion of Sand Viper)

(And during this time he maybe met Ajax who was of a proper age to even be there, since he was 17-18 or so)

I know the devs didn't pay too much attention to his birthdate, so it's pretty messed up when someone does actually pay attention to everything and his life timeline 💀

Could it be possible that they accidently messed up his birth date (head)canonically? Like, my mom's birth date is messed up on her drivers license, and I'm pretty sure her ID also has the same thing.

Imagine some guy accidently inputted the wrong date for Keegan in some sorta military database and didn't even realize nor bother to change it 💀

Stupid I know but yeah, the devs fault on that part to mess up his age like that cause you literally CANNOT be on the battle field as a 15-16 year old, especially in the USA since I'm pretty sure child soliders don't exist here anymore.

But yeah, that's pretty much it

Thanks for reading

[sadbastard-bug]

Bros before hoes (sorry sophie)

Aka Simon and the reader walk to get donuts to distract Simon from his rejection.

You hadn't heard from Simon in a week, which wasn't exactly normal. A day or two of nothing sure, but a whole seven days of radio silence? Your phone didn't even say he had read the messages you sent. So here you are, a train ride away from home as you stand outside your bestfriends house. You tilt your head as you survey the dead quiet home, theres not a single light on and all the curtains are drawn. Biting back your worries you ascend a short staircase to the porch and hesitantly knock on the glass door. Stepping back you put your hands in your pockets, turning your head skyward as you wait. Theres zero response so you knock again, and again, and again. Each rap against the door more frantic then the last as you genuinely consider breaking in, until eventually you hear it. A shuffling and a very irritated but familiar voice.

Simon looks awful when he opens the door, not looking like he's slept for days and his skin is paler then normal. Theres more stubble then average on his face and his bedhead is so bad you fight the urge to fix it for him the second you notice. You don't realize your stareing until he brings his hand up to his face, clearing his throat. "Why are you here?" It's a easy question but the blunt tone of his voice has you scrambling to explain yourself fast, lest he shut the door in your face.

"You haven't texted or called in days Simon, I got worried something happened to you man."

And with the way hes slumped against the doorframe you do believe something's happened but he does look uninjured at least so you take comfort in that. He doesn't speak for a moment before he sighs and steps back into the house, waving a hand for you to fallow him.

His house is neat, you've come to know his mother is a clean freak who keeps most of the house pristine. Following behind Simon you wordlessly head down the hallway to his room which is the only place his mother doesn't touch. It shows of course, his bed unmade while trash, clothes, and even full plates of food sit around his small room. He doesn't bother to shut the door behind you and instead instantly moves to fall onto his bed, laying on his back completely spread out on the twin sized mattress. Eyeing a plate your pretty sure used to be eggs at some point you quietly move closer to him, stopping right in front of the edge of his bed. Your head tilted as you look down at him, concern clear on your face. "What happened?" The question seems to strike a nerve in your freind and he rolls onto his side to face away from you. His head covered by his hood, though it's clear in his voice he's upset. "I confessed to sophie"

Sophie, right. The third to your trio who you both met in college. A girl who you knew Simon was almost hopelessly into. If it was any other circumstance you would have clapped for him, you certainly never discouraged him from asking her out but not now. Not when it's obvious the girls response wasn't something he was happy about. Biting your cheek you sit beside him on the bed, your backs to eachother as you attempt to give him space without hanging off the mattress. Your afraid to speak even as curiosity eats at your mind. You do want to know exactly how it went but that can be pushed to a later date. When Simon's not curled up in his room like if he gets anymore into himself he'd dissapear. For now you settle for a simple but sympathetic "I'm sorry man"

Not the best thing to say but certainly not the worst. You both sit in deafening silence afterwards, you nervously chewing the insides of your mouth and Simon laying motionless on his side. There's nothing you think would actually help him to hear right now, you know no words of comfort would actually get through his head so you instead go the route of distraction. Clearing your throat you glance over at him "wanna go get donuts?" You honestly thought about suggesting ice cream but that's more of a break up food isn't it? Not exactly for rejection but you do know Simon enjoys sweets so you went for the next thing you could think of. You think he's not going to answer after a while of silence but he eventually shifts, sitting up on his bed as he rubs at his eyes and gives a half hearted nod. You gladly take the confirmation and stand up, brushing off you pants and putting your hands on your hips while you wait for your sluggish freind to pull himself up.

The next thing you know you're both outside his house, you stand off his porch with your skateboard in your arm as he locks the front door behind him. Neither of you own a car so your only option is to walk to the nearest bakery but it's a walk you've done several time by now, years of highschool spent trying to avoid being caught outside by his mom while you both sneak out to satisfy your late night cravings. Once Simon steps off his porch stairs your both off, walking side by side silently in the cold winter air. You wish you had any idea on how to start a conversation but your minds still to concerned with upsetting Simon further so you keep your mouth shut.

About a quarter way into the walk you drop your skateboard to the ground and kick yourself off. Rolling slowly along the sidewalk careful not to move to far ahead of the man your traveling with. It doesn't take long to notice the way he watches you from underneath his hair, his gaze focused on the board. You've tried to teach Simon how to ride multiple times by now but each time ends up with your board several feet away while he sits on the concrete nursing a new injury. You can tell it frustrates him to not be able to get it but you keep trying so once again you slow to a stop, kicking the board up into your hand while you turn your head back to ask "you want to give it a go?"

Simon's eyes drift between your face and the skateboard before he shrugs and steps forward. You smile and return the board to the ground, pushing it towards him and he stops it with his foot. Stepping onto the board he instinctively holds out his arm's to the side, trying to keep balance as the board rolls underneath his feet. He looks like a newborn deer like this, his face scrunched up and his body wobbly not used to the movement of the skateboard while it rolls slowly towards you. Then he leans to far forward, the board almost going out from underneath him and you rush to him with your arms out. The familiar fall never happens however and you eventually register why, your holding his hands as he balances atop the skateboard. You can feel the leather of his gloves warm against your skin and neither of you speak or move for a good second. The board stops still on the sidewalk and you both breath a sigh of relief the air cold enough you can see your exhales. He steps off the board but makes no move to let go of your hands which makes it a bit tricky for him. "You good?" You ask, halfway focused on the way his hands fit in yours. He nods and let's go of one of your hands, only one of them though. You lean down to pick up your board and tuck it under your arm.

You both start walking again completely ignoring the way your still holding onto eachother but it's not awkward. if anything it's the opposite, reminiscent of a time when you two would almost cling to eachother during the winter mornings on your way to school. It's a comfortable thing that spawns a warm feeling in both you're chests. You glance back at him from your peripheral, he's stareing ahead not at all embarrassed or uncomfortable like you expected no, he looks peaceful for the first time in a long while. So you move towards him close to bumping shoulders. This time the silence has shifted to something more normal, something comfortable, Something familiar. A time before college and stress, before sophie and the expected rift between you two when he started crushing on her.

He'll talk about her when hes ready you decide and you'll listen when he does but until then you'll just be quiet, act like kids again. You'll walk hand in hand down an icy sidewalk on a cold day to go get donuts, you'll buy the same kind of donuts you get every time and sit outside the shop on the curb. You'll make a god awful joke about a teacher you both hate and he'll lean forward not to choke as he laughs only to say something even worse in response. You'll drop kick the empty sweets box into the trash and share a cigarette while you head back to his house, laughing the entire time over stupid thoughts in your heads. He won't mention sophie or the confession at all but you won't care, completely okay with being a distraction even if it's for a day. You'll greet his mom later that day as she walks into the home from work and finds you two on the couch watching a bad movie. You'll both help her cook dinner and Simon will actually eat it. You insist on helping wash dishes afterward before you get dragged back to Simon's room where you'll proceed to play video games until your heads are slumped forward and your eyes droop. Simon will pass out first and you'll turn everything off and put it up properly before you eventually fall asleep leaning against the edge of his bed still holding onto his hand, Just like old times.

It's a new thing! I apologize for taking a month to actually post fanfic again after saying I was gonna start writing again but well uh..resident evil and bg3 took up more space in my brain then I thought they would.

This was supposed to be like a hurt/comfort about Simon being sad but somehow it ended up being childhood besties hanging out again, so whoops. Either way it was cute to write dispite my inability to stare at my own writing without tearing my hair out.

;]

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ minors LOOK THE OTHER WAY

Ch 007: Buckle Up, Baby

A night in the town with Eddie takes a spicy turn when an outfit on display catches your eyes. And what do ya know? It’s your exact measurement…

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 3.5k words

disclaimers & warnings — dialogue heavy, arguing, trauma dumping again, angst, yearning, shy girl yelling at eddie (as she should), sexual tension, grinding, thigh riding, car canoodling 🫣

“She’s a black magic woman, she’s trying to make a devil out of me.”

♡

Spellbinding is the best word you can think of to describe Nocturna, a town spookier than Hawkins just 20 minutes inland. It sure lives up to its name, with the average closing time for restaurants, bars, and shops being 3:30 AM.

“This city is so cute,” you beam. “Love the late night vibe it’s got going on.”

“Right?” Eddie agrees. “If Hawkins were a Spencer’s, ‘Turna would be the back of it.”

Eds takes you to El Diablo Bar & Grill where you settle for a ‘TURNA Tossed salad’ and beer. ‘The Eddie Special’ may have left you full, but there’s no way you’d ever pass up free food.

Your boss helps himself to a couple of beers as well, both of them way too hoppy for your liking. And just as you predicted, downing two of those bad boys after smoking a shit ton of weed has its repercussions.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing?”

Personal space is a foreign concept for Eddie whenever he’s under the influence. Not like that’s any new information. You just didn’t expect him to be so tender, affectionately fiddling with your hair, using it as a mustache, and then attempting to braid it. You’re surprised because he actually does pretty well.

“Where’d you learn how to braid?” you ask.

“Taught myself,” he replies. “That way if Nancy ever calls out, someone at Hellfire would at least know how to do hair. Luckily I haven’t ran into that problem yet.”

“That’s really thoughtful,” you swoon as Eddie goes to braid your other side.

“I’m also learning how to curl hair,” Eddie adds. “If I could get past burning myself with the iron, that’d be great. Until then, I’ll always vouch for a traditional sock bun.”

You watch has he loops your hair around itself to secure the braid, just as he did the first one. Then comes the unpredictable. Suddenly, you’re taken aback when Eddie gives your hair a tug. Aggressively.

“Eddie!” you cry out.

He spirals into an outrageous belly laugh.

You shove Eddie away from you in a playful form of disgust, his dramatics launching him right out of his seat. Customers start to look your way. You hide your face in embarrassment.

“I think you’ve flown off the handle,” you accuse.

“No,” he denies. “Just comfortable that’s all.”

“Yeah and a bully,” you hiss, undoing your braids out of spite. He knows you’re kidding around.

“What?” Eddie questions, reeling you in via bar stool, smirk growing more and more prominent the closer you get. “You don’t like that I pull hair?”

“That’s enough, you little freak.”

Eddie stops, jokingly wincing at your harsh words. "Thought you were into freaks."

"...Shut up,” is all you can think to say.

"Come on..." he taunts, giving your side a soft pinch. “You know I'm right."

He is right.

You poke his stomach with one of your pointy fingers.

"Okay, and what if I was? Does that get you off? Mr. Know-It-All?”

Eddie clears his throat and squirms in his seat.

"No, actually,” he shakes his head, leaning into your touch. “Cuz that's just not true.”

Your eyes find each other again.

An apology lingers in the air. Eddie bites his lower lip as he stares, closing the gap between you two with a slight turn of his knee. You explore his dark irises, his wide pupils. When fixated on you, they emit what appears to be sorrow, with just a pinch of regret.

"Sometimes I'm wrong. And I fuck up,” he admits. “Whether I like to admit it or not."

Eddie chugs the remainder of his pint before slamming it.

You shrug. “Yeah. Like when you told me to get off my phone today but stayed on yours the entire time.”

Eddie chuckles away from you.

“Playing music…” you persist, leaning into him a little more. “Texting people…”

“You jealous?” he questions, tongue rolling around in his cheek.

“In your dreams,” you lie.

You’re so close to him now you can practically smell the beer. He inches closer, the front portion of his curly locks tickling the side of your face.

“In your dreams.”

Your thighs clench. In your dreams, indeed. Eddie winks at you like he knows.

“Whatever you say,” you scoff. “Freak.”

———— 🌹————

After dinner, you and Eddie decide to walk around the shopping strip. Eddie walks closest to the street, leaving you on the innermost part of the sidewalk like a gentleman.

“So who’s Wayne? Heard you and Henry talking about him before we left.”

“He's my uncle,” Eddie answers. “Pretty much raised me since I was a kid. I owe a lot to him.”

You continue to walk. Somehow along the way, you and Eddie end up strolling with your arms around each other. He turns to ask,

“Who is Max?”

“Max?” you’re stunned to hear that name roll off his tongue. Despite him helping with her YMCA membership, you had always registered them as being worlds apart from each other. “She’s my sister.”

Eddie slowly nods in understanding.

“Her full name is Maxine,” you explain. “Max for short.”

“No wonder,” Eddie chuckles. “I always hear you mentioning a Max and have been wondering who that is.”

“You jealous?” you echo him.

He sneers, “You wish.”

You take this time to admire Eddie. His wanderlust eyes. His pronounced Cupid’s Bow. His thick, wavy locks. The tiny freckle at the crook of his neck that you were sure a lover left for him in a past life. The way his dark clothes always seem to hug him so nice. He’s breathtaking. The hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

"WHOA!" Eddie brings you back. "That's the hottest shit I've ever seen!"

There he goes again. You race after Eddie as he scampers across the street, leading you to what appears to be a lingerie-slash-sex shop. On display is a beautiful scarlet red two piece with fluffy wings behind it to match.

DEVIL WOMAN, is what the set is advertised as.

"Whew, lord," Eddie whistles, pressing his hands against the plexiglass.

He turns to you desperately.

"You can make SO many tips with this on," Eddie insists. "I'm telling you right now woman, you need to seize this opportunity."

"Are you gonna pay for it?" you joke, batting your lashes seductively.

"Sure!" Eddie exclaims. "A-anything you want tonight, you'll get."

It sounds too good to be true.

"Not you trying to spoil me..."

"Definitely me trying to spoil you,” a sneaky smirk forms across his face yet again. “Especially since I’ve been an asshole lately.”

It’s a fair bargain. Not like you can deny it either.

You two shake hands, deal, and make your merry way inside Madame Sédutrice’s Love Boutique.

Time to make his pockets — and heart — hurt.

————💋 ————

It fits you like a glove.

Everything is just right. There is no free space, but there is some real estate to breathe. The set is also squat and split proof. Perfect for a good show.

You strut in front of the mirror like a Victoria’s Secret Devil, relishing over how well the fiery red set accentuates your bust, hugs your hips, and highlights the cheekiest parts of your ass with just enough coverage to have the men wondering.

To leave Eddie wondering.

You’re parading around some more, taking selfies at all angles while Eddie talks to the cashier about guitars. Eventually he does circle back around, as you've been in here for a long period of time.

"Shy Girl," Eddie checks on you from outside. "Did you die in there?"

You put your phone away.

"No, but you're about to."

He laughs. "I love the confidence. Let me at her."

You pull the curtain over so that Eddie can see.

“Jesus fuck.”

Eddie sinks down to his knees, the tips of his fingers trailing from your hips to your thighs, down to your calves. He’s being dramatic again, you think, evident by the three bows of resignation he gives you as he continues to take in your beauty.

"What do you think?" you ask him.

"Simply out of this world," Eddie gasps. He stands to spin you around like he once did before. "You look... like an absolute fantasy. Destined for some alternate dimension."

His breathing heightens as his rough hands trail down to your birthmark. And soon, you’re up there with him.

“I can already see you on that stage,” Eddie gushes. “Doing your thing, stealing the show, driving customers wild. The spotlight soaking in all your beauty...”

“The version of me living in your head sounds pretty damn cool,” you giggle.

You snake your arms around the nape of his neck. Eddie blushes. “She’s a lot like the girl in front of me, actually.”

Either of you can let go now. But you both don't.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks.

"Mmm… I don't think I'm done just yet," you bat your eyes once more. "What’s a set like this without some accessories?"

You grab his hand and he watches in shock — almost starstruck by you — when you manually wrap his hand around your neck.

“Like a necklace of sorts,” you continue. “A choker, maybe?”

“A choker,” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He gives you a teasing, gentle squeeze. You’re an absolute puddle.

He grins at you connivingly, playfully.

"Lead the way, m'lady. Anything you want tonight is yours.”

———— 🔥 ————

Satisfied is an understatement. You’re strutting back to Eddie’s van now as he trails closely behind, hauling shopping bags that belong to you in each hand.

“Thank you Eddie,” you say as he manages to open the door for you too.

“Anytime, Princess,” he insists.

You get settled on the passenger side while Eddie starts the van back up again. He waits for a while in his seat.

“You looked stunning in that piece,” Eddie raves, the image of you strutting around still living in his head. “I almost don’t want you to wear it anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

“I wanna be the only one who gets to see you in it,” he explains.

“Gatekeeper much?”

“No, I’m just selfish,” he says. “Especially when you look like that.”

Eddie takes it upon himself to fasten your seatbelt for you.

Your eyes trail along as he clicks it in place, adjusting the seatbelt so that it laid perfectly and untangled, protecting your hips…shielding your chest…

“My eyes only, you know?”

“Just yours?”

“Mhm,” he strains. “Mine and only mine.”

His gentle eyes are begging, glued to your lips like bees to honey. His tongue pokes out again, and you watch as he licks his lips in lust. Fuck. You can’t help it anymore. You decide to lean into him and try again.

But hostile air stops you in your place. There's fear in that man's eyes the closer you get and he pulls away from you.

OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

You swat the rest of him away. “You’re doing it again.”

Eddie sighs in defeat.

"I know."

The fact that you didn’t have to elaborate is very telling. Eddie is not stupid. He knows the game he’s playing.

You watch with zero sympathy this time as Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He lifts a hand. You flinch. Then you relax again when you realize the man isn’t trying to hit you.

“I’m VERY aware of what I’m doing, Hargrove. Okay? That’s the worst part.”

“And you think it’s okay? You like stringing me along, is that it?”

“There’s MORE TO IT, alright?” he groans. “I just don’t know how to explain it to you just yet.”

Eddie starts up again.

“I…” he says, his haunted eyes sparkling. “I just. CAN’T. get. involved. with a coworker. Let alone someone who works under me. Think of all the legal issues that can rise up.”

Bullshit.

“That is a FUCKING LIE!” you scream. “A fucking LIE, Eddie and you know how I know that?”

He looks back over at you.

“It’s because you didn’t think twice about it when you were hooking up with Chrissy.”

You’ve had enough of his excuses. Startled, Eddie shies away from you, surprised that you knew of what he so desperately wanted to conceal.

“Who told you that?”

“Who else would know?”

“Everyone at Hellfire, basically,” Eddie laughs pettily. “I just hoped it wouldn’t get around to you.”

Frustrated, Eddie turns off his car. He tosses his keys onto the center console between you both.

“Chrissy and I happened like two or three times. Is that what you wanted to hear?” he asks you. “She was horny, I was horny. She never gave me the time of day in high school so I got all excited. One thing led to another. Thrill eventually wore off. Now she’s just one of my good friends.”

You cross your arms and glare out the window.

“But the reason I was soooo okay with the Chrissy thing is because I only saw her as a fling,” Eddie continues. “End of story.”

“Where exactly are you going with this?”

“The difference with you is that a part of me actually wanted this to go somewhere.”

Does he think you’re stupid? Surely Eddie can’t think you’re just going to fall for his words instead of his actions.

You scoff. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

You muster up the courage to look over at him again. And there he is, his big brown doe eyes glimmering under the full moon.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before, Hargrove,” he mumbles softly. “That shit’s terrifying. For the first time in an incredibly long time I feel like someone gets me.”

You attempt to look away again. Eddie cranes his neck over towards you to meet you where you’re at.

“Someone who gets what it’s like to have a shitty, absent father,” Eddie continues. “Someone who also had to learn how to navigate grief before getting a fucking learner’s permit.”

“You can stop,” you choke. “I get the picture.”

But Eddie continues.

“…Someone who also has to be the bread-winner of the family, not by choice, but by necessity. And someone whose now got a shit ton of trust issues cuz somebody else had to go and fuck ‘em up THAT badly.”

Your throat begins to burn. A soul cry marinates at the pit of your stomach.

"I'm so infatuated with you, Hargrove,” your boss insists. “Okay? You have no idea.”

You tsk.

“You’re infatuated with me,” it’s more of a statement than a question of yours. “Yet you push me away.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, like you don’t have trouble accepting things you so rightfully deserve?”

He reaches over to grab your hand. You let him.

"There's nothing scarier than falling for someone who is your literal mirror," Eddie whispers. "Especially when you don't like anything about yourself."

“I know.”

You two fall silent and end up staring ahead for quite some time.

Both of you observe a couple cross the street together. The smitten pair are taking a stroll on the sidewalk, hand in hand and falling into one another like missing puzzle pieces. The guy kisses the girl's forehead, his silhouette reminding you so much of Steve.

“I also didn’t wanna get in between you and Harrington," Eddie mumbles.

“I told you we’re just fuck buddies.”

“But he really, really likes you.”

“Yeah, but if he’s not over Nancy, then what’s the point?”

It’s been a decade since Steve and Nancy broke up and he’s still lovesick over her. When you realized that she couldn’t ever be replaced, you stopped trying to pursue Steve romantically. Eddie falls mute again.

"I'm just his lil pocket pussy for all I know," you break the ice with a laugh.

"Don't say that," Eddie disapproves. "You are more than your body, Shy Girl."

“Then tell me what I am, Eddie,” the wounded part of you speaks. “Since I don’t seem to know.”

His gaze softens. “Well, it’s easy.”

You look at him.

"Corn ball alert,” Eddie prefaces. “But you’re the conversations you have with your regulars, asking them about their day and if they have any updates for you… You're the friendships you make with girls that you don't see a need to compete with. And you're that silly little dance you do when Argyle makes you food. And you’re also the destructive parts of yourself that you keep hiding from but little do you know that even those parts of you tell a story."

The sound of police sirens divert your attention. You shudder at the noise. Eddie seemingly makes note of it and clears his throat as a placeholder.

"…I didn't think you paid attention to any of that, Eds."

"I'm more observant than you think."

You believe him. After all, there are instances when you catch him sneaking a glance at you, turning away too late because you’re caught by his eyes to do the same.

A sigh escapes your body. You interlock your fingers with his.

“I don’t know what... this… is,” you begin. “But all I know is that I really enjoy your company. And that I’ve had a crush on you since the day I met you. If it wasn't obvious already."

Eddie snorts. “Even when I was freaking out over kegs and ground chili?”

“Especially when you were freaking out over kegs and ground chili.”

And now forgiveness is in the air. Monkey see, monkey do, and soon both you and Eddie are grinning at each other from one side of your faces to the other.

“Please,” Eddie requests politely with a gulp. “Will you let me kiss you?”

“Yes.”

To your surprise, Eddie leaves a peck on your cheek out of all places. This fucker, still so polite. He doesn’t touch or graze anywhere else while he does.

“Thanks,” he says as he pulls away. “I guess.”

But you only want him closer now.

“Oh don’t be stupid,” you giggle grabbing his face with both your hands. “Just fucking kiss me.”

You rest your hands at his chin when you pull him closer. And with Eddie’s permission, you sink your lips onto his. His warm breath circles you as your lips attach to one another.

There’s no turning back now.

Eddie’s lips are as soft as a cloud, and they seem to know yours very well. When he’s latched on, Eddie synchronizes with your rhythm almost immediately, getting a few more kisses in before his tongue begs you for entrance. You deny him access and push him back.

“Oooh,” you taunt him, causing him to laugh. “Someone likes me.”

“Maybe,” Eddie blushes, cupping the side of your face with one of his rigid hands. He gives the back of your head an endearing little scratch.

“But you…can’t get involved huh?”

Eddie shakes his head, doing his very best to stand his ground. He’s back to staring at your lips. “No. Definitely can’t…get involved.”

Of course not.

“Not even if I do this?”

You swoop over to press down on the button of Eddie’s seat belt to unbuckle it. Click. He restrains himself, but there’s wonder in his eyes.

“Or this?”

Your hands travel to the side furthest from you as you lean to crank the lever, lowering the head of Eddie’s driver seat to a 30 degree angle.

Amused now, he furrows his brows together and rests his hands behind his head, manspreading as you play that agonizingly long game.

“You’re pushing it, Hargrove…”

Using his unavailable hands to your advantage, you climb over him and assert yourself on his lap. A low groan escapes Eddie’s nose. You make sure to strategically situate yourself right on his crotch. Eddie’s breath hitches, hand hovering over your birthmark as you sink those hips into him. He bucks his up in return, trying to keep up with you.

“What about this?”

“Oh, that’s not fair…”

His hands are back at your waist.

A protruding essence grows in size as you continue to ride Eddie’s thigh. Soft, low whimpers escape from his chest, his dark eyes now beseeching at his mercy. Eddie’s fingers curl, enclosing themselves tightly around the fabric of your baby tee. His available hand gnaws at the seat below him.

“I don’t like playing fair,” you whisper huskily. “I just like getting even.”

Both of yours eyes are glued to what you’re doing, where you’re grinding, and how.

“Why do you do this to me?” he whispers longingly.

“I think it’s safe to say that you’ve been edging me for quite some time, Munson,” you shrug angelically. “Now it’s my turn to give you a taste of—”

You squeal suddenly when Eddie’s hand flies to your throat. The grip he has on you tightens hastily, long before you can even process it.

Shock overpowers you as Eddie studies you eagerly, with flared nostrils and a hot chest. You peer down at him with glossy eyes and yearning lips.

“Back of the van,” Eddie orders. “Now.”

—————————————

tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon, @ali-r3n, @corrodedcoffincumslut, @bebe07011, @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @holabeans00, @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse

—————————————

author's note: i'd be lying if i told you guys i didn't play imaginary barbies in my head in order to map out the argument between eddie and shy girl dfsjklfdkgfgsg would you say I’m a puppet master?

[cherry-jamm]

heya heya, you wright for the pretty boy homelander right? i saw that requests were opennn and yk ive got loads of little ideas so let me give you one thats been itching my brain for a looooong while

homelander x reader, (pref fem but whatever is fine w me) where r calls homelander 'bunny' out of no where. bc r thinks hes cute (he is) and the nick name sticks so homelander keeps getting called bunny at the most hilarious times.

just a thought, little bitty idea that itches my brain.

--viccy

Bunny

・❥・description: Much to Homelander’s dismay, a very interesting nickname stuck

・❥・word count: .4k

・❥・warnings: employee! Reader, pet names for Homes (obvs), second hand embarrassment

・❥・hi viccy I luv u. Sorry this took so long, I've been in such a slump even small works take forever but everyone's request is getting done, trust 🤞

Homelander stands tall, bouncing on the balls of hid feet. He held his hands behind his back, his lips pressed in a firm line.

"What's got you so anxious?" You smile as you place a hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing." He huffs. "I'm not anxious. I'm the Homelander. I don't get anxious." He sounded more like he was assuring himself.

"Right, so it's not because we’re about to go public on live television?" You raise an eyebrow at your boyfriend. His cheeks are a pinkish color, he exhales loudly.

"I'm fine." He nodded, his hands still behind his back.

"Whatever you say, bunny." You tease him before walking off to make sure everything is set up correctly. You don't get to see how he reacts to the name before you're off.

°•○●○•°°•○●○•°°•○●○•°°•○●○•°°•○●○•°

"Would it kill you to take off that suit?" You frown as you cross your arms. "We're trying to create a chill, casual, look."

"No way in hell am I dressing down for some stream." He scoffs. "I'm the Homelander, not some slob."

"This is a calm Q&A stream, just for the average citizen to learn more about you. You're forgetting I'm on your PR team, I'm helping you. Citizens don't feel like they know you."

"They don't" He cuts you off.

"Make them feel like they do. Just let me rough you up a little bit." He rolls his eyes. "Please bunny." It was a dirty trick but you smiled in satisfaction as his cheeks flushed a dark red that spread to the tips of his ears.

"Whatever." He said, his voice softer than he intended. You stepped up to him to brush his hair out of its clean style. "Just don't call me that on stream." He huffed.

"I wasn't planning on it." You hummed in response and flicked on his camera.

°•○●○•°°•○●○•°°•○●○•°°•○●○•°°•○●○•°

To anyone else the room would feel tense. A row of straight backed employees looked everywhere but the eyes of the superheros in front of them. You slammed the door open two cups of coffee in hand. Technically you weren't late, bit it was common knowledge that all employees should arrive at least five minutes early to greet The Seven. Not like you'd be punished anyways.

"Hey bunny." You said as you placed a cup of coffee in front of Homelander along with a chaste kiss to his temple. You should feel bad for reaping the benefits of dating your boss, but you don't. You walk up to join the line of employees as well. It looked like everyone in the room was staring at you. You heard stifled laughter from Maeve.

"Bunny?" Someone from the table asked

[fishanks]

ᝰ.ᐟ How OP men would confess

⤷ featuring : monster trio, law, shanks .

⤷ no warnings, I'm a child of God xx

✗Luffy

• in his mind you're already a couple.

• someone will ask him if he has a partner and he's like "yeah! She's right there!" and points right at you

• if you get confused he's also confused, like you didn't know?

• nami would jump in like "um Luffy you can't just force people to date you" and he's like "oi ___, were together right?!" and gives you such a sure look that it makes you genuinely believe that you guys are already together

• I don't believe this man knows you have to actually communicate, like, if he feels something he'll immediately say it so he doesn't get why you'd keep stuff away y'know?

✗Zoro

• held at gun point

• he's locked in a room with the whole crew just glaring at him

• and when he wouldn't do it, they had Luffy bring it up while arguing about who has to wake him up before dinner "___ you should go because he said he liked you or something so he'll take it best from you" and you're all on the floor laughing

• "you can't just believe everything Luffy tells you!" He tried protesting so much. "No zoro, Luffy is the worst liar!"

• he would just stare at the roof for 5 minutes before really quickly saying "be my girlfriend?" With a pout and wouldn't meet your eyes for the next week

✗Sanji

• 2 minutes into meeting you

• but when he's actually serious?? Ooohhh you're in for a treat.

• a candle lit dinner on the most romantic island, had nami dress you up, brooke singing in the background, chopper and ussop are playing around with some lights and throwing rose petals on you, and robin's just watching from above while smirking (he'd shoo them after you're all sat)

• at least 100 poems ready for you, picked out all your favorite flowers to put in a pot on the table and around you, the candles are your favorite scent, he's even wearing the outfit you like the most on him

• "my elegant sweet lovely breath taking lady, will you take such an average man such as myself to be your partner for life? The one who always protects you and cooks for you?"

✗Law

• in a life or death situation

• he tried so many times but his throat just gets stuck

• probably stares at you in the most random times ever and if you ask him if he's ok in his mind he's thinking "alright this is my chance" and ends up asking something like "why are your eyebrows so far apart today?"

• you were fighting one of the strongest opponents you've ever had one day, and got stabbed in the chest by one of the enemies you were fighting off, falling to the floor in pain when he suddenly yells "___ MY GIRLFRIEND ISNT ALLOWED TO DIE" and you're suddenly on your feet again

• after the mission is over you tried to bring it up but he just brushed you off like "yeah what about it?"

✗Shanks

• while he's drunk ass fuck

• was probably playing a card game with the crew and lucky decided to make a bet that whoever lost would have to do something that the crew agreed on (they all ganged up on shanks)

• after the crew told him he had to confess to you he was like "bet" and just threw a random ass banquet as an excuse to get drunk and started following you that whole day hoping a man would try to flirt with you so that he would come and save you

• "hey pretty girl, you alone?" "No she's with her boyfriend" he'd say while pointing at himself and you'd go along with it because you thought it was his way of protecting you, but after the creep went away he turned to you and casually added "no fr though, I'm your boyfriend from now on"

-🐶

[satancopilotsmytardis]

tattoo artist/piercer tomura and dabi, his favorite canvas 😵‍💫

tomura thinks dabi is the most beautiful thing ever. literally cannot stop staring at him. and it only gets worse when dabi decides he's the only artist he wants. he didn't realize how possessive he really was until he saw dabi covered in his work.

there's so many directions I'm thinking in about this. like the devotion, the trust.. the pain play, the body worship, the exhibition (because obviously tomu loves to show him off.)

and when he finally tattoos dabi's throat.... god 😫😫

Okay but I think it would be so funny, throughout this, if Tomura doesn't have any tattoos or visible body mods because of his quirk, like his skin shatters sometimes, he can't put ink on that, and most people don't trust an artist without ink so he has a really small shop with just a handful of dedicated customers who trust him, and Dabi hears about him through the grapevine and shows up looking like your average office worker and says he's willing to drop thousands of dollars on getting his entire body tattooed. He will be a living advertisement for Tomura's work, he'll go to conventions, he'll do photoshoots, etc. if he can get it all finished in a year.

Mm, Tomura is always trying to be so professional with Dabi, but their sessions keep going for longer and longer. During their first 6 hour one, they end up ordering dinner, and after that Tomura makes sure they do longer sessions so that he can pretend their meal breaks are a date.

At some point, he finally asks why Dabi is getting his entire body tattooed and Dabi reluctantly tells him about how his quirk hurts him whenever he uses it, so he's been told he can't anymore. He's trying to seal it away under Tomura's art because, while he doesn't usually care about himself, he wouldn't want to destroy such beautiful art

Also at one point, because of their very long sessions, they've moved to one of the private backrooms, and it's pretty late. And Dabi got his sternum done and they're now working on his throat and he's a little hazy and he accidentally moans and starts to get hard as Tomura works, and Tomura immediately goes Dom Mode and he finishes his work. But he's also clearly hard and into this and once he finishes cleaning Dabi up and wrapping his new tattoos, he has Dabi lean his head back a little further over the edge of the table and fucks his throat, stretching him from the inside and making the ache of the new tattoo worse in such the perfect way that Dabi cums in his pants and ends up floating in his subspace for ages after.

They really can't be "professional" after that and Tomura starts to shift their sessions to being at his home so that they can fuck when they're finished. It takes months and months for Dabi to get everywhere he wants tattooed finished, and by the time he's done, he and Tomura are just straight up living together (Dabi finally able to move out of the Todoroki house) and Dabi is getting trained to be a piercer so he can work at Tomura's tattoo parlor.

[warping-realities]

Carmichael Corporation - The Interviews (by @dumb-and-jocked)

It's no secret to anyone who follows me that I'm a big fan of the work of two authors @callmecallmecrazy and dumb-and-jocked. And here we have the result of one being inspired by the other's work, something I also did in my own work. I feel fulfilled in making images for the next stories, starting with this one.

“Can you guys believe we actually made it?” Elijah exclaimed proudly. Even as the tallest of the trio at 6’7, he had to arch his back to see the top of the skyscraper in front of him. Elijah had worked hard to get his degree in business, so the prospect in front of him made him feel like he was touching the finish line. He had applied for an interning position in the financial department, and the company had been so impressed with his application that they had set up an interview immediately.

“I will admit, it is pretty incredible,” Dylan added. He was in the middle of the three, having a little over average height at 5’11 and pretty good muscular tone. What really stood out about him though was his voice, for it was a powerful bass that could shake concrete walls and was completely recognizable at any event. He too had applied for an interning position in the financial department, creating a little friendly rivalry between the two.

“I’m still surprised we all made it.” Although Joe was almost a foot shorter than the giant Elijah at 5’7, he made up for his height in sheer body mass. Back in college, he had been the star wrestler of the college, giving him a body packed with pure strength and flesh. One wouldn’t be able to guess it, but Joe was also skilled in another area: accounting. He was so talented in fact that he had actually been scouted out by the company.

“I guess we should head in,” Elijah stated, making his way forward slowly. “If we actually want to work at the Carmichael Corporation, we’ll have to ace these interviews.”

“Oh yeah, like that’ll be hard,” Dylan jeered as he walked through a set of grand swinging doors. “My record is pretty well stacked. I think I have the best chance out of the three of us for this position.”

“Dude, I’m going for accounting.” Joe gave a rough eye roll, before walking off to notify the secretary of their presence. 

“And like I have any competition,” Elijah scoffed as Dylan and himself took a seat on a nearby bench. “Once they see that my name was on the Dean’s List every semester, I’ll get in for sure.”

“You only got that because you were the captain of the basketball team,” Dylan mocked.

“Did not,” Elijah hurled back.

“Did too!” Dylan retorted.

“You understand that I actually worked for those grades, right?” Elijah felt himself get heated as his muscles grew tense.

“Oh you worked for them alright,” Dylan mumbled. “On your knees.”

“Excuse me, bro?!”

“You heard what I said, coc-”

“Gentlemen!”

A sharply dressed male was staring down at the two bickering companions. The man was furiously tapping a pen against his clipboard, obviously irritated. Standing tall in front of the two, he was wrapped up in a gray 3-piece suit with a checkered tie that fit well against his sculpted body. His face showed that although he acted superior, he had to be a similar age to the two young men cowering below him. 

“My name is Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV, and I am one of the Accounting Managers here at the Carmichael Corporation,” he began pompously, effortlessly taking control of the situation. “If you want to work here at the Carmichael Corporation, the first concept you must learn is respect and decency to and in the workplace.”

“Sorry,” Dylan and Elijah replied in unison, deeply embarrassed and annoyed by the stuck-up prick.

“Now, I assume I will be performing one of your interviews today,” Yale took a moment to look at his clipboard. “Is one of you Joseph Koroll?”

“That’s me.” Joe appeared from behind Yale, surprising the other man a little bit. After checking in, Joe had quickly run to the bathroom to wash his face, finding he had accidentally missed a few hairs when he had shaved this morning. Not noticeable, just a little itchy.

“Exemplary,” Yale responded, causing Joe to give the other two looks that said What’s with this guy?

“Let us make our way to a correspondent room, we have a lot to cover in little time.” Before Joe could comprehend what Yale had said, the other man was already walking towards an elevator. Joe quickly scurried along, waving to his pals before he was lifted up.

“How do you think he’ll do?” Dylan pondered.

“Better than the two of us so far,” Elijah pouted.

— —

“Joseph Koroll.”

“Yes?”

Yale sat straight at his desk, constantly giving off an ill-tempered glare as he peered back and forth between Joe and Joe’s resumé. What made it even more intense was that Yale’s eyes had an oddly captivating color to them. The two sat in a small conference room on the 15th floor overlooking a part of the city below. Joe didn’t feel that nervous--he actually felt quite confident--but the giant yellow chair he sat in made him seem much smaller than he actually was. Even for his muscular figure, he barely filled half the seat, and his head did not make it anywhere near the top. Not only that, but the chair was placed in the center of the room, giving him more attention than he needed.

“I despise that I must admit it,” Yale sighed. “but your experience and credentials are rather splendid.”

“Thank you?” Joe replied back, a little confused.

“If you want to be a part of the Carmichael Corporation however, there are some aspects that must be changed or enhanced.”

“I understand.”

“The Carmichael Corporation is not some urban start-up with jeans and herbal teas.  This is a very demanding industry, one that expects all employees to be obedient and loyal.”

“Of course,” Joe nodded along. “That would make sense.”

“I do not know or care what went on at your last position, but if you want to succeed in this company, it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Would you be okay with this level of obedience?”

“Yes sir.” Joe slyly added in the title, sensing he had to accept a power shift.

“That is more appropriate,” Yale smiled. “Now, let us first address the things that need to be changed to be hired. Your attire is the most noticeable facet, as it is unsightly to say in the kindest of terms.”

“Unsightly?” Joe was surprised, finding his red sweater and black slacks quite refined before making eye contact with Yale.

“And that is the kindest of words,” Yale snickered back. “If you want to succeed, you will need to learn how to dress like a man. Let me read you a small excerpt from the company handbook.”

Yale stuck a hand into his bag and pulled out the largest book Joe had ever seen. It had to be at least 1000 pages, yet Yale had no trouble finding the exact description he was looking for.

“Blazers are classic items that work for semi-formal occasions and casual office places. Even as a man transitions to daily suits, a blazer will always have a place at a garden party or fraternity alumni event. Ties and bowties are a delightful way to add color to an outfit. Business attire defaults to long ties, and more conservative workplaces require more conservative choices. Consider emulating the attire of your superiors.”

Yale continued, “Supports should be practical and supportive. Belts are fine for casual outings; however, braces are more desirable for suiting, both for support and style as it allows a more traditional and flattering cut. Similarly, undergarments should provide support and coverage. Briefs are the most appropriate underwear choice, as it provides support without being extraneous. It is also compatible with tennis and golf; sports you will be expected to participate in and the only sports you will be allowed to play.”

Yale paused and took a deep breath. Once he had finished gathering himself, he looked over at Joe and gleamed with satisfaction. “I believe it is secure to say that you have already anticipated these particular needs of the company. Am I assuming correctly?”

“Yes sir,” Joe quickly replied. He had made sure to dress in one of his casual outfits today, something comfortable yet reputable. Along with a navy blazer that had been hung on the door, Joe had paired his classic navy polka-dotted tie with a blue button-up and wool dress pants. Sheer socks silently encased his Size 11 feet inside expensive-looking Oxfords, while two bright, yellow suspenders and a hefty watch worked as the statement pieces. He’d also made sure to shave his beard into a beautiful stubble, something that really made him seem both masculine and well-kept. Joe had originally been concerned that the look was a little too casual, but the fact that his superior had noticed it brought a smile to his lips.

“Superb,” Yale acknowledged. “If you are hired here, you will be expected to meet a certain standard of fitness.”

Yale once again examined Joe before meeting eyes, causing Joe to respond with a smug look.

“Interpreting what I have seen and read, I suspect you will be engaging in a routine similar to the one when you were in varsity golf?”

“Very similar, indeed.” Joe resituated himself in the chair, sitting a little straighter to truly show off his 6’1 height. His tight clothing did an impeccable job showcasing his muscular build, which wasn’t as massive as a bodybuilder’s but definitely imposing. He kicked up one of his Size 14 feet onto his knee, knowing he could now get a little more comfortable.

“You will also need to adapt to our image of masculinity, Joe. This is something that has an adjusting definition for everyone here at the Carmichael Corporation. Do you understand what I am referring to?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

“To explain further,” Yale eyes had a piercing gleam to them. “the duty of a man is to understand that when lacking in some areas of presence, he must identify other ways to consume the devoid territory. Men are meant to take up a certain amount of space, no matter their stature. This does seem appropriate, correct?”

“Yes sir.” Joe completely interpreted what Yale was referring to. It was only natural that some men had larger presences than others, so it was Joe’s duty to match that same standard. Readjusting in his seat once more, Joe felt his wide, plump bottom jiggling about, consuming the entirety of the extra wide seat. He bagged his pants as he sat, causing the crotch of his pants to ride up and give him a distinct moose knuckle. The fluid movement accidentally made him hard, but Joe knew no one would be able to see his 4 inches.

“Now, I believe the next issue is your tone and speech.” Yale pulled out his handbook once more and flipped to another random page.

“Our manual refers to multiple accessible forms of dialogue, but you will be working with men of all ages from assets and banking within accounting. Therefore, it would be best if you learned how to speak slower and adapt your vocabulary to something better cultivated.”

“Why would that help me exactly?” Joe questioned.

Yale, once again annoyed by Joe’s indecency, glared directly at him before explaining. “It will deepen your voice and give you more presence, which will be extremely helpful in business. You will also be able to use a fuller, more masculine tone--much like my own. I expect that is what you desire?”

“Yes sir.” The words spilled out in nearly double the time they had before. Joe’s tongue felt heavy as he spoke as every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.

“Finally, if you aspire to work at the Carmichael Corporation, it is imperative that you adjust your title.” Yale moved along calmly, not at all caring about Joe’s confusion. “Joe is a very informal name. Lazy and lackadaisical. It sets you up casually in a professional world, agree with me?”

“I guess I don’t know…” Joe muttered, his voice sluggish and insensitive.

“In business, you know how important it is to give the right impression. The men in these industries expect a certain standard of professionality, even in your title. And you must give yourself every possible advantage.”

“Yes, of course sir,” Joe monotoned.

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as your full name, John Millard Koroll.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but that is not-”

“And where is your surname from?” Yale interrupted. “Is it German?” 

“No, it is most certainly-”

“Make it German. It will give you a much more asserting presence. And I reckon a suffix would add some competency as well. From now on, we shall refer to each other by our full names to emulate what the atmosphere is like here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Joe was still at a loss over the last few comments. He was starting to feel a little panicked over the thought of losing his own identity to the corporate world, but before he could think any further on the topic, Yale stepped in.

“That will work for you, will it not,” Yale stood up from his chair and extended a hand, making sure to share a mutual gaze with Joe. “John Millard Koehler III?”

“By all means, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.” John Millard’s thick, slow voice drawled out. He got out of his own seat and shook Yale’s hand in a firm motion.

“Splendid!” Yale replied. “Then I can confidently declare that you are precisely what the Carmichael Corporation is scouting for. John Millard Koehler III, you will be starting as early as next week.”

“That is just grand!” John Millard responded cordially. “It is truly an honor, my gratitude, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.”

“The honor is all mine, you will be an illustrious addition to our department.” Yale sat back down in his chair and ushered John Millard to do the same. “Before I dismiss you, let us discuss acquisitions and the baseline salary. Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we want to make sure that you can ‘be audit you can be’.”

The two chortled merrily at the accounting joke before getting back to business, knowing they had a prosperous future ahead.

— —

“It’s been almost an hour,” Elijah exhaled. “Shouldn’t Joe be done with his interview by now?” The two other men were still sitting on the same bench, waiting for anyone to come and greet them like Yale had appeared before. Countless businessmen had passed in front of them, but all of them seemed so eager to work that they didn’t recognize the recently-graduated college students.

“I don’t know,” Dylan replied honestly, twisting a lock of his curly mane within his fingers out of boredom. “I mean maybe this is the corporate world and everything takes a little longer than expected.” He then stretched to loosen up his joints, showcasing the body of a former running back for everyone to see.

“Yeah, but how many questions do they have to ask to see if Joe is a good fit or not?”

“Apparently a lot.” Dylan began swinging his legs back and forth like a child on a swing to entertain himself. The Size 13 canvas shoes went to and fro, hypnotizing him more than they should have. Elijah watched on too, somehow entertained by the small amount of movement.

“Ahem.”

The two young men quickly shot up off the bench, standing solid. In front of them was a brawny man between the pair’s heights. He looked to be somewhere around sixty, as displayed by his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, prominent jaw, and robust torso. His body was brilliantly exhibited in a multi-layered suit, one that displayed every shade from silver to slate.

“I assume the two of you are here for the hiring process, correct?”

The two men nodded their heads quickly.

“Very good.” The man made a quick glance at Dylan and motioned him to follow. Dylan did just that, giving a thumbs-up to Elijah before disappearing down a hall.

— —

“Dylan Pringle.”

“Yes… sir?”

Dylan watched a small smile creep onto the man’s lips after his little addition. There had been a few minutes of back and forth eye contact from Dylan’s resumé and Dylan himself, but he wasn’t feeling too apprehensive. Although the man seemed extremely uptight, Dylan knew there was nothing in his credentials that wouldn’t seem impressive. Plus, the man had already seemed to take a liking to Dylan, as he had been escorted to an expansive office that Dylan assumed had to be the man’s own. It was simply decorated with a few modern black-and-white pictures and two tables lined with retro leather chairs. There were also a few closets and coat racks holding different suits and other formal wear, probably owned by the man himself.

“I must inform you that the position you have applied for has already been filled.”

The sentence came as a shock to Dylan, causing him to twitch a little in his seat. Dylan was so perplexed that he had to examine the man’s eyes carefully to see if he was telling the truth. He was surprised to discover that they had an oddly charming hue.

“I would regard that as a godsend however, as you were not at all qualified for the position.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan’s bass tone became thundering. “I have everything the job requires... and more!”

“Surely you meant to say 'Sorry Sir, is there another position open?’ as here I thought you were serious about working here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Dylan was once again caught off-guard.

“Hmm, they told me you were more articulate.” The man made a disappointed grimace before moving on. “I was willing to offer you another position working under me rather than in the financial department as it seems you have no competence in the area. That is generous of me, is it not?”

“Yes, definitely sir.” Dylan was relieved that he still had a chance to work at the Carmichael Corporation, especially after applying for a job he never could have performed.

“Good.” The man walked over to a table and grabbed a rather large book. Dylan was able to catch a quick peek as the man passed by, noticing the pages were lined with questions and guides. Dylan hoped these weren’t all going to be used in the interview for the other position.

“There are a few things you will need to learn quickly if you expect to succeed in this business, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” Dylan made sure to maintain eye contact to confirm his answer.

“Very good. First, we have a completely reasonable dress code here. I know you may not have expected to wear a suit every day, but it will be required. And by a suit, I expect a minimum of 3 layers in some shape or form.” Dylan cringed in his seat barely, knowing that his black turtleneck and jeans probably didn’t make the cut.

“Sir, are you-” Before Dylan could protest, the man pushed forward.

“I find a certain degree of conformity aids in office morale, is that not fair? I can tell by how you present yourself you also believe this to be true.”

“It is fair, sir.” Dylan agreed. He always made sure to wear multiple articles underneath his blazer, as it made him feel more polished. Even though he was forced to take off his tan blazer at the door, it had allowed him to expose the other garments on his body. These included matching tan pleated pants that graciously showed off his hefty pouch, a white button-up with matching white suspenders that strained heavily against his pecs, and a striped tie that shared the same charcoal color with his wing-tipped derbies. Readjusting his glasses, Dylan waited patiently for the man to continue.

“I believe it is also appropriate to have a strict haircut policy. Your hair is to be cut every two weeks, and I will refer you to my own barber. You will style it neatly and you will use whatever product I chose.”

“Sir, if I may interrupt.”

“No, you may not.” The man glared down on Dylan. “I expect to see comb lines so sharp that even from a mile away a man could tell you know how to use pomade. Understood?”

“Completely, sir.” Dylan felt like this task would be no problem, as he already maintained his hair strictly. Brushing a hand across his scalp, he was delighted to feel his sharp quiff still held stiffly in place with not a single hair sticking out. He also made sure to rub a hand across his jaw, feeling up the sculpted beard contemptuously.

“Now, you recognize that you would not be starting at the top, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Meaning that you would have a certain number of superiors, including myself, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So to clarify,” the man began, making sure that their eyes met so he could verify. “You would be an inferior male, underneath me and a plethora of other men.”

“Wait, that isn’t-” Dylan’s booming register was somehow once again cut off.

“You will need to present yourself to this position accordingly, but I believe it is fair to say that will not be an issue.”

“That is accurate, Sir,” Dylan replied reverently in a soft, creamy tenor. He understood where he was on the ladder, and how he’d have to act accordingly. Still sitting in his chair comfortably, the 5’7 man brought his legs closer together, allowing the sides of the Size 8 feet to touch. While doing so, Dylan felt his micropenis twitch eagerly inside his tight briefs, sending an excited reaction to the hole between his two jiggly, doughy buttocks.

“You will also be expected to attend to some other needs of mine,” Sir started. “Dry cleaning, note taking, errands, and the like.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You will be loyal, you will be obedient, and you will be my dedicated servant.”

“Sir,” Dylan’s meek voice began. “What do you-”

“To work and succeed at the Carmichael Corporation,” Sir declared through fiery eyes. “it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Understood?”

“Yes Sir.” Dylan was willing to do just about anything that could give him an advantage in business; anything that would make his superiors pleased.

“So with that said,” Sir leaned back in his chair happily, dropping the handbook on the desk and crossing his arms across his chest. “If I were to ask you to, say, change your name, would you do that for me?”

“Yes Sir,” Dylan lied through his teeth. He was willing to do just about anything, but not that.

“Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we like to go by our full titles as they allude to more professional, defined statuses.”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

“Let’s first start with Dylan: just a gross, common name. You agree?”

Dylan didn’t, but the thought of a superior changing his name was suddenly tantalizing.

“Personally, I believe you would be more suited as a Dorrance. And for the surname, well,” Sir chuckled wickedly to himself. “Pringle was never an actual name, just a detrimental snack. You would be much better suited with Peabody. Classic, but preppy, which seems to be the direction you’re taking. Though I believe you should at least be a Junior.”

Before Dylan could fire back a string of arguments, Sir had ascended out of his throne and extended a strong palm.

“Congratulations, Dorrance Rotterham Peabody, Jr.,” Sir seemed very pleased with himself. “You will be a great fit as my new personal assistant.”

“Thank you immensely, Sir!” Dorrance replied, jumping out of his chair in excitement and eagerly shaking the man’s hand. “How soon may I begin to work under you?”

“Right away, boy.” Sir made sure to emphasize the demeaning word. “I have a few outfits I need you to sort through and approve of, as you know my taste quite exquisitely.”

“Of course, Sir.” Dorrance followed Sir to a table covered in sheets displaying different suits and styles. He immediately immersed himself into the work, separating out the preferable blacks, navys, and grays from the disgusting other palettes. This extremely pleased Sir, so much so that he wanted to reward Dorrance with something special. So, Sir gave Dorrance’s butt a big appreciation swat as he strutted away, causing Dorrance’s ample rump to shudder within his pants as he continued his work.

— —

Elijah grimaced, noticing the time on the gigantic clock inside the main lobby had only moved by a minute. The wait had been a lot longer than he had expected, forcing him to cancel an event with friends and a hookup from Grindr. It had been about an hour since Dylan had been taken away to his interview, and almost 2 hours since Joe’s disappearance. He was concerned about what this meant for them, but he was becoming more concerned about what this could’ve possibly meant for himself. Maybe he didn’t have a chance within the Carmichael Corporation. Elijah was beginning to feel as if the employers had completely forgotten him when a young man magically appeared before him, answering his plea.

The man wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly strained at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch.  It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button-up shirt and a gray tie with a subtle windowpane pattern. He carried a briefcase that looked both rather expensive and rather ordinary. The young man stood ramrod straight, his muscular build hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His powerful jaw--while covered in a little youthful baby fat--spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape. 

“Elijah Grove.”

“Yes?”

“I assume you are the last respondent today?” His voice was slow and deep, catching Elijah off guard.

“I guess?”

“Do you guess or do you know?” The young man seemed to get rather disgusted by Elijah’s uncertainty. “If you expect to succeed at the Carmichael Corporation, you are going to have to know.”

“I-” Elijah was almost sure he saw the young man’s eyes flash dazzlingly as he began. “I know I am the last respondent, yes.”

“Grand.” The man ushered Elijah to get up and tread closely behind. Following quickly, Elijah was surprised to see that they were leaving the building.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Elijah chose his words carefully. “Where are we going?”

“I am fond of conducting my interviews over promenades,” the young man replied. They steered their way around crowds of businessmen as they ventured into the streets, making random turns here and there. “It shows how well you can think on your feet, literally. It is an aptitude you will need to be proficient in if you want to become an Associate like myself.”

“Associate?” Elijah blinked a few times out of confusion, knowing that he had applied to work as an intern in the financial department. Although he was a few inches taller than the young man, he was having a little difficulty catching up, causing him to fall in and out of the conversation.

“Indeed,” the man misinterpreted the question. “I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions and advanced from Junior Associate to an Associate. Fascinating, is it not?”

“Sure.”

The two strolled a little further out of the city, moving away from the busy center where the Carmichael Corporation headquarters stood. They came upon streets a little emptier then before until they finally turned into an old park. It was actually quite beautiful, covered in old knotty trees and overgrown plants. Birds were constantly chirping and squirrels chased after each other like there was no tomorrow. It was also littered in large stones, adding an oddly picturesque feel to it. Elijah was surprised that he had lived in the city for so long and had never once been to this place.

After a while more of walking, the man led them to an old picnic table before turning around and offering a large, rough hand. Confused, Elijah accepted it and the grip practically shattered his bones. Elijah had kept his body fit since his high school basketball days, so he was surprised to feel such a sheer strength in the young man’s shake.

“My name is Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.,” the young man stated before placing his briefcase down and taking a seat at the table. “Our interview should not extend too lengthily, as I have some imperative work to attend to after this.”

“What would that be?” Elijah asked earnestly, his jovial tone a major contrast to Keating’s flat, molasses-like demeanor. At 6’7, it was fairly difficult for him to get his skinny legs under the table, but he managed.

“I have been assigned to a downtown acquisition project, a potential development on 520 Porter where we need to clear the lot.”

“Huh, okay,” Elijah strangely got interested. “So what is it that you are removing?”

“Currently the future site of the Carmichael Settlement on Porter is occupied by this park we are lounging in right now.”

“This park?” Elijah was surprised. “But it’s stunning! There’s so much life and nature here. You wanna tear it down?”

“It is an eyesore and it occupies a lot with high economic potential.  It is better suited for development.”

“How could you be such a soulless jerk?” Elijah scolded, getting angrier faster than he had anticipated. He began caring less and less about the job and more about his own morality. Sure, Elijah got how important money was, but he didn’t think he would be able to live with the guilt of destroying an animal’s habitat, let alone an entire population’s. “Don’t you understand what you would be doing? The impact this will have?”

“I’m offended by your tone.” Even after being insulted, Keating’s voice still sounded low, slow, and empty. His eyes however seemed to flare up before he continued. “And yes, I understand exactly the impact this will have. It will create a serviceable, profitable property for the Carmichael Corporation, which in turn will compensate me with enough money to survive. That is what any respectable man like you and I would desire.”

“Survive?” Elijah mocked, now getting extremely annoyed that Keating had compared the two of them. 

“Obviously.” Keating wasn’t defending himself, but instead explaining what he thought was a common fact. “I just bought a house out in Fenwick, the only neighborhood in this squalid city with expansive acreage, tree-shaded streets, and good schools. It is very difficult to purchase a home in that neighborhood, especially one with the seven bedrooms, four floors, and private tennis court I required. Plus, I’m working on my country club application. The application fee alone is $50,000. Looking over your records earlier, I had gathered that was something you desired as well, correct?”

“Yes, that is true.” The idea was buried inside Elijah’s mind. Far from feeling like a fresh fantasy, it was embedded deep, as though it had always been there, as though he’d always wanted to buy a giant mansion in a gated neighborhood with an expensive country club. It was always the goal to move out to Fenwick for corporate shark Elijah.

“I am relieved that that is settled.” Keating opened his briefcase to reveal a combination of different documents, papers, and a massive book that Elijah couldn’t believe fit in the bag. Keating proceeded to pull it out and flipped open to a page somewhere in the middle.

“To become an Associate, you will first be assigned underneath me as a Junior before moving up the ladder. You will still make a good deal of money however, so do not feel too unsettled. Do you understand?” 

Although they were maintaining a shared gaze, Keating was not able to read the confusion on Elijah’s face.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s correct.” Elijah was here for a position in the financial department, not to be an Associate, so he was embarrassed to point out the error that Keating had made. Not embarrassed enough however to not correct him.

“As a Junior Associate, you’d start with a baseline of 100 plus three percent commission with incentives quarterly based on goals and projects,” Keating answered, once again misreading. “I believe that will be appropriate compensation, am I accurate?”

“Yes, indeed you are,” Elijah replied cheerfully, glad that the issue was all cleared up. He had wanted to start as an Associate right away as he was worried it the Junior position wouldn’t give him the pay he had hoped for, but apparently it wasn’t that far below. Plus, if he did well, he could quickly move up like Keating had.

“Your job will require calls, lots of calls,” Keating droned, his piercing eyes drilling right into Elijah’s. “Calls to landowners, historical groups, insurance companies, auctioneers, all with their own opinions and interests. A few calls will be less productive, with upset protestors yelling at you about our improvement upon the lot. You will have to decelerate your speech to command attention better.  Be direct and contain emotions. You will be better suited to appear calm and in control at all times. There is no need to ever appear energetic or excited.”

The hurling of information confused Elijah. “So you are saying I shouldn’t care about the clients?”

“Yes,” Keating confirmed. “You can try being sympathetic, but you will quickly find that being stern and direct will get them off the line quicker so you can return to work. Based off of what I have already perceived, this will not be a hindrance.”

“Thank you.” Elijah found himself mimicking Keating’s voice: deep, dull, and disinterested.

“There are many perks of the job, including a corporate gym on the fifth floor which I highly recommend you use.” After investigating Elijah’s long, fit body, Keating brought his eyes back to Elijah’s own. “We expect every man to have a sense of presence at the Carmichael Corporation. Currently, you are far from meeting those standards.”

“What do you mean by that?” Elijah responded. It was hard for a man of his height to keep a healthy weight. A high metabolism meant he was always fairly skinny, but he didn’t expect it would be such a problem.

“The gym is a good source of weight training,” Keating continued, ignoring the question. “I personally workout an hour before work each day and one hour afterwards. You will be expected to maintain a similar routine. It appears however that you already understand the importance of presence, but if you are interested in a tour of the corporate gym I would not be affronted.”

“Thank you, I would be very fond of that.” Elijah smiled politely after his reply, moving his legs a little under the picnic table. At 6’3, it was a little difficult for him to keep his well-defined legs under the table, but he managed. Although he’d left golf after college (and hoped to get back into it with his admission into the country club) Elijah had made sure to keep his body in excellent shape by working out almost everyday. His proof could be seen through the skin-tight quarter-zip sweater and the black khaki’s that hugged his meaty quads and calves.

“At the Carmichael Corporation, we do have a dress code, but it is reasonably undemanding.” Keating turned the manual around to show Elijah. The page that Keating had flipped to displayed a model covered head to toe in a full, very dapper yet very posh suit. Elijah’s eyes fluttered quickly before looking back to Keating for confirmation.

“‘Reasonably undemanding’?”

“I would say so. A suit works as the foundation of a man’s future in business.” Keating closed the handbook and placed it back into his briefcase. Elijah could have sworn a tiny smile crept onto the corners of Keating’s mouth during the action. “I appreciate that you have already generated this knowledge.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” Elijah flourished, his voice still plodding. Elijah had made sure to pick out an outfit that had shown off all of his best features. First, a drab, beige, perfectly-cut jacket with matching pleated pants, accompanied by a striped salmon button-up that contrasted well against his pale skin. He had matched his coffee-colored tie to similar shaded Size 13 tassel loafers and a pair of bronze supports that were hidden expertly beneath his coat. Finally, he had styled his blond hair into a fashionable ivy-league cut, making sure to also get a fresh shave earlier that morning. Just the thought of himself in the outfit made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 6.5-inch mast.

“There are only a few more things we must address, one being your character and ethics.”

“What is it the company expects?” Elijah asked.

“You must understand,” Keating glared. “the Carmichael Corporation expects every man to share the same morale system. We want a unified front; a collective conscience per say.”

“Alright,” Elijah accepted. “What are these shared values?”

“There are the equitable ideals like marrying a woman of the same class, having an abundance of children, and being a member of good standing at multiple prestigious clubs.”

Elijah sighed to himself quietly while still maintaining eye contact, disappointed in these old-fashioned beliefs.

“At the Carmichael Corporation, we also have intimate objectives that stand high above the others. You must want to move upwards on the corporate ladder. You must want to fully commit yourself to your work. You must want to embody everything a man should be: big, strong, soon to be rich. You must want to be every title a man should own: sportsman, fraternity brother, and avaricious. You want money, do you not?”

“Yes,” Elijah confirmed deliberately. “I want money.” This brought a greedy sneer spread to Keating’s face. Elijah felt like a low, deep, and great truth had awoke inside him. Luckily, the Carmichael Corporation’s principles had aligned perfectly to his own.

“Very good.” Keating eyes also seemed to grin wildly. “Now, two imperative adjustments I would personally like to make. The first is your name.”

“My name?” Elijah opposed.

“Yes, you will need something stronger, more outdated to establish yourself as a man of the Carmichael Corporation. Is that not true?”

“Yes, I do believe that to be true,” Elijah suddenly affirmed. “Please tell me what you think my name should be.”

“Your name is not the only dilemma however, but also your nationality,” Keating resumed. “I believe a British origin would give you a brilliant presence. More mannerful, much more respectable, and it would help establish you as a leading man. Plus, a legacy will give you generational value. What do you think?”

“I-”

“But,” Keating cut off before Elijah could even attempt to reply. “I should not be bashful in saying that you already represent all those factors. Care to agree, Emerson Foley Gillingham-Smyth?”

“Most certainly,” Emerson acknowledged accordingly in a pretentious accent. He was a diligent, hard-working, and prosperous Brit, and those were only the first words that came to his head. Some may have called him smug and arrogant, but he was really just confident and self-assured. He resembled the epitome of a real man, as displayed by his stunning suit that contrasted his tanned skin eloquently. His dark, chestnut hair and beard also gave off a shocking amount of masculinity. Just the thought of himself and his own superiority made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 9-inch mast. He was by no means a repulsive sodomite, but he could admit a handsome man when he saw one. And he was a handsome man.

“So what do you convey, Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.?” Emerson began, taking a stand with his Size 15 feet planted firmly beneath him. “Do you believe I could become a Junior Associate at the Carmichael Corporation.”

“By all means,” Keating replied, getting up and extending a hand forward. “You’ll be a fashionable fit.” They gave a single sturdy shake before finishing their business. While heading towards the exit, they held a light conversation about stocks, each having grabbed a business edition of the Times along the way. 

Gripping the paper tightly as they drifted away from the park, Emerson felt almost restless. The idea of stripping away that atrocity of a park to add in a new, profitable site was so thrilling it was mildly arousing. After his success here, Emerson knew he would receive a promotion, which pleased him mightily. Making their way across a boulevard, Emerson watched the Carmichael Corporation’s headquarters come into view, the place where he knew he would accomplish everything he desired.

[the-ace-with-spades]

little snippet from a buddie outsider pov future fic that i probably won't ever finish because its part 3 of a series, or aka the Bobby-fication of Buck

"I was told to report to Captain Diaz?"

The man, with Diaz clearly written on his name tag, stares. It's not the most friendly of stares but it's not that kind of a stare and Kori had his fair share of them as a brown boy who consistently used public transport and worked night shifts. He'd expected to have a welcome that wasn't the warmest but he at least wanted some kind of verbal acknowledgment. 

Well, this is awkward, he thinks, why is he not saying anything?

Kori woke up bright and early today, excited and anxious for his first day, over an hour before his alarm started blasting, and then made sure he had his bag packed with all the essentials he would need on a twenty-four shift. Four different sets of clothes, five meals in Tupperware, protein bars, a book, headphones, towel, shampoo and shower gel, the basic firefighting manual from the academy and his paramedic textbooks. He prepared to be too prepared rather than embarrass himself by asking to borrow shampoo on his first day.

He arrived at the firehouse via Uber because public transport in LA couldn't be reliable and he also couldn't afford a car and then he had stood panicked on the side of the truck bay for about fifteen minutes before checking his email again for the right names — Captain Diaz, 118 Ladder Company — all along to the schedule in his head.

And now the guy, he's just—standing there. Staring at Kori like he's debating whether he should eat him alive or roast in the oven beforehand.

The thing is, Kori knows he’s disappointing for a firefighter. He’s barely five foot seven, five foot six without the boots, really, and he’s lean and slim, in a way that would make some people doubt whether he can carry a person out of a burning building — he can — and he’s, well, he’s average.

But the One-Eighteen is stuck with him for the year, he might be average and disappointing, it just doesn’t matter. Because they are stuck with him.

He still hasn’t seen Firefighter Buckley.

"Are you Captain Diaz?"

He looks a bit young, for a captain, but he is pretty sure there have been younger ones in the history of LAFD. And Diaz is a common surname, in California, or common enough that it wouldn’t be impossible to have two people with it in the firehouse even if still a bit improbable.

"Oh," he says, looking down at the nametag on his chest, finally noticing where Kori's been glancing at the whole time. "Sorry, kid, that would be my husband. I'm Lieutenant Paramedic Diaz."

Kori, he must admit to himself, blinks at him like he had just spoken in Mandarin and not English. Because there are two Diazes in the firehouse. And both of them are his officers. And they’re married.

The—The lieutenant crosses his arms over his chest, puffing up like a peacock, and narrows his eyes. “Do we have a problem?”

“No, sir,” he says, immediately. “I didn’t know they allowed married couples to work together, that’s all.”

The lieutenant still looks at him like he's trying to assess the deepest secrets of his soul and raises one eyebrow at him like he expects a fight but his shoulders fall slightly. He's, uhm, very handsome, even this angry, in that foxy dad kind of way that Kori's never been interested in but knew it was a thing.

"My husband and I worked together for seven years before we married, I think we've proved we can stay professional," he says and it sounds a bit like a threat. "He's in the office downstairs. You should report to him before you're late to your first shift."

He smiles but Kori has a feeling it's a mean smile.

Kori does go back downstairs, passes the rest of the loft and walks past the kitchen where he sees three other firefighters, quietly eating breakfast. The conversation stops and they all collectively look up at him. He probably should say something or wave or anything so it's not awkward but no, he just speed-walks into the narrow corridor that — he hopes — leads to the offices.

He passes two doors before he finds the right one. There is a brand new plate hanging on the side of it, shiny and not dusty at all, with Capt. Diaz and Lt. Diaz written on it and the door is wide open — someone is in the closet in the back, from what it seems, going over documents or something that makes a similar rustling sound. Kori moves into the doorframe, going for a knock, when he realizes.

There's no door. Nothing, just an empty door frame with taped down hinges. There's no way for him to knock.

He clears his throat as loudly as he can.

There are two desks inside, one with a brand new plate of Capt. Diaz and one with slightly less shiny Lt Diaz on it. It looks like any other office, slightly bare on the shelves but also full of diplomas and official pictures of past officers hanging on the walls. There's also a framed drawing made by an elementary school kid, or Kori guessed it was an elementary school kid, of a firefighter in bunker gear, dead center on the wall behind the captain's desk, and a couple of photos of what he assumes is the station's crew, all in their dress uniforms — he can't see it very well.

The captain's desk is full, with another frame standing on the edge, three pencil holders filled to the brim, multiple kinds of colorful stationery, and stacks of documents and folders cluttering the countertop. There's even a freaking fidget spinner on it — he hasn't seen one since freshman year in high school. It's a mess but Kori knows that even being a probationary firefighter would mean way too much paperwork for a job that was technically blue collar. The new captain wasn't just a new captain, he was also newly-qualified to be a captain so Kori suspects he probably is barely keeping up with the forms and documents as of right now — it's a learning curve.

The lieutenant's desk also holds a couple of frames but there's only a small pencil case and a neatly arranged stack of folders lying in an even more neatly arranged corner.

And wow. That's Firefighter Buckley, even more awe-inspiring than he was eleven years ago

He looks at Kori with a half-smile stuck on his face but with a frown on his forehead. There are wrinkles around his eyes, forming like laughter lines. He tilts his head and Kori thinks—Kori thinks this is it, he remembers me, he—

"Khorshed Patwari, was it?" he asks and his grin looks the same, almost — there’s more wrinkles, around his eyes and on his forehead, and his face seems a bit softer, but it’s like a memory refresher. "Am I pronouncing it right?"

It's stupid — Firefighter Buckley saved probably hundreds if not thousands of people, he's been a firefighter for at least twelve years, probably, and Kori is just one of those faces he had seen for a minute or two. Easily forgotten. Average. It's understandable that he doesn't remember him, he would probably be more surprised if he did remember him.

"Everyone calls me Kori," he says, after clearing his throat. He knows he’s gaping like a fish, a bit, but he can’t help it — Firefighter Buckly looks almost unchanged and he can’t believe he’s here.

"With the h?"

He blinks. "Sorry?"

"Do you keep the h in Kori?" he clarified, huffing a small chuckle out.  "I want to know how to spell it correctly in the future."

"Just Kori, uhm, K-O-R-I, is okay," he explains, still star-struck.

"Uhm," he says eloquently. "I'm looking for Captain Diaz? I was supposed to report to him?"

"That would be me," Firefighter Buckley says and—Oh. He’s a captain and he’s—he’s married to a man that’s the station's lieutenant. He's not really Firefighter Buckley anymore, is he? "Although most people just call me Buck, or Cap, if you really must."

[sunny-ssunset]

Pretty in pink!

Yandere South park x Girly! Fem! Reader

divider by stephaniesydney on deviantart

Chapter six

♡Its quite short, But to make up for it I'm planning a huge chapter regarding the party ;)

Masterlist!

TAGLIST: @giyusdarling @wowowpx

"Stan I missed you so much!" Y/n's sickly sweet voice ran out as she flung herself on Stan. He catches her with a grin and reddened cheeks. "I missed you too gorgeous.." Stan looks at her his eyes filled with love, shame she can't do the same.

"Aww! How sweet." Y/n smiles, "Hey I'm having a party this weekend, Do you think you could bring me so-" "Yes." Stan interupted eargerly. He hasn't been to Y/n's house before, He'd give all the weed he could to see where Y/n sleeps.

"Aww!! Thanks baby!" Y/n's eyes beamed, inviting him into a kiss, Stan eagerly accepting, making a small noise as the kiss deepened. Y/n pulled back, cleaning up her smudged lipstick, smiling back at Stan's lovestruck face.

Y/n smiled, she loved the attention, she deserved it. She was such a good girl. "You can come to the party." She smiled blankly, "As long as you bring some weed, So you promise right?"

"I'll do anything to see your house"

"Yeah, my dads kinda desperate with me acting like a 'normal kid' I'm sure he'll give me some" Stan smirked, bashfully looking into Y/n's eyes.

"Thank you Stan." Y/n stared blankly.

The two spent the evening together, cuddling and watching movies. Y/n thought the least it was the least she could do, pretend to like him for some weed, An average occurance at this point. Its funny what people will do for her attention. Hilarious actually, She'd spend hours laughing to her reflection. I mean someone so ugly could get people weak in the knees at her touch, ITS SO FUNNY!

Meanwhile, Wendy looked into her broken mirror, Tears flowing down her face, How stupid was she to think someone like Y/n could like someone her. It had to be done. She will be better than Y/n The new and inproved Y/n. She'll show Y/n what she is missing, Y/n deserves to be friends with Wendy. Not the other way around.

dividers by @k1ssyoursister