#just fits him…..and his voice and his scruffy face and his rough hands….

[ghostbeam]

oz….wolfwood calling you little lady…..,..,..OUGH

Cielo I Am Thinking very hard abt it ESPECIALLY older wolfwood……obviously the “old man” nickname comes very easily….all the jokes abt his age…teasing him in bed abt not wanting him to hurt himself which makes him go harder to prove that he still has the stamina….all that good stuff

But it’s also so fun to think abt him bringing attention to ur age sometimes…..always lamenting abt why a pretty young thing like u even likes him….he probably already feels a little strange abt it but calling u his little lady…..teasing u that way…using that pet name in a specific tone as a warning when u get a little too bratty……MUCH TO THINK ABOUT.

[darylssunshine]

Late Night Impulse

summary: you and sonny fucking in a public bathroom

word count: 1.1k

a/n: he's all I can think about rn I couldn't resist

~~~

The LED “Budlight” sign flickered in your peripheral, but your eyes were fixed on a man in the corner of the bar. It was a little past two in the morning, and no one was in the grimey, down-town bar except for you and the man across the room. You’re pretty sure that even the bartender had fucked off at some point. Normally you would feel uncomfortable in a situation like this, but something about the man was intriguing to you.

His hair was long and tangled looking, but still somehow looked soft to the touch. He had a beard that was as out of control as his brunette hair and was wearing orange tinted sunglasses. He was wearing a leather jacket adorned with dozens of patches that fit him just right, and he was currently casually sitting in the corner of his booth, taking a long drag of his cigarette. Smoke emitted from his nose and mouth as he exhaled, now looking back at you, feeling your gaze on him. You looked away out of embarrassment, and you could hear the man huff in amusement.

After several minutes of contemplation, you proceeded with your plan, now that you were lucky enough that he even acknowledged you. As you slid off your bar stool and stood, he took a long look at you, the sunglasses now propped on the top of his head. He eyed you up and down, taking note of your delicious looking figure, eyebrows raised.

With a jerk of your head, you gestured to the communal bathroom, all while staring at his striking blue eyes.

Without a word, you turned to the bathroom and pushed the door open. Leaning against the far wall, you worried that the man wouldn’t accept the offer and think that you’re a creep looking for a quick fuck. I mean, you did want to get fucked, but not just by anybody. The way his heavy-lidded eyes drank you in just moments ago made you feel something you haven’t felt in a while.

You waited in that exact position for several minutes, and nothing. A feeling of guilt and embarrassment gradually rose inside of your gut, feeling stupid for thinking that a stranger would just blindly take that offer. But as you pushed yourself off the wall to leave, your eyes flicked up to the door, finally opening, revealing the scruffy mess that you were just ogling at. He crossed his arms, leaned against the wall near the door, and smirked. “Hey, doll face.”

You were stunned, eyes now widened.

“Like what ya see? That why ya were starin’?”

You didn’t even realize that your feet were moving you closer to him. “Mhm.”

He watches you, unmoving, when you unbutton your pants and slide them down to the floor, removing them along with your shoes and kicking both to the side. He licked his lips, eyeing your bare thighs.

“Ya want me that bad, huh?”

You nodded shakily, your doe eyes pleading.

He took one last look at your lips before suddenly latching onto them, hungrily adding tongue and biting your lip in the process. The sudden contact had you moaning into the stranger's mouth, Your hands roamed his body, rubbing over his biceps and settling on his firm waist.

You yelped when you felt his rough hands roughly grab your ass and lift you onto the sink counter. Your breathing quickened when you heard the familiar jingling sound of a belt buckle being removed and tossed onto the floor haphazardly. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, desperate to deepen the touch of the beautiful stranger. Your soft moans echoed throughout the bathroom.

“Where’s that boldness ya had out there, huh?” He grumbled deeply in your ear, thoroughly amused by your reaction to your wants not being immediately fulfilled.

“Yer so goddamn needy.” His voice got impossibly lower and harshly bit your ear lobe.

A whine bubbled up in your throat. He knew exactly what got you going, and he had just met you.

“Name’s Sonny. Beg for it.”

Your eyes could’ve rolled into the back of your head just from that comment alone, or from the way he was slowly lowering your panties just enough to gain access to your aching cunt.

“Sonny, please… please fuck me…” The words died on your tongue, mind fogging up with lust.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

The waistband of his pants and underwear were then harshly pulled down to his ankles, freeing his hard length. Your eyes were locked in place, shamelessly staring. Especially when he spit on his large, calloused hand and proceeded to stroke himself.

Your chest heaved when he teased your overly-sensitive folds.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin ya.”

A cross between a scream and a moan ripped through you when he relentlessly entered you, taking no time to stretch you out.

White knuckle gripping the marble counter below, you threw your head back in overwhelming pleasure, bordering on pain. His hands gripped the counter right beside yours, his thick cock pounding into you at a dizzying rhythm, using you. Unholy wailing was bouncing off the ceramic tiles.

You were his own personal fuck toy.

“Look at ya, fuckin’ takin’ it. Dirty little whore.”

No thoughts were entering your light-headed brain. Incoherent babbling was the only thing coming out of your cock-drunk mouth.

“Sonny… fuck!” You eventually breathed out.

You gasped when you suddenly felt his lips to your neck, moaning even more at the suction and the eventual teeth. You clenched around him, feeling yourself getting close.

“Sonny… I’m… ah!” You stammered. The only response you got was heavy grunting, signaling that he was also on the precipice. He gripped the wall beside you to brace himself with a harsh smack, startling you in the process.

Your moans of rising decibels sounded throughout the bathroom as he shot hot ropes of cum into your womb. He rode you through your high, his pace slowing.

Once you were done seeing stars, you instinctually rested your head on his chest, body feeling incredibly limp at the moment. Nothing was heard for a long moment except your shared heavy breathing, then you lifted your head with great effort to look him in the eyes. You moved a stray hair out of his eyes and said “Name’s (Y/N), by the way.”

He huffed in amusement and rolled his eyes, carefully pulling out of you and putting his jeans and belt back on.

He then ripped off a singular paper towel and started writing something on it with the pen he had in his jean pocket holding the cap in his mouth while he was doing so. Once he was finished scribbling, he folded the towel, handed it to you with his pointer and middle finger, and strolled out the door.

Brows furrowing, you unfolded the paper towel.

“XXX-XXX-XXXX Call me, sweetheart. Dinner? And, I want to hear you scream my name again. ;)”

[pitviperofdoom]

Jongerry prompt: reunion after one thought the other was dead?

Tim wasn’t sure what to make of the guy. 

They met in an awkward almost-collision at the institute’s front door, Tim rearing back in surprise, the other flinching away from the sudden movement. He was lanky, and probably would’ve been tall without the permanent slouch to his spine. His hair was a dull shade of mousy brown, and looked like it had been hacked short with kitchen scissors. His clothes hung loose and ill-fitting on his body. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Tim took a wild guess. “Here to make a statement?” he asked.

The man grimaced. “Maybe later.”

“I’d make it quick if I were you,” Tim chuckled, holding the door open for him. “Jon was in a good mood before lunch, and those don’t tend to last long.”

Halfway through the door, the man froze. “Who?”

“Jon Sims, the head archivist,” Tim said carefully. “He’s the one who takes statements, so…”

“Oh.” The man’s face was blank. “He’s… that’s… down in the archives, yeah?”

“I can show you how to get there?” Tim offered. Whatever statement this guy had, it must have been rough.

"Sure, thanks," the guy said distractedly.

In spite of the accepted offer, the guy quickly pulled ahead, and Tim found himself trailing behind as the scruffy stranger led the way to the basement stairs. Before long, he was jogging to keep up.

That was why, when the man suddenly stopped at the top of the steps, Tim crashed straight into his back.

"Hey, what did you—"

A hand closed tight around his arm, stopping him from shouldering past. The man had gone still, staring intently down the steps. There was nothing to see except the bottom of the stairs, and the mouth of the hallway that led to the archives.

"Smell that?"

Confused, Tim sniffed. At first all he could smell was dust and old paper, but then, beneath it, as if carried on a draft, came a familiar musty, wet stench.

"Damn worms," He muttered. "We've had a bit of an infestation—dunno if you saw them on your way in—"

"I'm gonna need you to shut up and go back outside," the man interrupted. "Maybe pull the fire alarm on your way out, get everyone out of the building."

"Excuse me?" Tim demanded. The man was already releasing him and moving on, so Tim grabbed him before he could make it two more steps. "Hey, what the hell are you—"

"Listen." The man turned, deftly winching his arm out of Tim’s grip. "I have had a very long day. I was hoping it would end with a long shower, a change of clothes, and a minimum twenty-minute hug from someone who means the world to me. Instead, there's something very nasty down there that I need to deal with. Kindly piss off."

Tim's blood ran cold. "You—you mean Prentiss is—" He stopped. He had a million questions, but maybe just this once they could wait. "My friends are down there."

The man spared a moment to look, if possible, even more exhausted than before. "Great. Fine. Stay close and don't fuck me."

***

Tim's head swam with the gas. His body felt strangely detached as he heaved the fire extinguisher against the wall, again and again until he felt the plasterboard give way. His strange companion drew back as if preparing to do a run-up, and Tim hurled himself into the space and finally broke through.

His first view into the dimly lit storage room was of three familiar faces with varying levels of shock, alarm, and growing relief.

"Hey, guys!" Tim gasped out.

Sasha was already struggling to her feet; Tim was about to go in for a hug when he was roughly shoved out of the way. A gas canister landed on the floor with a heavy thunk as the stranger lurched his way past Tim.

A strangled cry broke the shocked silence, and it took Tim a moment to realize it had come from Jon. His friend was sitting on the floor, propped up against a stack of boxes, one leg wrapped in bloodstained bandages. He stared at the man in blank, silent shock.

The stranger moved as if to lunge, but stopped when Jon held up a shaking hand.

"Wait." Jon's voice broke. He was fumbling something out of his pocket, wincing when the movement jarred his leg. "Wait, just—" 

"Mmhm," the man said in a strangled voice, fidgeting but staying where he was.

Jon finally wrestled his wallet out of his pocket, ripped it open, and pulled out a photo—a Polaroid? His eyes flickered between it and the man standing over him.

The wallet fell to the floor. With a sudden burst of energy, Jon heaved himself upright, and managed to stand for all of a second before his leg gave out and sent him pitching forward. The man caught him before he could fall and yanked him into a hug.

"What the fuck, Gerry," Jon choked out.

Sasha was eyeballing Tim frantically, but all Tim could do was shrug back.

"I'm sorry," the man—Gerry—mumbled, face buried in the side of Jon's neck.

"I thought—she told me that you—" Jon stared blankly over Gerry's shoulder, looking at the others without seeing them. "Where have you been?"

"Couple of hunters picked up our trail in the woods in Pennsylvania," Gerry answered. "We split up. They caught me. Didn't kill me, just… didn't let me leave either. Sorry I didn't contact you right when I escaped, I just—I was afraid I'd get your hopes up and get killed on the way home."

In the silence that followed, Martin let out a strangled "Um."

Jon jumped, and his teary eyes focused back on them. "Oh. Right. Er." He tried to pull back, without much success since Gerry was the only thing keeping him upright. "E-everyone, this is Gerry."

"You just finished telling us he was dead," said Sasha.

"Yes, well." Jon managed a watery smile. "I've been wrong before."

"We had a moment about it."

"Right." Without warning, Gerry reached down and swung Jon up into his arms in a bridal carry, ignoring Jon's squawk of protest. "Let's go. We can talk later—and we will be talking later—"

"Gerry!"

"Seriously, I turn around and you're fighting the Corruption with fire extinguishers, and you're the bloody Archivist."

"Put me down, you absolute—"

"No, you've got holes in your leg." Gerry shouldered past Tim and stepped back into the tunnel, carrying a disgruntled Jon with little apparent effort. "You three coming, or what?"

[pascallllllll1]

The Happiest Place On Earth

Request: “Hi can I request a one shot where reader and Pedro Pascal have a daughter named Esmeralda? They go to Disney for the first time, they dress her up in a Grogu costume and go visit the Mando and everybody go crazy to see Pedro and his daughter.”

Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: follows the request above, I also made reader pregnant. Lots of fluff. Esmeralda’s age wasn’t specified so I made her like 4/5?

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: pregnancy, suggests smut but no actual smut.

Packing the last of the necessary items you’ll need for the day ahead in your backpack, you zip up the bag and readily set it by the front door of your room. Esmeralda had specifically requested that daddy book her in the fairytale suite so she could get her beauty rest like a real princess and being wrapped around her tiny finger Pedro went online later that day to book said room. The room your growing family of three is currently getting ready in. Cressessing your small bump you cross the room approaching your struggling husband who’s trying to fight your five year old into putting sunscreen on.

“NO DADDY!” She screeches, resisting his best efforts to apply the cream to her face and ears. 

“Princesa please, the quicker we finish this up the sooner we can leave and check out all the cool stuff.” He attempts to reason with her. Stubborn times such as this one remind you exactly how alike you both are, your living breathing karma of what you put your own parents through. You decide to throw Pedro a bone and come to his long awaited rescue. You fake gasp obnoxiously loud to catch your daughters attention;

“Oh. My. Gosh. Guess who I just found out is here?!” You ask Esmeralda dramatically, squatting eye level with her. Pedro laughs and moves over to make room for you next to him.

“Who?!” She asks, eyes widening in excitement.

“Grogu and Mando!!” You exclaim jumping up and bouncing around. Esmeralda screams at the information and launches herself forward tacking Pedro with a huff.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US DADDY!!!!”

“Careful,” You playfully chastise her. “Daddy’s getting old can’t be as rough with him or he’ll break on us.” You joke causing Esmeralda to throw her head back and fall over sideways exaggeratedly in a fit of laughter.

“I was gonna say sorry and give you your surprise mi hija but not if you two meanies are ganging up on me!” He pouts.

“Aw I’m sorry baby.” You coo, coming up to him to cup his face and kissing the patchy bald spot you love oh so much on his scruffy jaw.

“I promise to make you feel better later.” You whisper low enough for his ears only. Pedro closes his eyes and groans at your hidden meaning before standing to his full height and making his way over to his bag to dig for Esmeralda’s surprise. When he returns she’s waiting patiently trying to get a peak at plastic wrapped, outfit? tucked behind his back.

“IT’S A GROGU COSTUME!!!!!—“

“Wowww, inside voice please! I know it’s very exciting hun but there’s other people in the building.-“ He leans forward swooping Esmeralda up in his arms so she could further inspect the outfit.

“Sorry, daddy.”

“Thank you for apologising hun, it’s alright.” God he’s so patient and caring with her. Every time you witness this paternal side of Pedro feels like a gift. You really are the luckiest woman in the world blessed with the most loving, doting husband who excels at fatherhood beyond your wildest dreams and taking to it like a fish to water. This is it. Everything you’ve ever wished for is currently giggling to each other while dressing in the adorable costume. Your beautiful family, that soon but not nearly soon enough your baby boy will be joining.

“What do you think mommy, am I pretty?” Esmeralda asks, twirling around in a circle on one foot then posing with her hands on her hips. The large floppy green ears bounce and swing with every movement, she’s drowning in the baggy brown fabric of the robe, her bright pink converse sneakers peeking out from underneath, and wears a smile that says she’s never been happier.

“I think you look gorgeous baby, right daddy?” You ask teasingly, trying but ultimately failing to hold back a smirk. He crosses his arms and huffs. He’ll get you back for all your teasing later.

“Si te ves muy hermosa hija.” Pedro confirms smiling.

***

You follow and observe from behind while pushing Esmeralda’s wagon stroller as she leads your husband hand in hand through the bustling crowds towards the Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge attractions.

“Where would you like to go first, sweet girl?” Pedro asks, drawing Esmeralda’s wandering gaze to himself.

“I wanna make a lightsaber!!” She exclaims jumping up and down, her big ears slapping her face as she does causing both you and Pedro to laugh.

“Of course, let’s go head over there to… Black Spire Outpost.” He says pointing at the entrance of the workshop.

While Pedro pays for Esmeralda to do the activity you stand with your daughter admiring the beautifully staged rock cavern you're in. You’ve always loved and appreciated the Star Wars universe and its beauty. So many people and stories to explore within it that could continue going on infinitely. A warmth blossoms in your chest thinking about Pedro getting to be a part of that. He’d introduced everyone to a new character and without facial expression, only body language and tone of voice showed us the many layers and personality of The Mandalorian, Din Djarin. You are so insanely proud of him.

A kiss on your cheek and a hand drawing small circles on your belly brings you back to the present.

“Ok we’re all set, vamos!” Pedro announces giddily to which is met by loud cheers from your daughter.

The group you're with is small, usually that’s a positive but at the moment with such few faces amongst everyone to look at, your husbands very pretty and recognizable one is just that, more recognizable. You meet one of Savi’s Gatherers outside his workshop and Esmeralda chooses between four different hilts to build her lightsaber with, all having a different theme. Peace and Justice. Power and Control. Element Nature. Protection Defence. After hard consideration she diligently comes to the conclusion of choosing the Element Nature hilt which embodies the force, but mainly because she thought it was the coolest looking.

Next for the activity Esmeralda gets to choose a Kyber crystal, picking between red, blue, green and violet she confidently swipes the violet crystal.

“Now we get to put it together mommy!” She says smiling up at you with her crystal on display then runs to assemble the lightsaber with the help of her father. The process of putting everything together thankfully didn’t take long and in no time Esmeralda was wielding a blade of her own. By now you could feel the stares from those around you multiplying and you grab Pedro’s hand to signal his attention;

“Baby I think people are starting to notice who you are.” You speak quietly into his ear, playing it off like a playful kiss. He glances around inconspicuously and realises you’re right.

“Hey princesa, how ‘bout we go find some snacks, daddy’s getting hungry. Sound good babe?” He turns his head patiently waiting for confirmation from you. You peck his lips and respond with a, sounds good, and move to start making your way to the cantina cafe.

***

“Hi! could I get three small blue milks.. two roasted pork wrap Ronto Roasters and.. one grilled sausage, please!” You smile up at the cashier, she confirms your order and you tap your card on the scanner to pay then move closer to your family while you wait.

“Three small blue mills!” You grab your drinks thanking the worker and pass Esmeralda her own. She’s off in her own little world enthralled by the new strange drink.

“Babe,” Pedro says, getting your attention, then thanking you when you hand him his cup. You look up at him, eyebrows raising in question.

“People are starting to take photos and record, it’s only a matter of time before they start coming up to me-“

“-Two roasted pork wraps and one grilled sausage wrap!” Pedro sighs, moving over to grab the food, smiling at and thanking the worker again. He passes the food out and Esmeralda continues to zone out of yours and Pedro’s conversation and focus on the food set in front of her.

“How about you and Esmeralda finish up here and head towards a gift shop, I know she wants to grab some stuff for home. I’ll go use the washroom and walking around alone gives the fans some time to approach me without interfering with family time. I’ll come meet up with you both after a few photos.”

“Works with me.” You agree, smiling.

“Esmeralda, you wanna go space shopping while daddy goes pee?” The question has her snapping her head up at you and rushing to clean up her mess from eating.

“Ya! Ya! Let’s go, mommy!” She reaches for your hand not being used to push the stroller to hold and moves to leave, yelling over her shoulder to her dad;

“Don’t pee your pants, daddy! Mommy won’t be there to clean you up!” Pedro lets out an obnoxiously loud belly laugh that makes you giggle back at him before letting your daughter pull you down the path towards the promise of toys. After you and Esmeralda leave Pedro unwrap his food and scarfs it down quickly on his way to the washroom.

Esmeralda spends 20 minutes sorting through the many different options to bring home with her in Dok-Ondar’s Den of Antiquities. By the time the two of you make it up to the cash register she’s piling shirts, stuffies, one lanyard, a handful of pins and a few toys onto the checkout counter. When you paid the outrageous cost for her small hoard of items you tried to reason with yourself that it was Esmeralda’s first trip to Disney, special occasion means special treatment, right? As you’re walking out of the shop you spot Pedro finishing up with some fans a few feet ahead of you. Immediately, Esmeralda spots her daddy and is rushing over to him and jumping up into his arms.

“Daddy! I wanna show you all my new toys!” The group of people now forming around Pedro laugh and gush over your precious daughter, commenting on how much she resembles him. Esmeralda, like her father, soaks up with attention like a sponge and loves every second of it. As far as she’s concerned this group of people are for her and not her father. They all adore her Grogu outfit and one person tells Pedro he should’ve dressed as Mando to match.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet all of you and I’m sorry I can’t stick around longer but I have to get back to my family now. Everyone have a good time and enjoy yourselves!“ Pedro waves and smiles to everyone, carrying Esmeralda back over to you and continuing on in a new direction.

“How was that?” You ask him curiously. He turns to you and huffs out a breath;

“Good. I love getting to meet and interact with my fans, I wouldn’t be anywhere without their support. But sometimes I wish I could draw that line of time and place a little more clearly to them, ya know.” He shares with you. You nod in agreement and wrap an arm around his waist to comfort him.

“Yeah, I get it.” You say staring up at him. He leans down and softly kisses your lips letting them hover after.

“Ew! No kissing!” Esmeralda gasps grossed out before falling into a fit of laughter. Pedro attacks your face in kisses to bug her more and all you can do is laugh and enjoy this time with your family.

“Ok! Ok! Ah, ok!! Let’s go check out something else, huh?” You question both the Pascal’s before you.

“Falcon one next!”

“To the Millennium Falcon, vamos mi familia!!!” Pedro shouts with a loud clap of his hands.

The three of you spent the rest of the day exploring the galaxy via rides and interactive activities, gorging yourselves on as many sweet treats as your bodies could handle. Later that night you’d reward your husband and show him how much you appreciated what a perfect father and spouse he was. Meanwhile twitter and Instagram would become flooded with photos of your family adventuring Disney, Esmeralda as Grogu causing fans to go wild.



Open to requests!!

[ely--sia]

03: amor vincit omnia

amor vincit omnia - love conquers all; miguel o'hara x reader fantasy au in which miguel is a powerful, famed knight of the queen and you are but a lowly commoner he rescues out of the blue… and you learn more about your savior, who is not as solitary as he likes to make himself seem to be.

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

you only realize you had fallen asleep when you find yourself waking up. your eyes burn as you fight to keep them open. they are so swollen, most likely due to your crying last night. your voice feels foreign to you in your own throat as you let out a groan, hands rubbing your eyes. a quick looking around tells you that you are not out of the forest yet. the horse moves at a slower pace than yesterday. the sun is rising now, but there is still a grayness cast in the forest. you can feel the moisture of the midnight fog now dissipating on your face, licking at your cheeks like a frenzied puppy. this combined with the uncomfortable feeling of being on a horse makes you wake up fully, coming to your surroundings.

the events of last night hit you again, and there is an emptiness in you when you remember them. but it is no longer the heavy emptiness that you had felt last night. instead, it feels as though someone had taken away the guilt, the shame, and the regret. there is a certain lightness to it. and maybe someone had taken them away. maybe this was the village people’s final gift to you. now, there is only the emptiness left to deal with, one that is solely yours. it is not comfortable to bear that weight still, but you are grateful that it no longer weighs down on you like the weight of a thousand skies. you notice that the knight is still holding you tight as he had last night, swearing that he would not let you fall. usually, this gesture would have warmed your cheeks, made your heart beat a little quicker, but right now, still caught up in the haze of sleep and memory, you find yourself too preoccupied to even process it fully.

“finally awake,” he grunts. his tone is now rough again, the sympathy from last night nowhere to be seen. yet, there is a slight softness to it, to him, that is almost undetectable, “we’re nearly there,” he keeps his sentences short.

you nod. your throat is so scratchy and dry, you could not have replied properly even if you had tried. if there is one thing you notice about him, it is that he is a grumpy man. then again, if you had burned an entire village the night before and had spent the entire night racing back home on horseback, you think you would also be grumpy as well. still, some hospitality would be nice. all around you, you can hear the first creatures begin to wake up. the air smells of morning. it is a scent that you cannot describe, yet you know deep inside that it is the smell of the sun rising and the world waking up, of the moon letting out a final sigh as the sky bids her farewell. it is cold as it enters your nose, burning your lungs. in the distance, you can see the trees beginning to thin out.

you can feel the knight take a breath before shouting an order to the rest of his men.

“stay here. i’ll be back,” he barks, and then he hesitates for a while before coming to a decision, “peter, follow me.”

you peer back to see who peter is. the man that is presumably peter is lanky and scruffy. he is also older, with a few wrinkles and smile lines adoring his face. his eyes twinkle with the peace of a man who could not want anything more than he already had. all in all, peter looks as though he is more fit to be a poet rather than a seasoned warrior, but you know better than to doubt his skills. the warriors of arborea are renowned for their battle prowess, hand-picked by their ruler, the wotan herself. maybe he is more fit to be a scribe, but he just never had the chance to choose the pen rather than the sword. perhaps he was chosen before he could make the choice himself. a part of you envies this, but there is also pity. choosing is hard: there is always a chance of failure, and sometimes, you wish that the burden of choosing is not yours to carry. and yet, you know that you must carry this burden if you wish to become truly free. it is but a small price in comparison to the magnitude of the reward.

peter begins to move closer atop a beautiful brown horse.

“i knew you would need me,” peter grins.

“shut up,” your knight replies, voice flat.

it does not seem to phase peter at all. they must be great friends, you think to yourself. some day, you wish to have a friendship as special as theirs.

as just the three of you continue forward, the forest flattens out into a clearing until you can see the beginnings of a small city. it is nothing like the rural town you had just lived in. even in the early morning, people were bustling about already, getting their shops and stalls ready. the entire time, peter does not stop talking. you learn that he is married and has a child, a wee thing, named mayday. his rambling somehow brings peace to your cluttered mind, and you find yourself beginning to listen more intently to him. you do not respond, but the things he says are still very amusing. and the knight’s response, or lack thereof, made it doubly, maybe even triply amusing. the entire time, the knight’s arm is still wrapped around you as tight as it had been the night before.

the horses finally enter the city, warm brown next to midnight black, and people begin to gather at the sides of the road. there are all kinds of people, more than you had ever seen in your entire life living in small towns. they all look in awe at the horses, and, presumably, the two knights. some clap, some wave, some point, and some just stare. peter is a natural amidst all of the admiring gazes of the people. he waves back, smiling and taking in all of the attention, but not in a way that makes you think that he sees himself as better than them. to you, at least, it feels as though he is simply exchanging everyday greetings. however, your knight is the opposite of him, it seems. he does not acknowledge anyone, simply staring straight ahead. his hands remain steady, one around you and the other on the reins. despite this, you know that it is not arrogance. and the people seem to know it too. they are not discouraged by his non-response, even smiling and laughing harder. as for you, you feel strange. you are sitting in front of one of the very people that so many people were praising so openly, yet you are nothing. the emptiness inside you seems to widen a little, swallowing just a little bit more of you inside. you are surrounded by love, yet none of it is for you. you pull the cloak around you tighter. there are more people as you reach the heart of the city, and there are more eyes that stare past you, through you.

perhaps your knight has grown tired of the people around him, or perhaps he notices your discomfort, because he hastens the horse’s gait. whatever the reason is, you know that peter must have noticed it too, because he follows immediately. for a moment, you just travel wordlessly, no one saying anything as the city whirls past you. everything is unfamiliar, from the bright colors to the loud noises to the strange, yet welcoming smells. you do not know what to focus on, so you try and take in everything at once. it is too much, and you end up not taking in anything at all. it slips through the fingers of your mind like a minnow in a pond evading the relentless hands of a child.

then, peter speaks up.

“what’s your name?” he says, voice light.

finally, someone acknowledges your presence. you had not even realized that you had been longing for someone to give you attention too. you think that you are selfish for thinking that, but you cannot stop the wisp of happiness nor the small smile on your lips as you look back and tell him your name.

“stop talking,” the deep voice behind you snaps, and then quickly turns apologetic, “wait, not you. you. peter. shut up.”

his awkwardness makes a small laugh escape you. you could feel his arm tense as soon as he realized he had not specified to whom he had barked the order to. maybe he is not as mean as he tries to make himself be. he is just rough. and awkward. a smile plasters itself onto your face at that thought. you do not know what normal is, but you think, you hope, that this is what it feels like.

you look around and see that the crowds of people surrounding the pavement are now more sparse. ahead of you, there is a large manor, one that you had imagined that the princes and princesses from your mother’s old stories had lived out their happily-ever-afters in. the manor is majestic. the roof is tiled with brilliant blue, and the cream walls are lined with more windows than you think you can count. surrounding it, you see lush, green, clearly well-maintained gardens and hedges. you catch yourself feeling envious as you wonder who the owner is. you also wonder why the knight had purposefully come here by himself, leaving the rest of his men (minus peter) in the forest. the giant gate guarding the manor opens and the guards bow. here, the horses break into a full gallop and no one stops the three of you.

as you halt in front of the large, looming oak doors of the manor itself, you see that there are people standing in lines in front of the equally large steps. they all bow their heads, welcoming the knights. one stands in front of all the others. she is a woman with choppy orange hair and a wide cheshire grin on her face. you notice that instead of the same working dress that all of the other women are wearing, she is wearing a dress shirt and black pants. she does not have the perfect posture nor the rigidness that is uniform in all of the others.

“miguel! long time no see, huh?” she exclaims as soon as the knight behind you dismounts the horse. her arms are spread wide out, as if welcoming him for a hug. her voice is loud and cheery as well, but in a more boisterous way than peter’s had been.

after an entire night together, you finally learn his name. miguel. you try out each syllable, each sound of his name in your mouth silently. it is undoubtedly new, but it is somehow familiar. then, miguel holds out a hand for you to help you get off too, but you do not know how. yesterday had been your first time on a horse, and now, this is your first time getting off of one. as you glance down towards the ground, you realize just how high you are. miguel senses your hesitation and lets out a harsh breath. miguel is a tall man, taller than you had realized. he wraps his arms around you with ease and puts you on the ground. you cannot help but feel embarrassed for not knowing how to get off of a horse. you feel your cheeks burn slightly.

“sorry,” you say quietly.

miguel does not respond, but he acknowledges you by letting out a soft grunt. peter is standing on the ground now too.

“who’s that? you finally brought home a woman, miggy?” the orange haired woman teases, cheshire grin never fading. she looks at you curiously and you feel even more embarrassed.

home? this was all miguel’s home?

“shut up, lyla,” miguel rolls his eyes so far that you worry that they might become stuck. he then turns his attention to you, “this is lyla.”

miguel introduces you to lyla too, and you are surprised when he introduces you by name. you had thought that miguel was not listening to your brief interaction with peter, but he remembered. your name sounds unfamiliar as it rolls off his tongue, but he says it so effortlessly that anyone else would have thought that he had been saying it for ages. lyla waves at you, still smiling cheesily. you finally take off your cloak and wave back.

“you can stay here for as long as you need. think of it as your new home,” he says to you. despite his kind words, his face and tone does not betray the same warmth. he says it all as if this was the most obvious and easiest thing to offer to you.

“thank you, miguel,” you finally bring yourself to say his name out loud. it rolls off of your tongue easily.

miguel’s eyebrows twitch slightly as he hears you saying his name. he turns away from you and walks towards lyla.

“you have to make sure she stays here, understand? she cannot leave. no one outside of anyone here should even know that she is here. got it?” miguel’s voice is strict and somewhat hushed.

you presume that he had tried his best to make sure that you did not hear, for it was never nice to hear such things, yet he is a big man. it is inevitable that big men make big noises, even when they try not to. being talked about so openly makes you feel embarrassed. you understand that you should have died last night, so you understand why you have to be hidden. however, it still stings. if he had not burned my home down, then maybe, you would not have to be hidden so seriously.

“don’t worry about it too much,” peter walks over to you with a friendly smile, “seriously, he tries to be so mean but he really isn’t.”

“okay. thank you,” you smile back. and you think he is right too.

peter is a nice man, a warm man. there are people that are warm like the summer sun that shines onto your bare skin through the green of the budding trees, and there are people like peter, who are warm like a fireplace. you feel that you will enjoy this fireplace company.

“i’m peter, by the way, but i’m sure you know that by now. peter of the lady wotan’s army, at your service,” he grins, holding out his hand. like miguel’s, you see that it is calloused and rough, but his fingers are far more lithe, long and thin. you once again wonder what else they could have been holding if not the sword.

you are shaking his hand when miguel finishes talking to lyla. he angrily calls peter’s name, already mounted on his horse again. peter grins sheepishly before he bids his farewells to both you and the manor’s workers, then mounts his horse. before the two leave, you swear that you see miguel’s eyes glance back to you briefly. your eyes meet, and in that second, you swear that you see an undecipherable emotion filling the vermillion red. but he is gone all too quick, and all you are left with is the dust left behind by the speeding horses and lyla.

lyla turns to you, toothy grin still present but with a sprinkle of awkward tension.

“sorry about him, he’s always like that. don’t take it to heart,” she says, “anyways, i’m lyla, this is the team,” she pauses to gesture to the people behind her, who are now starting to head back to presumably continue what they were doing, “and we basically do everything around here. i do all of miguel’s stuff other than the actual sword swinging, and they do everything they can to keep the house looking at least presentable.”

“oh,” you say quietly, unsure of what to say. there is too much to unpack with this entire place all belonging to miguel, and lyla’s fast talking does not make anything easier. you take a moment to take everything in, "i'll be in your care," you add. 

“pretty cool, right? and you’re the first woman he’s ever brought home. hooray! maybe he’s finally growing up and i’ll have a wife to share my document duties with,” she laughs loudly. her laugh is loud, like thunder maybe, and it is felt with her entire body. she throws her head back and smiles wide as she does so, “welcome to the o’hara manor.”

she opens the doors and you walk inside alongside her, cautiously. even through the slightly parted doorways, you can see the lavish furnishings inside. it is all unfamiliar to you. as you take your first steps into your new home, you hope that one day, you will find your own place there.

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a/n: woohoooo chapter 3!!!!!! lyla and peter!!!!!!! the story moves so slowly im sory :(( i dont want to write a rushed one!!! please reblog like if u enjoy tysmy<33333

[underwater-i-will-go]

these are my final call to do something so very unwise. or very wise, however you may few it.

(quite a rough one so please proceed with caution)

"WE'RE BACK BABY!"

is yelled through the tunnel. one player that is usually not so vocal is shouting in joy tonight. it's nick. "and a clean sheet too! good job mate!" dan shouts back giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. "you were massive tonight, you were everywhere!" nick hadn't had the pleasure of keeping a clean sheet for a while, first one this season anyway, and the joy of it is practically written all over his face. just when his teammates thought his smile couldn't grow any wider, he spotted kieran by the end of the hall. suddenly, as if everything else around him had become a blur, it was just kieran in his eyes. like a light, glowing. he just stood there chatting with eddie but all nick saw was his aura, noise around him becoming dull, voices unrecognisable as if everyone spoke a foreign language. just kieran, his light.

he wanted to run over to him, pick him up and throw him over his shoulder but although the thing they were having is basically an open secret in the dressing room, they liked the thrill of sharing small glances with each other, the quick kisses when nobody was watching. nick waited for everyone to pass on and return to their own business before slowly making his way over to kieran, who did the same. "not suspicious at all, huh. not noticeable." kieran joked when nick plunged his large body next to kieran on the wall. "just having a chat with my captain, what's suspicious about that?" nick and kieran stood shoulder to shoulder, their kits sticking to one another. "proper wet you are, should probably get in the showers?" nick pointed out. "well it rained, too. not just sweat." kieran exclaimed "but when it bothers you so much i guess i could take a shower." nick shook his head "nah. don't mind it. i do mind it on you, though."

kieran smiled, playing dumb. nick loved that. "huh? come again? what are you trying to say?" nick cupped kieran's face, his thumb slowly drawing circles on his cheek "let's swap kits?" he suggested, kieran's cheeks becoming hotter under his touch. "you wouldn't fit into mine, would you?" nick could feel himself get hard just by the anticipation, kieran's scruffy face scratching his thumb. the air was electrified, maybe it was joy of winning after so many loses, maybe it was just that it had been two weeks since they had last seen each other.

"i could devour you whole, all of you." nick said now looking down straight into kieran's blue eyes, he could tell he felt the same. sometimes this would happen - the two of them suddenly feeling this very intense urge to just get all over each other, other times it's more serene. density, lust. nick's eager to pin kieran up against the wall, right here, right there. barely able to contain himself. kieran no longer cared, the tunnel was empty and the lads had found each other continuing their celebrations in the nearby dressing room. he slapped his hand onto nick's chest, slowly dragging it downwards to his crotch, the palm of his hand covered in the mixture of rain and sweat on nick's body. his mouth opened, inhaling sharply when kieran's hand had arrived at its desired destination.

"i see you can really barely wait, huh?" the look on kieran's face darker, covered in mischief, his breath picking up pace. nick bit his bottom lip, he could feel himself get harder with every little movement kieran's hand made on his cock. kieran felt like jerking him off over his shorts right here and then, but decided against that last minute. "do you think anyone's taking a shower right now?" kieran asked unserious. nick shook his head. "more than unlikely. let's have a look?" the pair made their way over to the showers, not surprised to find absolutely no one around. the door was shut behind them quickly, wondering if they'd ever have just a little more time, they immediately pulled each others strips off, nick pushing kieran's now naked body into the first cubicle around. one final, deep look into each others eyes was followed by their lips colliding almost immediately after. nick turned on the water and their bodies were now more connected than ever - hands all over one another, nick pushing kieran against the wall so hard he could barely breathe, let alone fight him off, not he wanted it. "you're pushing really hard...give me some air..." kieran said when he finally managed to break their kiss, the steam from the hot water making it even harder to breathe. nick smiled "you don't like being pushed around, eh?" kieran shook his head and pushed the taller man down to his knees by his hair "not by you. i'm the leader." nick knew how kieran liked it, had done it many times before. he liked eye contact, he liked the power of it, a man of nick's size underneath him, swallowing his cock whole.

nick's gag reflex had been long gone from the times he'd done this, sometimes he would still cough a little, though. kieran put his hands on the back of nick's head, guiding his cock down his throat slowly, couldn't help himself but let out a little gasp when realising how easily nick took him all the way in, so obedient and eager to please his deepest needs. he kept it there for just a second, not moving, just watching nick's eyes, probably tearing up, the water washing away his tears instantly. he began pushing his cock up and down nick's throat, first slowly, then picking up speed. his hands sometimes lost grip in nick's wet hair, which irritated him. nick noticed that and placed his hands on kieran's ass for support. kieran now practically fucked into his mouth without any remorse, no longer caring if he'd gag on it. shame the water washed away the spit running from his mouth, to his chin, dripping to the shower floor as kieran began leaking precum. kieran remembered that one time nick said that it was his favourite taste, so salty yet sweet. kieran could no longer keep his mouth shut, whispering profanities into the hot air as nick let his hands wander over his kieran's back, down between his legs to grasp his balls. that was kieran's call to finally cum - with force, keeping his cock forced down nick's throat, held tightly by his hair, until he coughed and choked harshly, probably begging for him to catch a breath, but kieran wouldn't let go of him until he his greedy mouth had drained him from the last drop of his cum. when kieran had finally pulled his cock out of his throat, nick began coughing violently, almost throwing up the obscene amount of kieran's cum.

"oh did i forget to mention it's been two weeks for me? saved it all for you ..." nick kept coughing, almost concerning kieran a little. he spit the mixture of cum and spit into the drain, could've sworn there a bit of blood in there, too. kieran had done this few times before, but nick wasn't sure if he really did enjoy this treatment by him. now on all fours from coughing, he looked up to see kieran smile viciously. "you took it well. proud of you. almost." nick's shock had quickly turned into anger, turned straight into his own cock. he felt himself getting hard again, thinking of doing things to kieran he usually does not enjoy all that much. or maybe it was the idea of doing something kieran didn't enjoy, either way, he was going to act on it.

"turn around." nick got up and towered over the smaller man, feeling in absolute control all of a sudden, which, realistically spoken, he was, kieran would stand no chance against him in a physical manner. kieran's smile dropped "i'm not letting you fuck me, know i can't stand it." nick grabbed kieran by his wrists and pushed him against the wall with force, spreading his legs. "just this once. you'll like it when i do it ... different from pickford. i promise." kieran looked at him, feeling completely overpowered, in doubt, yet about to the let the heat of the moment take over. his face was fully pressed against the wall, turning his head to the side to meet up with nick's eyes. one reassuring wink from kieran, a nod. was it a nod? he took it as such, kieran had stopped fumbling around, his grip becoming looser. nick spit into his hand, spreading kieran's cheeks before pushing himself into kieran with force, a single painful gasp escaping from his mouth. nick began fucking his hole with no mercy, almost angry, only having his own pleasure in mind. nick became suddenly painfully aware of whether kieran enjoyed this at all, loosening the grip around his wrists to find him not fight him, but place his hand's on either side of nick's hips, coordinating along with nick's movements. nick laid his hands on top of his, fingers conjoined. "you feel so good ... fuck. so good." nick moaned with every push into kieran's body, him doing the same. he began kissing his mouth, sloppy and in ecstasy, their moans echoing into one another's mouths. one, two more deep thrusts until nick felt close and pulled out, didn't want to cum in his ass first time they'd done this.

he began stroking his cock with speed, knowing he was about to combust. "where should i cum? do you mind if i..." kieran spoke no word and got on his knees, opening his mouth as far as he could. nick gave himself a few more strong pumps from his fist, placing his cock straight onto kieran's tongue, watching his release rushing down kieran's throat in quick succession. he swallowed all of it, not thinking twice. when he was done he wiped a bit off the side of his mouth and gave nick an exhausted smile. "well... not sure what to say." nick felt weird about the whole thing all of a sudden, turning off the water and stepping out of the cubicle, kieran following immediately. "hey i didn't mean i didn't enjoy it, just a little. you know. we don't have to talk about it. it's fine." nick dried himself up and swung a towel around his waist, kieran doing the same.

nick didn't look back at kieran. "let's see what the others are up to. they must wonder where we are."

[narumi-gens]

note: I know I haven't been writing anything lately, but I have an Aizawa idea that I need to put down before it slips away. I think I want to do more with this but I'll just drop this little blurb for now... words: 800

When he first became a Pro Hero, Aizawa put away a villain with the power to erase memories. Somehow, years later, he manages to escape and decides that just as Eraserhead took the thing he treasures most, his freedom, he'll take something in return. It's all too fitting that his revenge on the Erasure Hero comes in the form of erasing every memory of the Pro Hero from the mind of the person who matters the most to him -- you.

Which is how you one day find yourself slowly waking up in a room with bright, fluorescent lights that make you quickly shut your eyes before you can even fully open them. As you come to, you can hear a steady beeping and the steady bustling of activity nearby.

When you finally manage to open your eyes again, you see that you're in a hospital room.

Which doesn't make sense. Other than the slightly groggy feeling that usually only comes when you've slept too much, you feel...fine.

As you lift up a hand to look at the clip on your finger, a frown forms on your lips as your eyes follow the wire leading from it to the beeping monitor displaying your vitals. Despite how heavy your hand feels, you start trying to shake off the clip.

Your mind beings to swirl, but everything keeps coming back to one question: What happened?

Your hand freezes, the clip only slightly loosened, when the door to your room opens. But whatever momentary relief you feel at the chance to talk to a nurse and hopefully get some answers is replaced by more confusion when a man, who judging from his wrinkled clothing and mop of hair that's been messily pulled back is neither a nurse nor a doctor, holding a cup of coffee walks in and stops in the doorway as he stares at you with wide, bloodshot eyes.

He's much quicker than you are to overcome his shock because only a moment later, he's hurrying to your bedside, absently setting his coffee down on the counter by the door in passing.

"You're awake," he says, his voice low, rough, and full of the relief that's also written across his scruffy face. He's quick to press the call button for a nurse by your bed.

He then takes the hand that you're still holding aloft in his, squeezing it tightly and making you tense. Fear begins to replace your confusion at how familiar this...this stranger is acting.

You're quick to yank your hand away and try to sit up, pushing through the head rush that doing so causes.

"Hey, take it easy," the man tells you, concern beginning to seep into his voice as he raises a hand towards you but seems to think better of touching you in your clearly agitated state and instead merely holds it out like you're some sort of spooked animal. "Wait until the nurse gets here. It shouldn't be much longer."

Your name leaves his lips and it gives you pause. He knows your name? Why does he know your name?

You look him over again, the loud pounding of your heart in your ears matched by the beeping of the machine beside you. Your eyes land on the visitor's sticker on his shirt and they go wide when you read what's written in the corner of the sticker: Tokyo Central Hospital.

"T-Tokyo?" you ask, your own voice scratchy and hoarse with apparent disuse, panic coloring the one word. "Why-why am I in Tokyo?"

You lift your eyes back up to the man's face and see the way his forehead wrinkles in confusion. It seems like he's finally starting to realize that something's wrong -- something more than whatever it is that landed you here in the first place.

He says your name again. It comes out soothingly, softly, caringly but it only makes you scramble to the other edge of the hospital bed as you try to put as much space between you and this stranger as you can.

"Take a deep breath, okay," he tries to calm you as he takes a step back to give you the room that you're desperate for. He pushes the call button again, more forcefully this time as if that will make the nurse appear quicker.

"No, what happened?" you ask, scared, panicked, and wanting nothing more than to just go home. "What am I doing in Tokyo? How come I'm not in Kyoto?"

It's the last question that makes the man freeze. There's a mixture of shock and confusion on his face as his eyes dart across your features, like he's hoping to he'll find some sort of answer.

He slowly starts to say your name but you cut him off before he can even finish saying it.

"No! Who the fuck are you?" you shout hysterically just as the door to your room opens again and a nurse walks in.

As you look to her desperately for both help and answers, you miss the man's reaction to your outburst. You miss everything -- the shock, the horror, and the heartbreak.

[anothersadsimp]

Here

Danny Torrance x Reader (Gender Neutral) 

Requested by: @illyrian-fire-cracker

Request: Hello!! I really like your writings!! You’re so talented! Can I please request a fluffy Danny Torrance piece if you don’t mind. It can be about Danny sharing his past with the reader and the reader comforting him and assuring him she wouldn’t leave him. Th am you so much!!!

Words: Almost 2k

Warnings: Hurt/ comfort things, so hold something

It didn’t take a psychic to know Dan Torrance has gone through some messed up shit. The second he came into town you could tell that he was not okay, and Billy having been there before helping him out. Of course Billy dragged you into helping the stranger, reminding you that at one point you were just as lost as him. He had opened up to Billy about his drinking problem fairly quickly, and started going to AA meetings with him. From there he was able to find a job and slowly started fitting into the small town life. 

It took awhile for him to start really trusting you the same way he did with Billy. You didn’t mind it, knowing that in due time he’d slow open up. You yourself hadn’t opened up about your past too much either, so you understood where he was coming from. 

It wasn’t until one night he had another nightmare, a bad one where he would need Billy to help ground him. He went down the stairs to knock on the door and was surprised to see you open up. You look up with sleepy eyes, but judging by the background you weren't asleep yet. 

“Sorry, was looking for Billy.” He mumbled. 

He looked bad. You could see the multiple levels of tiredness just in the way he stands there. There's a desperate, but sad look in his eyes that shows just how lonely he feels. You know that look too well, it's one you’ve sported on more than one occasion. It’s the look someone gets when they feel helplessly low, and they don’t have anywhere to go. 

“Billy's out of town for the night, I’m watching his place for him.” You explain. 

Dan nods, “Ok, sorry to bother you.” He starts to turn away before you stop him.

“Wait,” you sigh and he turns back to look at you. You step to the side and open the door wider as a silent invitation to come in. His lips twitch up in a pitiful smile for a second before he decides to walk in. You shut the door behind him before walking to your kitchen for 2 glasses of water.

You walk back to see him sitting on your sofa and set the glasses on the coffee table in front of it. You take a seat silently next to him, curling your legs up on the sofa facing him. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” You question, not wanting to push him to share anything he doesn't want. He looks at you brows furrowed and head tilted, confused at your question. “You just look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“You could say that.” He halfheartedly jokes.

You give him a sympathetic smile, “Wanna talk about it?”

You can see the internal debate he is having about opening up to you, especially since you both don’t know each other that well yet.

“You don’t have to, it's just I know what it's like when there's a lot on your mind and no one to ground you. Just whenever you want or feel ready, I’ll be here to listen.”  You smile, hoping that it eases him.

He looks up at you as you speak, and watches him visibly relax a little more. He thanks you for your offer and a small smile appears on his handsome, scruffy face. 

“How about we just watch some tv? To get your mind to settle?” 

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He said softly. 

Not long after turning the tv on Dan had fallen asleep on the sofa. You smiled, happy you were able to put him at ease, at least enough for him to fall asleep. You get up to grab a blanket and drape it over him gently so he won’t wake up. After making sure he was covered you moved to head to sleep yourself. 

That night had made Dan realize you knew what you were doing when someone was in a crisis. Whether it be your own or other peoples crisis you dealt with, he felt like he could go to you again easily. You had managed to calm and ground him after a restless night of haunted memories, which was hard for him. Usually he’d spiral down, drink until it was not on his mind as much. Of course that was before he met Billy, and got help.

He found that when he had bad nights, he’d go to you now. He’d always apologize, even if he had nothing to be sorry for, and tell you how well you had calmed him down that first night. You smiled at that, a light blush coming up to your cheeks. 

It was about a month later, a bad storm had been raging outside your little apartment. You were curled up on your sofa enjoying a calming cup of chamomile tea, listening to the wind and thunder. Soft fairy lights that lined your walls were turned on giving your small apartment a cozy feel that always relaxed you. That was until a soft knock came from your door, and you jumped not quite expecting it.

You set your mug down and padded over to the door, taking a quick look through the peephole at who it was. The second you recognized Dan’s figure you scrambled to unlock the door, and rip it open. Once it was you look at Dan with wide worried eyes. His nose was red from the cold, and he was soaked to the bone from the rain. You could see dark circles around his eyes, and they were red as if he were crying. 

“Danny!” You grab his sweater sleeve pulling him inside into the warm air that surrounded you. After you secured the door back you told him to wait there as you ran to grab some towels for him to dry off. When you come back you wrap him up with about 3 different towels, and rub his arms to try and bring some warmth back. 

“Hang on, I have some clothes that might actually fit you.” You stumble out. You rushed back to your room grabbing your favorite large sweatshirt and some too big of sweatpants that you owned. You set them on the bathroom counter for him before running to go grab him. 

When you get back your heart aches a bit at how cold and defeated he looks. You slowly approach him and grab one of his hands starting to lead him. He quickly toes off his shoes, not wanting to track even more water into your home, and follows you like a small child.

“Get changed, I’ll make you a cup of tea. Okay?” You say softly. 

He nods and gives a broken “okay” in response. You lightly shut the bathroom door before moving to your kitchen to make him some tea. When he comes out you motion for him to sit on your couch, you following behind him with a steaming mug. You place it in front of him on the small coffee table you have and sit down next to him. You don’t say anything knowing he’d say something when he is ready.

“I-” He breaths, his voice rough, “I’ve just been having a bad night, and it won’t stop.” 

“Okay, what can I do?” You ask softly. 

“I think I’m ready.” He has tears lining his eyes again. “I’m ready to talk about what happened. I need help.”

His choked words make your chest ache, and you reach a hand out to gently place it on his arm. You move your hand to rub up and down soothingly hoping to comfort him.

“Danny you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you do I’m here.” You reassure.

“I am.” He nods, slight determination in his eyes.

He starts telling you about his past. How he has always seen things, and how his father tried to kill him and his mother. He talks about how he still sees things that followed him from the Overlook, and how he has this thing called “the shining”. Every word out of his mouth weighs heavy in the air. You knew he had a troubled past but this was a lot. Your hand on his arm stopped moving, you’re thumb now rubbing gently. 

When he stops talking you whisper his name, not knowing quite what to do or say. You regain your composer and scooch closer. Your hand reaches up to his face to get him to make eye contact with you, even though he wants to avoid it. 

“Hey,” You get his attention, thumb now wiping stray tears away, “What do you need right now? What can I do?” 

He shakes his head, “I don’t know” He breaks.

You quickly wrap him up in your arms pulling him into you. His arms automatically wrap around your waist, hands tightly scrunching around the back of your shirt. His head is in between your chest and your neck, wet tears starting to soak your shirt. Your hands run through his hair and down his back trying to sooth and ground him. You whisper sweet nothings as you nuzzle your head into his all while trying to wrap your body around his. You hoped that your weight and tight grip on him would help him calm down, even if it took forever you refused to let up. 

It took a minute for him to fully calm down, breathing back to taking slow deep breaths. His hands are now loosely resting on your back, still holding you to him only not as tight. You keep messing with his soft, thick hair as he comes back down. You press a light kiss to his forehead before pulling back a little bit.

“Do you wanna stay tonight?” You whisper, placing yet another soft kiss into his hair.

“Please” He begs in a soft whisper.

“Of course.” You whisper. 

You start to get up off of the sofa and stand in front of him with your hand out. He looks up his hand hesitantly reaching for yours. Once his hand falls into yours you give him a soft smile. 

“Come on.” You nod your head, starting to lightly pull him up off the couch. 

For the second time that night you lead him through your apartment, but this time reaching your bedroom. You tell him to go lay down while you turn the fairy lights in the other room off. He looks anxious for a moment, but relaxes as he watches you walk back into your room. You then walk to your closet to grab a bulky blanket. You plop the blanket onto the bed and that's when he realizes it's a weighted blanket. 

“Helps comfort me.” You smile while adjusting it over him.

His heart melts at how thoughtful you really are as you crawl in next to him. You lay down facing him one of your hands coming up to the top of his head to play with his hair again. Your other hand then slides up to hold one of his that rests on his stomach. He sighs at the feeling, slowly melting into your touch. His breathing slows and evens out as he finally falls asleep peacefully for the first time in years.

[muffindaddystyles]

𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑁𝐺 & 𝐵𝐸𝐴𝑈𝑇𝐼𝐹𝑈L 

A oneshot of how you two met in the beautiful city of Italy, how Harry finds you an Angel descended from heaven above that took his hand and became his light. Dad!harry full of fluff..oh yeah dad!harry nation lets rise. .Part two of tooth rotting dad harry of it is here too. young and beautiful (II)

It's Saturday night. Harry and you intentionally have no plans but to loaf around in your guys cosy homely space. The candles flames with rośe tranquilness, the intro to movie watched many times together rolling in. Both of you are snuggled onto large body sucking sea-green velvet couch infront of telly.

His daddy long legs nestled atop your hip hooking around your ankle protecting you from falling if possible (moreso the fact he's extremely protective of you in your pregnancy.) His one elbow snaked around your collarbones which are now hiding underneath soft swelling, his sweater pawed arm sheltering around your huge eight months baby bump slender tender fingers tucked underneath your side.

You relaxes into him, back pressed to his tanned chest and with his chin resting atop your hair whenever he rasped out something it bobbed your whole head.

"Yeh' kay, baby? comfy?" He asks you for the hundredth time now caressing and stroking your chin, then earlobes, collarbones to your belly and the list goes on. It's one of his habits that he doesn't realizes himself more as ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒. Harry's love language's physical contact, lots and lots of them. He finds calm in touching you here and there, raking his palms without them knowing their destination. He's cuddly and clingiest when drunk. Although, he has stopped drinking since you both are expecting but the clingy part of him jumped out during this period his only excuses are "wanna stay close to me' three babies." Or "i feel empty when you're even a bit away from me." 

"'M lover, stop worrying." You bring his jaw down with the tip of your pointer finger to kiss his lips gently with a tilt of your chin. He mumbles an anxious "cant." in your mouth running his thumb under the curve of your womb with amiable affection.

You hiss into his mouth when one of your bubba kicks you with ever most force and he pushes away with amused eyes, when he felt the kick against his palm. It's not like it's his first but everything related to his unborn babies muse him to utter excitement and tears of joy.

He shifts a tad resting his a little scruffy cheek against your silken naked bump, you're wearing one of his crotched zinc orange crop top and it bunched up your belly in very much likeness of Harry, he thinks you look so endearingly sexy he could make you use him as many times you want. His ear tucked under the crescent of your chest, "feels like jus' a barrier of skin between us." He bubbles his accent and you smile down at him infectiously. Meanouvering your fingers into his chestnut curls and massaging his scalp that made his eyelids futter into bliss.

There was another visible kick and Harry smoothed down the skin eyes shinning up at you, "a footy champ this one." You sucked your bottom lip trying not break into fits of laughter because from the weight your pelvis muscles has become weak and you end up leaving wet tiny splotches most of the time. First time you had it was two months ago you were fucking embarrassing and couldn't stop crying right after an hour of genuine laugh ofcourse caused by Harry when you guys shopped for babies and he wore that one onesie on his head being all goofy and child of two while expecting two himself.

"How're meh' baby girls. meh' bunnies." He smauched loud wet kisses all over your belly making slobbery snuggly voices to annoy you. You tug at his roots whining loudly because you know the undeniable loving scene of Harry talking to his two daughters will bring you to tears all because of stubborn hormones. Yes, two!

While you weren't even expecting a pregnancy, God said wait for my bumper surprise.

Everyone told your bump looks healthier than normal pregnancies but you ignored it until the day of gender check-up. Harry was ecastatic, fist pumping the air, bouncing with your hands intervined tears bloodshot in his eyelines. So were you...but you had a huge breakdown on the wooden floor of your home's threshold. You were blabbering thousand questions to him, body shaking and fighting to breath.

"I...I can't do this, Harry...too much 's too much." You cried to him that day. But he cradled your face into his calloused palms his temple kissed yours, "ye' can, my sweet girl. we can. wish I could bear one of our baby bunny, it's sad that I cant help ye'. But, it's my promise to be there for you forever and always." He leaned down to kiss you with so much love, more love he was keeping to himself ever since and more more love he can't put into words.

He comes back from your belly to leave a feathery kiss on your lips that makes you yearn for him more and settles back to his previous position, his face shoved into the crook of your neck and he presses kisses to the corner of your lips while your eyes remains glued to telly.

As Sally and Harry bickered in the car you chuckled softly fingers tracing his nose and the mole sheltered under it, "remember how we met?" His breath fanned tickling your cheek heartily when he shook his head with a giddy giggle.

"How could I not? Yeh' were a honey pot and a weepy mess after tha'." He scrunches his nose at you adorably reminiscing the night and series of nights after that.

"It was your fault mister." You twitch your lips turning to his side with his help and his hand sprawled at your back instinctively. "Ye' souvenired t' give a lonely guy like me some company, first." He smiles when you huffed. His beam getting joyously wider when your belly pressed tightly against his's and he kisses your forehead multiple times.

"Who thought that guy escapin' from Gucci's biggest event could be a dad of two girls." You quip playing with his neckline and his chest rumbled with a titter that sent you to cloud nine.

"Not me at all. But, if I could meet him back in time I'll tell him how lucky he's gonna be, how happy he'll be, that he doesn't needs to be a grumpy daddy when he could be a real happy one." His eyes are glassy and you cupped his cheeks placing your lips atop his into a feverish kiss of gentleness.

~𝐹𝑎𝑙𝑠ℎ𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 2015~

Gucci's spring festive on full blossom in the most popular old city of Italy, Milan. It's luxurious in all it's glory. A-list celebrities and world claimed most beautiful models. The hall clattered and shushed with talks, rumours, gossips and greets. Then it's fashion and tailored-fitted clothes, formal gowns. Fake smiles. Cold hearts.

On the long dinning table piled with food that sometimes's too difficult to pronounce Harry sat along with Kendall Jenner. His ex-girlfriend and a friend for now. She talks excitedly with the person infront of her snarling rude remarks here and there. Her hand came squeezing his thigh under the table that startled him from his imaginary world. A world where he's at peace, the luxuries doesn't exist and he's nothing but a normal person.

"Huh, love?" He kinks his brows together fiddling with the napkin in his lap and she gave him a furious pout for not giving her full attention, "I was pointing out how fast-fashion brands are shit." She rolls her eyes. Harry can't believe her bratty arse. He shrugged his thigh with a tad more harshness to get rid of her touch.

"Dunno. No' everyone could afford luxury brands." At this the model infront of them cackled more in her mock and sniffed to be polite in the fake hush of the room. Harry's eyes turned glassy and the jade in the murky to the visible irritation at their behaviour. His expressions dark and unreadable under the very less light.

Quiffing his long hickorey curls back he nibbed at his pointer finger's knuckle only to bend it under his chin afterwards, "'m serious." Kendall sighs loudly at this clearly annoyed by the way he's acting and the model infront of him gave him a 'whatever makes you sleep at night.' look and a shrug of her shoulders in arrogance while eating her steak.

Enough. Harry thinks with a grumble struck in his chest. He rakes the chair back that drew some attention but it drifted to some person sharing their experience and all that shit talk again on the loop.

Harry's guard followed him behind pushing the paparazzi away. Flashes in his eyes. Made up assumptions to his ears and shoved up opinions to his chest. He's sick. From all of this. He wants to shout to no-one in particular but himself, he wants an escape. He wants it with his every bleeding cell.

Then he takes a curt turn with a whiplash of his torso to dark alley beside the building from which he just exited and when he reached the end it was blocked by a brick wall so he jumped with ease to other side, his expensive boots scruffing against the gravel. He gave no care to the guard behind him.

He was in a local less populated street. Wider with the bumpy stones and there were people indeed but nobody paid him heed.

He sat on the concrete bench. Flinging his one leg over another hand gripping near his crotch and with a relieved huge exhale of breath he took his phone out going through it. After, so long he feels like he's a free dove who could breath free escaping from it's cage.

He's broken. Empty and in the rough path of his life. He doesn't know how to cope with it. It makes him fuckin' insane.

There's an ice-cream cart few steps away from where he's sitting alone onto bench. His head snaps at the beautiful giggle bouncing through the tangerine sky. He squints his eyes to get a better look of the group of friends crowding near the cart and licking onto their ice-creams.

Your white cotton dress furled with a wave of zephyr and the loose errand of your hair slipping from your low bun cascading around your face while you gave a belly ache laugh to one of your tall friend bopping his nose at his silliness.

Harry stares at the interaction of young people. They're just like him but looks more happy and youthful then why couldn't he?

His eyes are set on a certain figure and that's you still hidden from him as your friend Mona blocked the sight of your perfect view to Harry nudging your ribs.

"Is that Harry Styles." Jo mutters when his eyes fell over him and then he bashfully hisses, "don't look back! Don't look back. You guys are being too specific." Considering yourself stupid you spinned to have an ethereal sight of Harry sitting all by himself on the cold bench, his carved features glowing with the illumination of his phone screen still unlocked while he got distracted by you people.

"Doesn't feels like he's enjoying himself." Mona quipped taking a large swipe of her cold delight. None of them too interested in his wear abouts.

Call it clićhe but you don't have any thought in your mind before you're asking for an ice-cream cone from the ice-cream man heading towards him with your hands occupied with two.

Harry's breath hitching in his palpalating heart at the complete sight of you, for sore eyes for sure. His nerves jittery and knee bouncing in restlessness as you approaches him with a sweet grin. He takes in your complete look. White flowy dress and nude sandals, loop earrings and the bright red lipstick resembling the blood gush of his heart. 'Less is more' making you appear so beautiful.

Harry's so lost in his own brain wrecking that he forgot where you went but you rounds him from behind flinging your left leg on the other side of bench to sit on it with your legs on either side of it, he again startles getting off-guard hastily turning to face you when you tapped his shoulder.

Licking your own vanilla sweetness you forwarded the cone to him a sweet sheepish smile on your glowing hearty features. His body guard instantly changed his position to stop you but Harry gave him a stink eye accepting your offer shyly. Your cheeks heating even in the mild temperature when his supple fingers brushed yours.

"Thank you." His voice timid wiping the corners of his heart shaped lips but you just shrugged your shoulders leaning back with your hand pressed against the bench, "no problem. you're welcome." Harry gazes at your collarbones prodding from the flimsy fabric of your v-line then he shifted his gaze down to his Gucci loafers telling himself not to be a pervert. It's just you're too delicate that he can't stop admiring.

"I like your suit." You compliments him with glinting eyes and his cheeks flushed with shyness mumbling a "thank you." Under his erratic breath.

His eyes flutters and tummy flips when you bring your hand closer to him taking the sleeve of his jacket tugging at it, "it's too graphic you know...in a good way." He finds it endearing that you were this engulfed in just the design of his suit and when you tilt your chin peering up at him, he feels like his brain stopped functioning. He nods eyes still locked to yours and when he sense some coldness dripping down his thumb he quickly ducks down to lick it off causing his sculpted cheek to stroke against your silken ones in utter gentleness.

You gulp timidly sitting back straighter.

"So...? For what stuff you're here for Harry?" He loves the way his name sounds mellow coming from you. He clears his throat unwinding his long legs to stretch them wide and it nudged yours sending jolts to both of you, "uh, 'm 'ere fo' Gucci event." You beam at this shifting closer to him.

"I like the way it sounds comin' from you." He cackles at this running his fingers to tame his matte curls.

His tense demeanor slipping bringing his shy, timid and goofball ones exposed to you. He's himself surprised that all the built up frustration in his nerves drained away from your presence.

Being an art major and a fashion geek you asks him with ferverishness patting his knee, "what was it like? I've heard it's mesmerising." He chuckles at this. He wanna scoff because a sweet girl like you wouldn't last a second there.

"'S okay. I guess." He elevates his shoulder in bored expression and when the ice-cream swipes at the tip of his nose you giggled bunching forward to his side. He smiles down at you squinting his eyes narrow in an accuse.

"And what yer' here fo'? Wait yeh from here?" You bite the waffled cone chewing it. Words muffling with a full mouth, "having a trip with my University's friends. I live in London though. I really really wanted to see Milan. So, here I'm." You make an innocent childish face raising your arms in air to show him and his heart's soothing to peace with every homely action you'd pull to make him relaxe.

Then there was silence that Harry was unaware how to break. He could hear you talking for an eternity. On the other hand you aren't that akward to make conversations with people. No doubt you're shy, and wants your own space to blossom but this one habit of yours is inseparable.

"You know when back home. An ice-cream man would come daily at midnight in summers. Me and my cousins would climb up his bicycle cart like darn monkeys. Pop our heads inside the freezer and annoy the fuck outta him. God I miss home." There's this un-pointable feeling. That's unfigurative to Harry but it's there; of admiration and of endearment. His heart's at cloud nine caressing itself to the pink cotton candy.

His heart reaches out for you from his ribcages as the homesickness glistered in your irises. You weren't obliged to talk to him, to give him company but you still did beacuse beautiful accidents and coincidence happen in the admist of rushed streets.

Harry parted his lips to talk to you more but he has nothing, his life's not unknown by anyone and the normal scenarios of people entertains him so much.

His head snaps when you grin widely at him throwing the last and best of cone inside your mouth. Your small pretty mouth chewing like a rabbit and Harry wants to have a touch, just some to shush the fire in his stomach.

His head snapping when you yelled to children that were skipping on rope waving to them, "hey kiddos! Wanna have some ice-cream!?" They all left their play of galloping running towards you. Harry looks at you wide eyes eating his last bits away.

"Our hotel gave us a coupon for free ice-creams." You laugh standing up and he wants to catch you by wrist to stop you going away from him but when you squeeze his shoulder leaning to whisper in his ear chills ran down by his spine, "will be right back." He swallows thickly nodding eyes trailing to you as you collects all the little fellas to cart.

He watches you. Is she an Angel? A mirage to help him out of his anxiousness? Or a smoke in his mind that'll disappear soon? He thinks picking on his nails. He's not ready to step out of the calm bubble you created so delicately around him. Only if life could be this easier.

He rolls his eyes playfully sucking his lips inside his mouth when he sees you paying extra for more. He looks back to his body-guard. Maybe you didn't noticed him or cares less but Harry's kinda annoyed that he has to be here in such a happy vulnerable moment of his life.

"Thank you nice lady!" Harry chuckles gleefully when all of the kids thanked her licking onto their sweets. "It's okay kids, be careful before I take them back."

Shaking your head you strides back to Harry coming to stand infront of him. You can fit perfectly between his legs if he opened them wider for you, that desireful thought swooshed through his mind but he shakes it away.

"Thank ye' nice lady." He squeaks in high teasing pitch standing up and your eyes widened when he literally towered you fully. Your height differences funny even you're in heels.

"Not you now." You declared with blushed cheeks. His irirses glinted when you fumbled with the sides of your dress.

"So...this's it?" You ask him peering up at him with such gooeness he could whimper. Shivers running down your body as the weather turned rather more chill.

"This's it.." Harry whispers. He feels what? a lump of wetness in his throat? He's at the brink though.

"Thank you for bearing my monkey ass." You guffawed out but he has serenity in his eyes. He thins his lips. "I should be the one to say thanks."

He was taken aback when you hugged him running soothing circles at his back. He inhales your tangerine vanilla scent embracing you fully now. If he could freeze the time he would in a snap. He feels like he's all the way back home after travelling shallow through the whole world.

"It's gonna be alright, whatever it's Harry. It'll be alright. You're gonna be alright. It gets bumpy but you still have so much for you." Harry wants to cry in some strangers arms. He feels so defeated and tired. But, the determination and affirmation in your voice made him think opposite. He'll do it. He can do it.

He didn't let you go first. You untageled yourself from him gently swaying on your feet, taking a step back and he couldn't blink his eyes away from you as you bit your crimson lip.

You take steps away from him eyes still locked to his jade ones and he calls you out through the breeze looking for passing by cars if possible because you're standing in the middle of street.

"Hey, stranger!!!" You tilt your chin in a questioning and shake your head at his lopsided cheshire smile, "forgot t' tell ye'r name!" He yells out in rushed anticipation and anxiousness as if he'd loose you if any minute ticks by.

Goosebumps appears at your bare legs from the chill, "Y/N. Y/L/N." Then you spin around raising your hand high atop your head waving it for Harry.

"Ba-bye. Harry." You says loudly but it doom vacuumed to emptiness once you step inside your hotel's lobby leaving Harry at his own sake again.

Standing still at his spot. Hands shoved into his trouser's pocket and long spiral curls framing his sculpted features he watches you with a furrow of his brows from the glass of hotel. His frown getting deeper when you threw your head back laughing when you bumped into your friend who was coming to find you, you caught his wrist eyes widening at something funny he said and Harry sighs thinking maybe you're just this kind and generous and that he's not a special case in your book.

With an exhausted sigh he makes his way towards his bodyguard who gives him a side mishevious eye, "happy now, Styles?" Harry jabs a shove to his bulky shoulder playfully lips twitching and eyes narrowing, "oh shut up!" His mood more lightened and gleeful than his previous one thanks to you.

***

Next day when Kendall and her friend dragged Harry to fancy the local streets of Milan. Harry had a less scowling face than before. They stopped infront of some shop to buy bagels that someone bumped right square into Harry's back making him stumble a little.

It's you. Rushing out of a pharmacy. Harry's gaze trails from your toe to head and his lips parts in surprise. The whole past night in his lonely hotel bedroom you were his dream of heart and the stubborn thought of his mind while the thump of after party going downstairs kept him occupied and fainted the erratic pace of his heart. Then his brows kink in worry and concern at the grueling sight of you.

You're in a pink sweater and pyjamas. Eyes glassy. Cheeks flushed and blazing. Nose running and hair poking out in every direction. He takes a gentle step towards your astonished figure brewing fingers reaching out to hold you but when you keeps a distance from him his heart falls in his arse, and when you cough in your elbow he realizes that you're maybe cold or having a fever.

"You okay, love?" He asks you. Voice that of honey and panic dripping from his features. You gives him a big smile bobbing your head quickly and he have an urgency not to roll his eyes at you. Because you don't seem okay from any angle!

"'M just having a tiny cold it's not that worrisome." Harry's eyes pops out from his socket at your voice. It's groggy and hoarse not that sweet warm honey that was fusing in his ears last night. "Y/N. You can barely speak, are you sure you're okay?" You try to give him a small smile at his care but it got suppressed by another throat tearing cough. Poor little thing. Harry fawns looking down at you.

At this he abruptly saturates the distance between you two, "note me' number, darlin'. Promise me you'd call me if you feel too sick." You give a glance to his two friends coming by to stand beside him.

"Hi." You greet them in hoarseness and they wince when you forward your hand for a shake making you feel ashamed and embarrassed of your politeness when they didn't accepted it. Harry jaw ticks in furiousness as he glares them it's all adding up to push his nerves now.

He takes your shivering hand with an arch of his brow to his friends in challenging sterness noting down his phone number at your palm. You give him a soft "okie." and a "thank you." waving him and his friends a good-bye. He notices that you're not someone to hold grudges against someone. He knows that Kendall's behaviour throws people off but you didn't seem to mind it too much.

"Who was she Harry?" Kendall asks him chewing onto her bagel. Harry shrugs not keen to spill any precise details, "someone I met last night."

She tries to scrape more from him. "How?" Harry closes his eyes tugging at his roots not ready to snap at her.

Harry thinks many times to say the right words so that she'd shut up but still ends up saying something that infuriated her ego and mock, "she offered me ice-cream—" Her friend scoffs perking his head.

"Mate you're nuts for accepting something from a stranger." Logically yes. But you meant no harm to him. Your eyes were truthful and shined with sincerity.

Harry stays silent walking inside their hotel. The hostess asks them if they'd like to have a brunch.

On the other hand you climbed up the stairs to your room with a lazy gait. Your lungs burning. Once inside your room. You takes your medicine with a shivering body and minus energy to even raise your finger. You want to cry but you give a pep talk to yourself that you're a brave girl squishing yourself in your bed, hiding under three blankets.

There's bright sun outside but still you're feeling like someone placed you atop Antarctica's glacier snatching every clothing item from you. Your friends are all out and you wish you could have them. You hate being sick and alone.

When you woke up again. You felt horrible. Feeling like a truck crushed you underneath itself. When you tried to sit up, you fell back a reckless painful sob erupting from your lungs as with wavering fingers you massaged your sweaty forehead. The sheets under you drenched into sweat and hotness. Panic rising in your chest as your vision blurred with blackness so you dialed Harry's number immediately in the fear someone should be with you in case you faint.

"He—" He was cut off with your loud crying. The fork in his hand clanking against the sleek plate gaining everyone's attention. "'S okay. 'M comin'. I'll be there in no time love." He speaks hastily telling his bodyguard not to follow him with a gesture of his hand while striding to his car in big steps.

"Y/N. Darlin'? Yeh' there?" He asks you with his chest tightening with anxiety when the other end of line was dead as grave, "'m, i'm." Your breath spurts into coughs and Harry sighs sympathetically at your condition. It took him fifteen minutes to reach your hotel.

"Which room?" None of you noticed that the phone was still on line. You were half conscious cheeks soaked and smashed into silk pillow case. "Room number, sweets?" He asks you patiently running through different floors to take care of you as soon as possible.

"2-234.." You stutter. Harry halts in the middle of corridor snapping his head everywhere your room was three rooms away from him.

"Can yeh' stand up for me and unlock the door for meh? Can yeh do that sweet girl?" Harry's standing at your door and your sob muffles into your arm when you shake your head in denial. Luckily the door was unlocked.

"Stupid girl." Harry mutters under his breath pressing the red button when he finally tumbles inside your room. He wants to scold you for not caring for your safety when you're sick, fragile and barely able to stand up.

His heart grips into a knot when you turn to your side. The girl he was with last night long gone. Your lips blue and wobbling. Cheeks red and wet. Sweat sheening. Your body shaking. You could be barely seen from under the layers of blankets.

"Oh sweet girl. 'm so sorry." The mattress dips under his weight and he hovers over you taking you in his arms instantly. Squeezing you tight and warm, it feels good so you cuddles your face into the crook of his neck. He gasps when his hand glides down your back and finds it pooling with so much sweat, and you burning like sun outside.

"You're burnin' love." He says with wide eyes cautiously smoothing his hand at your back to make you feel better.

"It hurts, Harry." Harry pulls you from your shoulders rolling his thumb in the dips to massage them, "where?" Your chest rumbles with another whimper as you bolt your eyes shut.

"Everywhere."

He inquires further and you give a drowsy moan when he expertly massages your shoulders and arms, "did you take your medicine?" You nod at this head falling against his chest and if he wouldn't be so worried about your condition his tummy would've flipped so hard.

"And did yeh' ate somethin' befo' that?" When you shake your head in rejection he again pulls you back looking down at you in offend and shock.

"Y/N..." He warns you with a tough expression. Then he cups your cheeks making you look at him even though your eyes are closed he scolds you strictly, "Y/N you should be kind to yourself too."

"Now. 'M gonna take ye' to hospital." He announces and you squirm away from his grip shaking your head like a child. You hate hospitals.

"Y/N..don't be difficult darlin'." Only if he knew he has to deal with this his whole life. As you try to speak your words swallows back when he snakes his arms under your armpits making you stand up.

"No buts. Look at ye'. Yer condition will worsen if yeh' keep refusin' to go." With your whole weight over his side he makes you sit in the passenger seat, stroking your cheek with his knuckles giving you a reassuring smile and rounding to his driver side.

He keeps on checking you through the whole drive. You're still high on fever when he places his palm at the curve of your neck then at your forehead tsking when you moaned in pain, "'s gonna be alright." He rubs your knee trying to give you a smile through his own anxiousness.

They checks you in the ER. The doctor notes your symptoms on his notepad and Harry gazes you in full concentration sitting right beside you, he has your fingers laced with his's and he's continuously rubbing your back to provide you with any warmth.

"I've a very low immune system since I had a tonsillectomy when I was nine. Had an ice-cream last night and quite often I know I get sick in this season." You toy with his silver rings carelessly. Harry admires you. Dunno why. He just do. Because he thinks he might be falling for the way you talk, you behave and try to remain polite in every circumstances.

"Miss Y/N since you've your tonsils removed your coping mechanism from bacteias's less and you've caught a pneumonia." Your head immediately turns to look at Harry and when he sees that fear in your eyes he unwinds his hand from yours leaning to take your chin, "hey...hey lovie'. It's okay you'll heal in a week."

The doctor hands the prescription to Harry. The next thing he announces makes you sob like a five years old, "no. no. no." You shake your head shrinking back and Harry gives the doctor a sheepish akward smile stroking your hair.

Doctor sighs at your behaviour leaving at last, "the nurse will be here soon to give you injections."

Harry quickly stands up shutting the large curtain that's around the stretcher bed you both are sitting at as soon as he comes back you wrap your hands around his forearm. He hisses when you dig your nails to his flesh your tears dropping at his wrists.

"I don't like needles. I loathe them. They scare me." You sniffle and Harry ducks to your level metting your glossy gaze. He caress your head kissing your hair, "you're so brave. I know it. It would just be a pinch. Ye' can squeeze the fuck outta my hand if yeh want to." He has his fingers tucked under your earlobes as he again and again wipes your tears.

The nurse comes to you shutting the curtains behind her. She's old lady in age and observes the couple infront of her. Well, for her you both are looking like one.

You immediately move back to Harry's side as he's sitting now with his front infront of you, "scared of needles." Harry tells her timidly in a low voice puffing his cheeks a bit in gentility.

Harry saps his opal teeth into his lower lip when you wrapped your elbow around the nape of his neck bringing him down closer to you and your face shoved to his chest near his armpit. His other arm wrapping around your waist to flush you closer to him. He tries to drift your attention to himself whispering sweet nothings into your ear and the nurse awes applying alcohol where she has to inject the needle.

"'S okay. We're gonna get home after this, have some soup, will take a nap, watch some telly...." He smoothes his hand over your spine grasping it softly. You stiff in his genial hold twitching and hissing loudly when the needle was poked and pushed into your delicate skin. His white shirt's completely soaked into your tears now but he doesn't give two fucks.

"Just two more." The nurse mutters and you perk your head away from Harry's chest looking at her horrified, "two more!?" You squeak out hiccuping and Harry has to suppress his giggle at your expense from how adorable you look.

He again shoves your head back in his armpit muffling your huffing and tantrums. "Don't move darlin' don't wanna get yeh' hurt." His hold tight and firm.

"Hurts." You pout and Harry traces it stopping himself to just lean down and kiss it. Nurse left you guys to yourself and Harry breaths loudly grinning at you, patting his thighs standing up helping you too.

"Thank you, Harry." You crane your neck to see him properly rubbing your nose once Harry makes sure you're sitting in his car comfortably.

"No problem, love." He kisses your cheek making your lips quirk up for the first time.

***

You're sitting crossed legs on the twin sized bed of your hotel room. Harry takes a quick glance of you pouring soup into some bowl. Your temperature a little bit coming back to normal, sweat still there as you rests your head back at the board of bed. You're room's nothing sort of luxurious it's dinky and compact.

"Here love." Harry hands you the soup making sure to be careful that you don't get burnt and you takes it from him with a series of appreciation.

"Feelin' better now?" He asks you rubbing your ankles as you places your feet in his lap. Blowing onto your soup and he does the same shoving spoonful in his mouth.

"Way better. Felt like dying honestly." Harry couldn't imagine how bad your condition was he saw it himself and he gives you a weak smile, his man-bun getting loose now.

"Where are your friends? they should have known that you weren't feeling well."

"They asked me but—" Harry's low voice cut you off. In just a day he got to know what your nature's like.

"But you didn't wanted to spoil their fun." You roll your eyes playfully wiggling your toes in his lap to tickle his tummy but he catches them making you squeal through sore throat.

He giggles when you slurp purposedly attaching your lips to the rim of your bowl. Once you're full he places your medicine in your palm and when you makes an icky face he gives you a stern gaze, "uh-huh. Take 'em."

When you swallow the bitter medicines down with a huge gulp of water he pats your head, "good girl." He puts the glass at nightstand. Caressing your jaw, "wanna take a nap?" You nod.

"W-would you lay down with me, ...'s just my body aches and—" You tried to explain without letting heat to creep at your cheeks. He bobs his head furiously more than okay to fulfil your wish.

Without any word he shifts gently to your side getting rid of the hair band that was trapping his long curls into a bun, squeezing into twin sized bed with you, "sorry." he quips when you hiss at his cold bare feet touching your warm ones.

"It's okay." You smile up at him moving closer to him. Sheets rustling underneath as you rests your head over his sprawled forearm. Your bodies reacting automatically like one of soulmates when your knee nudged his legs and he parted them so that you could place your sore one in between them. You molded into him like a piece of puzzle, that was just meant to fill the part of him that was scraped out because of his fate leaving him shallow and empty.

"Sorry for ruining your day." You mumble into his neck fingers brushing the baby curls at the nape of his neck. He shakes his head running his thumb in circles under your hair that were sticking to your neck, "No, thank you fo' makin' my day better. 'M havin' fun babying you." You titters at this and he sighs. There's calm. Heart beats in sync. Yours was racing moments ago. You're tangled into eachother's embrace and he pulls thin blanket ontop of both of you.

You purr wishing he could be always with you at how he's a walking talking heater, "you're warm." Harry senses come to a pause at the kitten voice you just let out snuggling into him deeper and exhaling the breath he was holding in. He melts into you kissing your forehead and petting your cheeks.

"Sleep sweet girl." His breathing lulls you to deep slumber.

***

It's late in night. Harry squints his eyes to street lights coming from the balcony window. He groans and when pushes his face away from you, a huge lovesick smile dances at his lips. He slept so good after so long. Your warmth and sweet flesh pressed into him made him drift to sleep so quick.

He brushes your loose hair back, adorning every feature of you. Fever making you look more glowy and swelly. Then when he leans to kiss your forehead he hears the quite whimper escaping from your lips.

He places his hand at your neck to check and you're again burning. Sighing he wakes you up by smoothing his hands down your arm, stroking your hair gently and tapping your cheek with his two fingers.

You're murmuring weepily in your sleep. "Wake up y/n. It's time for your second dose." He keeps his voice slow not to startle you and your eyelids fluttered taking it's time to absorb his presence.

You shift back against the headrest. He brings the glass closer to your lips after giving you medicine. One hand on your head other making you sip water.

"W-wanna go home. Home Harry." You say in your breaths hiccuping and Harry feels so helpless. He tries to calm you down in every way possible.

He knows you're not talking about going back to London. Your talking about your actual homeplace. Then it hits him, that you're both missing that feeling. Even though you're bubbly, happy and cheerful girl you still miss home as Harry does too. You're perfect for eachother.

He takes you in his arms bringing you back to bed. You hug him close to your heart tearing in his embrace, soft whimpers in his ears that's a knife to his stomach. He pecks the side of your head multiple times.

"Home." You sniff eyes dropping. Harry messages your scalp. Your body moving up and down as he breaths. Your continuous blabbering of 'home' dulls to your sleeping breath and Harry's own eyes craved for more drowsiness with you.

He bolts his eyes shut when his phone vibrates under him. "What!?" He spats whisper yelling, you still over him. He doesn't want to disturb you by any means. Not when you're sick and went back to sleep with so much difficulty.

"'M not coming." He declares dryly as his manager tries his best to coax him back to whatever place they want him asap.

He throws his phone onto sheets cuddling back into you, letting your scent to consume him fully. His heart prancing at the thought of serenity he'll feel while sleeping else it's just jolts of anxiety.

***

Next morning your arms were holding onto nothing, there's no shoulder on which you were crying earlier. The room's dull and sheets cold. Sun refused to outshine for today it didn't got any emarld to beam at.

"Harry...?" You whisper innocently rubbing sleepiness from your eyes and when the silence laughed back at your face you sigh sadly.

You knew from the very start that his presence was just a mere touch of heaven and it's not his fault that you never got to complete dive into him.

It's just you and your homesick soul staring blankly at the flower wallpaper. His soft, giddy vanilla smell hugging you from every side. Consuming your body and you didn't realized you'll miss him until now.

Maybe, you and your love was contagious to him.

.

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 a 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞!!! Don't forget to give your feedbacks.

[the-starryknight]

somewhere in my sleep-deprived brain, my utter admiration for @lazywonderlvnd‘s gorgeous body worship/non-sexual intimacy ficlet (which has lived in my head rent-free since I read it) collided with a conversation I had today with @onbeinganangel and resulted in... this little bit. 

anyway, here’s my little attempt at some non-sexual intimacy in 1.3k words, or read it here on Ao3 (Rating: T | Warnings: None)

halcyon days

“Headstrong,” Draco murmured, running his hands through Harry’s soft curls, rubbing a few strands of the deep brown hair over his fingertips. His hair felt like threads, wrung loose from a comfortable sweater that he would keep wearing day in and day out because it feels so right.

“Mmm,” Harry said, eyes closed, head on Draco’s lap. They were both naked, skin warm in the gentle morning light. The window was open with the curtains drawn closed, sending the soft beams of yellow dancing about the room as the sun rose in fits of orange and yellow and pink outside. Harry pursed his lips for a moment, and said, “Dramatic.”

Draco gasped, tugging at the hair in his hand in retribution, “Am not.” He frowned down at Harry, but couldn’t keep the smile from creeping back to his face. He wound his fingers back into Harry’s hair, letting his other hand drift over the soft edge of Harry’s chin. “Honest,” he offered, “Ridiculously so, if you ask me,” he muttered afterwards, smiling down when Harry’s eyes flicked up to him and back shut.

“Too honest isn’t a bad thing,” Harry said, fingers tracing over the soft silk sheets, pale and crisp and smelling like the morning after Laundry Day.

“No,” Draco murmured, tracing over the rough patch of yet-unshaven hair at Harry’s chin. “It’s your turn,” he added quietly.

“I know,” Harry huffed, “Distracting.”

Draco reached down with the hand that had been wound up in Harry’s curls and scratched his fingers over Harry’s bicep. Just enough to send shivers over Harry’s shoulders, down his spine. “Am I?” Draco drawled, arching an eyebrow.

“Incredibly,” Harry sighed, shifting his head on Draco’s knee so that he could rest against the soft inner part of his thigh, his curls tickling over the back of Draco’s knee where he was most sensitive. “You go.”

“Horrible,” Draco scoffed, though the curl at his lips betrayed his honest thoughts. “Absolutely horrible.”

“Liar,” Harry said, reaching up with both hands to snag the hand Draco had scratched over his bicep.

“That doesn’t start with D,” Draco started. “--Oh. I swear it, you’re horrid,” but he was smiling too much to be telling the truth, it effused from it. He shook his head at Harry, letting him press light fingers over his palm, down his wrist, tracing the fine bones there, the tendons taught, the muscles flexing over as he made a fist and released it. “I suppose you’re not so horrible, are you?”

Harry shook his head, grinning up at Draco. “You haven’t run out of words already, have you?”

“Hotheaded,” Draco shot back, and let his eyes drift shut. The soft smell of citrus from the lit candle at the bedside drifted over him, relaxing him. It was his favorite scent, brought out all the softest edges of him. Harry only lit citrus candles when he was in this sort of mood, and when he knew Draco would need a bit of gentling. Harry was stroking carefully over his left wrist now, tracing the edges of that awful smear of black ink.

“I am a bit, aren’t I?” Harry asked, mirthful. He gazed up at Draco, taking in his soft blond hair, all shaken out of place and messy from the night’s sleep, taking in the crinkle at the corner of his right eye that was uneven in his left, but which Harry would never mention to him. It would set Draco’s teeth on edge to know he was unbalanced like that.

“Only a bit,” Draco breathed, lost in the sensation of Harry’s fingers curling over each of his, one at a time. Ring finger, first, middle finger, thumb, touch, fingerprint brushing against fingerprint, the feeling so soft Draco could swear he could make out the whorls of Harry’s fingers, could feel out the very surface of Harry’s skin.

“Deserving,” Harry’s voice was so quiet it could have been a brush of wind. He looked up at Draco, meaning every syllable, but knowing he would have a difficult time hearing it. Draco began to say something, probably to disagree, and Harry interrupted more firmly, keeping the lightness in his eyes, “Defensive.”

Draco hummed at him, not quite dissent, not quite agreement. Harry considered it a win anyway, blinking up at Draco with wide eyes and reddened lips, softly parted as if he had just been kissed.

“That’s two from me,” Harry breathed, drawing Draco’s hand up to his face to press a kiss into the palm. His skin was warm and smelled like Draco, most traces of his orange and bergamot hand cream long faded in the night. His palm was soft, unworn by labor, but with less of that aristocratic arch Draco carried in his bones when he was out and about. Here, in their bed, he was only soft curves and gentle angles.

“Two, hmm,” Draco purred, eyes on the spot where his hand now cradled Harry’s face once more. “How to catch up?”

“You’re meant to be the wordsmith,” Harry looked up at him, gazing at the soft curve of his chin, hairless and neat as ever. Yet he still bore the signs of sleep, a slight red mark in his cheek where the pillow had bit into his skin, a spot at the corner of his lips that he had not yet washed away. “I’m sure you can think of something.” He nuzzled his cheek over Draco’s palm, both hands holding it in place.

“Heroic,” Draco said, knowing Harry’s reaction. Harry tossed Draco’s hand aside, mouth agape at his challenge, but Draco ran a hand over his shoulder, over his pectoral muscles, soothing him. “Handsome, in the right lighting.”

“In the right lighting,” Harry harrumphed, frowning up at him. “And I am not heroic,” he muttered.

“No?” Draco asked. “Not even a bit, Head Auror Potter?” There was a smile in his eyes, Harry could hear it in his voice without needing to look for it. The corner of Draco’s eye, just at that uneven corner without the crinkle, would curl whenever he was laughing at Harry, balancing him out exactly right. “I think your staff might disagree,” Draco mused.

“Difficult,” Harry shot back, and shut his eyes in silent protest.

“Oh, Harry,” Draco laughed, and Harry knew he had his other Harry-smile on, where the corner of his lips would twitch because he was trying to hold it back (and utterly failing). Draco wore his heart on his sleeve and in his lips. It had only taken Harry half a decade to sort that out. “Hilarious,” Draco snorted, running his fingers over the corners of Harry’s shut eyes.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Harry muttered, opening his eyes purely to roll them at Draco. But he found himself smiling again as their eyes met. Draco’s gentle gray eyes, with tiny flecks of blue right where the irises met the pupils, like sapphire studded into slate stone, marred by the tiniest bit of gold right in the corner of his right eye. Harry could fall into those ridiculously striking eyes. Or instead, fall into Draco’s hair in the morning, scruffy in all the most tuggable ways, and softer than satin or silk.

He could fall into Draco’s skin, the way the soft morning light glanced over his shoulders like he was cut from marble, all edges and curves and looking like someone had cut away anything that could possibly be wrong with him. Harry turned his head towards him, nosing over the soft part of Draco’s thigh. Draco ran his hand across the upturned side of Harry’s head, curling into the waves of his hair, brushing over the soft shell of his ear.

“Divine,” Harry whispered, looking back up at him, falling into those eyes as he had done every morning for what felt like a lifetime. “Utterly divine in every possible way,” he said. And in the sun’s shadows through the flickering curtains, Draco did look like a god, his blond hair lit with gold, skin nearly glowing. Harry could stare at him for hours and never grow tired or bored.

“Happy,” Draco breathed, pressing a finger to Harry’s nose. Harry tilted his chin up and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of it, blinking at Draco in agreement.

“Happy,” Harry echoed, and meant it.

[milkie-chan]

𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕒 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖.

e. kirishima x fem! reader x k. bakugou

contains: dubious consent, manipulation, emotional blackmail(i think?), blow jobs, slight cum eating, mentioned size kink, subby bakugou, dominate kirishima, slight degradation, over stimulating, female receiving oral, cum eating.

word count: 2,546

notes: god I want a dommy eijirou and a subby bakugou duo. so bad.

Kirishima was attractive, you could say that much. He was monstrously tall, reaching 7’ and possibly still growing, with muscles that didn’t need his quirk to be rock hard. He had multiple girls fawning over him, even as a sidekick, it was scary to think the power he would have when he broke away to start his own agency. He would have endless amounts of women more than happy to crawl into bed with him. That’s why you didn’t feel so bad about this whole thing.

Kirishima was attractive, but he wasn’t your type.

Your type was someone meaner, someone with a sharper tongue and a nasty glare. Kirishima was just too sweet, too polite. Even as he towered over you, almost two feet taller, he was careful to never push you around. To never demand anything of you. He treated everyone gently with copious amounts of chivalry. It was how he had founded himself, and how he would market himself as a hero. It suited him. It just wasn’t exactly what you were into. No, you liked his best friend. Another sidekick for a different agency, but him and Kirishima were often together in their free time. Bakugou Katsuki had your full attention since the moment you had first collided with him in the hall and he had cursed you out. He was mean, he was rough, he was who you wanted. But while he had your full attention, it was almost impossible for you to get his. That’s why you devised your little plan. If you got close enough to Kirishima, maybe you could be around Bakugou more. Maybe you could get his attention. Maybe you could finally end up with him.

At first you felt bad. Kirishima was so sweet, so easy to flirt with and get the attention of. Without a doubt he would make a good boyfriend, and maybe if you had never met Bakugou you would have gone for him, if not simply out of boredom. You weren’t a good person, you had accepted that long ago, but Kirishima was. For a second you almost hesitated in using him. But only for a second. You had him following after you like a puppy in two weeks, eager grins and bashful hands drawing you in— at least that’s how he saw it. Whenever Bakugou was around you amped it up. You let your own hands wander, keeping it just within tasteful as you glanced over at the blond. You only caught his gaze once, something unknown in his crimson eyes as he studied your actions upon his best friend. It was thrilling. It was promising.

Everything was going to plan. Everything was working out— you were sure you just about had him. So maybe you should have ignored it. Should have shrugged it off as hearing things. Your imagination was getting ahead of you at work, maybe. Yet, you would know that voice anywhere. The gruff “shit” hissing from behind a closed door. Most everyone had gone home, you hadn’t even realized Bakugou had stopped by. Hell, you thought Kirishima was gone already.

You should have put the pieces together, but you were too excited to see him. Too excited at the prospect of having him to yourself. The door opened with a little push, and there you froze.

Sitting with his back flush to Kirishima’s chest, his dick fisted in the red head’s hand as he threw his head back against his shoulder. Bakugou’s face was burning, a groan leaving his lips as he tried to thrust up into Kirishima’s hand. Another hand held his hip down against the desk, though, a cocky smirk on the red head’s face as he whispered something in Bakugou’s ear. Whatever was said had his eyes snapping open, focusing on you. “Shit! Eijirou-!” He was cut short as Kirishima’s thumb traced over the head of his cock, smearing pre-cum along the red, swollen tip.

“Hi n/n.” Kirishima smiled kindly, so out of place for what he was currently doing. “Come on in.”

Maybe it was because your mind felt miles away, or the look on Bakugou’s face, but something had you stupidly stumbling forwards. You pressed your back flush to the door, hearing it click shut behind you. “Wh...what is….?”

“Locked please. I think three is already a crowd, don’t you Katsuki?” He was moving his hand leisurely now, drawing tiny curses from the blond.

“Stop— fucking around! Shitty-hair.” He was practically panting now, back arching as the muscles in his thighs strained. His eyes never left yours, though, seemingly hyper focused on your reaction.

“Well?” Kirishima coaxed, his voice almost poisonous with how sweet it sounded in the air. “Aren’t you going to come over here?”

“I don’t understand.” It was the only thing you could muster, thoughts practically a tornado in your mind. What the hell was going on. “You two are-? But you- I- I don’t get it?”

Kirishima chuckled and his hand slowly stopped pumping, earning another groan from Katsuki, “Like I haven’t noticed how you check him out. I know you were using me.”

Your face caught fire with shame and you sunk against the door.

“But that’s alright. We can share. Right Katsuki?” His thumb pressed against a vein in his cock and Bakugou’s head once again thumped back against Kirishima’s shoulder. “Now come on. Why don’t you help him out?”

It only took you one more moment to decide to move your legs. You felt like you were floating as you approached the desk Bakugou was sat upon. You glanced once more up at Kirishima, but were unable to hold his gaze for long. Still too ashamed, you settled on paying attention to Bakugou— mostly his cock. It was painfully engorged, all from Kirishima’s teasing. It was monstrous, and as your fingers closed around the base, replacing Kirishima’s, you wondered if you could even fit half in your mouth. You have a few languid pumps before lowering your top half across the desk, tongue lolling out to drag along the underside of his dick. His hands dug into the desk on either side of his hips, crimson gaze unwavering as you licked up to his tip. Tongue flat you tasted the remnants of his smeared precum, mouth already watering more to help prepare you. You wrapped your lips around the tip, sucking softly before lowering your head further along his length. As expected, you got halfway and then you began to struggle to accommodate him. Instead of pushing it, you bobbed back up, returning to pay attention to the tip with your tongue.

“F-fuck— shit— so good.” Bakugou rocked his hips the best he could, both of Kirishima’s hands resting on them was making it hard to do so. Both males’ attentions were focused solely on you as you bobbed along half of Bakugou’s length, eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him.

“There you go.” Kirishima’s thumbs were drawing circles in Bakugou’s hips. “So good for us. Such a needy slut.” It was unclear who he was talking to, but his tone made a shiver go down your spine nevertheless. “I think he deserves more now, don’t you?” You hummed around his length, unsure what Kirishima meant. You began to move back up to ask, but a large hand moved to the back of your head and grabbed your hair. No longer was his gaze friendly and sweet, not as he plunged to back down against Bakugou’s length. You gagged as it was forced down the back of your throat, scrapping painfully as your nose was buried in the scruffy blond hair at the base.

Your eyes were watering as you struggled to pull back, but he kept you there easily with one hand. Your hands now gripped Bakugou’s thighs, as if to ground yourself as you tried to breathe through your nose. The blond’s hips jerked again, not helping your case as tears fell down your cheeks. “Shit.” It was Kirishima cursing this time, using your hair to draw you back up Bakugou’s length. He plunged you back down again with little warning, but you were more prepared this time, a groan of pain muffled around the dick in your mouth. “So fucking hot. Isn’t she so fucking hot Katsuki? How does she feel?” Bakugou could only moan in response as Kirishima continued to maneuver your mouth against his length. There was no point in fighting it, so instead you focused on breathing when you could.

When you were sure Bakugou was about to cum, length twitching erratically in your throat, Kirishima drew you back completely. “What the fuck shitty-hair?” Bakugou panted, but his glare focused on you.

“Just give me a second.” Kirishima removed himself from behind the blond, walking around the table to grasp your chin and tilt your face up. His thumb absently rubbed a hanging tear from your jawline, “You’re doing so good. Can you keep making him feel good on your own now?” You numbly nodded, making his grin stretch, “Such a good girl. Katsuki, you’re allowed to touch her now.”

Whatever they had agreed upon before, Kirishima’s words released the blond. In an instant his strong fingers were in your hair, drawing you back down to his cock. Obediently you opened your lips, allowing him to fuck up into your throat. “Shit shit shit.” He groaned, tossing his head back, “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.” His admittance had your heart racing in your chest, almost loud enough to block out the sound of Kirishima’s pants dropping to the floor. Almost enough to numb you of the sensation of your pin skirt and panties being pulled down to your knees.

You mumbled a complaint as you tried to wriggle out of Kirishima’s hands, but Bakugou held you fast against his groin, keeping you trapped. Kirishima’s fingers graced your folds, drawing a sharp whine from your throat as you continued to try and wriggle away. “Sh sh.” He leaned over your form, breath hitting the shell of your ear as he rutted against your ass, “You’ve been using me this whole time, I only think it’s fair. Don’t you?” He used a hand to line himself up, head pushing against your entrance. You were no virgin, but you could easily tell that it would be a stretch. “I got you want you wanted, so let me have what I want.” After some hesitation you relaxed against his hold, allowing him to sink further in. The continued stretch drew another whine, causing Bakugou’s hips to buck harder into your mouth.

It hurt, even with the slick dribbling down your thighs, aroused simply from pleasuring Bakugou, but it was hardly enough to accommodate Kirishima’s size. Bakugou’s cock was long with some weight to it, making your jaw ache as you stretched to accommodate him. Kirishima’s felt like a monster, though. You were almost glad you couldn’t see, as if perceiving it would make it worse.

When he bottomed out you groaned, eyes rolling into the back of your head as his tip lay flush with your cervix. You’d never been this full before, you feared if you would ever be the same again. He gave you a moment to adjust, grinding his hips against your ass to garner a bit more friction while he waited. As soon as you began to move your hips in tandem with his, his hands found your waist and he drew back. Your walls fluttered around the emptiness, as if trying to coax him back in, and his tip strained your entrance. Again he sat there for a moment, watching as you wiggled your ass back in search for him, pleads in the form of whimpers around Bakugou’s cock trying to entice him back in. When he sunk back in he set a rough and fast pace, drawing broken and choked mewls from your throat.

“Fuck, fuck so good. You feel so good.” Kirishima moaned, fingertips tearing into your flesh, “Such a fucking good cunt. So hot and messy for me.”

“Eiji— fuck— I’m gonna cum—“ Bakugou’s movements were becoming sloppier, his length twitching wildly against your tongue.

“Not yet.” Kirishima panted, “Wait for me.”

Bakugou groaned at the command, dropping a hand from your hair to tighten his fingers around the base of his cock, trying to keep himself from coming undone.

You were coming undone, though, around both of their cocks. Your climax rising fast and hard, you could no longer hold yourself up, instead letting them use your body as they please. You were a rag doll in their grip, pitiful moans and gasps smothered around Bakugou’s smoldering cock.

“I can’t— fuck! I can’t.” Bakugou’s grip around his own cock loosened, hot ropes of cum shooting deep into your throat. It took every last ounce of control you had to swallow around his length, not wanting to choke all the while you were starting to see black dots in your vision. When Bakugou released your hair you pulled back with a gasp, tongue lolling out as your grip on his thighs tightened.

“Mm gonna— cum— I’m going to cum!” Your voice sounded pitiful, hoarse and whiny as Kirishima continued to abuse your cunt.

“That’s it.” Kirishima’s voice sounded barely any better, his movements becoming erratic as he neared his own edge. “Cum for me, cum all over my cock.” It was the last push you needed to send you over the edge, letting out a shrill moan as your back arched and he bottomed out for the last time. He came in tandem with you, chest heaving as he watched your body tremble beneath his.

Still unable to stand, he had to lift you on to the desk, his cock leaving your warm cunt with a definite pop, semen dripping down your thighs. Bakugou watched with a hungry gaze, adjusting himself so he could better see your fucked out state perched next to him. “Since you didn’t wait, I think it’s only fair that you have to clean up the mess, don’t you Katsuki?”

“How the fuck was I supposed to wait when you were making her moan like crazy around my dick?” He snapped back, but didn’t hesitate to adjust himself further. He grabbed your thigh, dragging your body to face his as he hooked it over his shoulder.

“Wh— wait a minute I—“ you had little time to process as he licked a clean line up your thigh, collecting the bit of Kirishima’s cum that had spilled in the transfer. He didn’t wait much longer than that to dig in, vigorously eating the other man’s cum out of your spent cunt. “Baku-bakugou oh my god—“ it felt good, too good. You were still reeling from your last climax, the next one building painfully fast.

Kirishima’s hands began to knead gentle circles into your hips, trailing small kisses along your neck as he intently watched Bakugou eating you out. “That’s it, good girl. Cum again. Cum for us again.” He began to trail his hands up, working at the buttons on your shirt, “Again and again and again. Just let us use you, and we’ll make sure you feel good. Okay?”

Maybe they could both be your type, after all.

[callmecallmecrazy]

Keeping Up with Old Friends

*****

Well, it’s another odd one.  Somewhere between preppy and stodgy, old-fashioned man I guess?  This is actually brand spanking new!  If it hadn’t been for Covid, this would have been the fastest story I’d ever written!

*****

“Josh?  Is that you?”  Henley saw his old college pal, the wannabe hipster with a scruffy beard and flannel button downs ordering coffee at a Starbucks.  Except, scruffy Josh was smooth shaved with a gentle part in his hair and dressed in a tight fitting lime green polo, creased khakis, and polished loafers.  And the Josh he knew would never order from Starbucks or any corporate chain for that matter.  But the tiny polo logo on his chest suggested that had definitely changed.

“Henley!  Hey man,” his voice was still the same chipper and little high pitched.  Henley met his friend in a hug, noticing that his formerly thin arms had a plethora of veins bulging up over visible muscles.  For someone who claimed to hate pretension, he sure had gone full tilt.

“Surprised to see you here,” Henley half-joked while teasingly pressing on the polo player on Josh’s shirt.

“Ha!  Yeah man, turns out they have some good stuff!  Plus, it’s close to work.”

“Where are you working now?”

“Hemplebaum Inc.” The big smile he offered was met by a wide eyed stare from Henley.  Josh was a film and lighting guy.  Last they’d talked, he’d been working on some plays downtown.  Certainly not at “evil corporation incorporated”.

“What happened to the plays?”

“Ya know, I wanted a change.” Josh shoved his hands into his pockets.  “Plus, the money sucks.  I didn’t want to share a studio my whole life.” “Aren’t they, like, totally evil?” Josh frowned, his face taking on an overly broad and exaggerated look.  Had his head grown?

“Hey man, they’re cool.  I got headhunted by a department chief.  I’m not one of those office drones filling foreclosures and manipulating bank accounts.”  In response to Henley’s increasingly horrified look, Josh shrugged and laughed.   “I don’t think they do that stuff anymore either.”  

He glanced at his watch, a shiny rolex, and then back at Henley.  “Hey man, great seeing you.  Maybe we’ll hang out sometime?  I gotta get back to the office!”  Henley watched Josh walk out, noticing how well he filled out those khakis.  His buttocks had developed a shelf like quality, curving the pants out awkwardly as he walked away.  

“That was so strange,” Henley said aloud.  But people change.  Josh seemed happy and healthy.  Maybe he always wanted to be a frat boy after all?  Henley got his coffee, black, and took the train downtown.  As he sipped on the scalding coffee, Henley did think about some of what Josh said.  Downtown was prohibitively expensive.  Henley paid in time what he couldn't afford in rent having to ride in everyday.  Sure, he loved life down here but he really couldn’t enjoy it as much as he’d like.  But then, Henley could never handle being some corporate drone.

-----

“Josh?  Is that you?” The big man standing in front of the drink counter, picking up a gigantic fuzzy looking drink, didn’t physically resemble Josh at all.  He was big, the Navy blazer he wore couldn’t hide the broad shoulders and his green and blue rep tie had a hard time lying flat over his bulging pecs.  And his hair, last time well groomed but still with a youthful length, was sheared down into a practically flat bit of black hair, shiny and parted.  The face was still the same, even though the hair made his face look extremely square.

The man looked back at Henley confused for a moment before a tinge of understanding glittered in his eyes.

“Henley Tator,” his voice was slower and deeper.  While Henley went in for a hug, Josh replied with a one armed side hug and pat on the back.  He practically grimaced when Henley went full hug.

“Josh!  Man, it’s been awhile.” “Yes Henley, I’ve been very busy at work.  And please, call me Joshua, it’s more professional.”

“Wow, still at Hemplebaum?”

“Yes, moving up the ladder.  What about you, Henley?”

“Oh ya know, I’m still at the art funding startup.  It’s hard but I enjoy it.”

“Pay well?” “Ha, you know it doesn’t.” “I can tell,” Joshua eyed Henley’s tattered jeans and waffle shirt with distaste.  Henley was taken aback by the outright disdain.

“Well, I’m passionate about it.” Joshua just nodded.  “You’re looking good. Gym time is really paying off.” “Yes,” Joshua’s stern demeanor dropped a touch, there a bit more levity in his voice suddenly.  “There’s a corporate gym and it’s free and they even give you an hour a day to use it - paid!”  He was practically giddy as he talked.  Henley relaxed a bit.  This was the Josh he knew, chirpy and friendly though not exceptionally outgoing.  And honestly, Josh had always been the kind of guy who dove head first into anything.  It really wasn’t shocking that he’d treat his job the same way he’d treated edibles, EDM, and frisbee golf.

“You still doing frisbee golf?  Since you’ve got the bod now,” Henley playfully slapped one of Joshua’s broad shoulders and was shocked at how firm the muscle was.

“I’ve been doing a lot of golf!  I play with several of my coworkers and even some of the junior partners.  I’m getting my handicap down too.”

“Oh, you’re playing real golf?”

“Yes, it’s very enjoyable.  And great for business bonding.  Chance for men to talk about work, wives, sports.  Say, you watch the game last weekend?”  That was wholly unlike Josh.  But again, he was probably throwing himself into the corporate world.

“Nah, man, I’m not into basketball.”

“It’s football season.” He replied so directly and sincerely Henley almost fell over.  “I know not everyone is into the NFL, but I assumed you would at least watch your alma mater.  And our Bulls are having a great season.  4-0 in conference play.”  Joshua kept talking about football as Henley stared deep into his eyes.  Was this really Josh?  The guy hadn’t even known what sport a touchdown was part of.

“Anyway, Henley, it’s been great catching up.  Maybe we can grab some beers and watch a game sometime.  I need to return to the office.”  Joshua checked his watch, flashing the shiny gold in front of Henley.  As the muscleman walked out, Henley couldn’t help but notice the incredibly large derriere.  The vents on his suit jacket hung awkwardly over the luscious rump and it jiggled every so slight as he walked.  A stunning contrast to the hard muscle covering the rest of his body.

“Yeah, great to see you Josh-ua,” he forced out the last syllable.  It made sense to do it.  This was not the Josh he knew.  This was apparently Joshua, his friend?  Henley grabbed his coffee, black, and tried to sip on it on the train.  It was a little too hot for him and he was stuck holding it between his hands awkwardly for the whole ride.

-----

“Josh?  Is that you?  I mean, Joshua?”  Henley had avoided the coffee shop since their last encounter.  He told himself it was all in his head, but everything about these encounters creeped him out.  Joshua seemed like a totally different person.  He wasn’t sure if it was steroids, the growth seemed extremely quick, or perhaps just the makeover itself made him look different.  But he was finally caffeine deprived enough to step in, and there was Joshua.  Or at least a Joshua facsimile standing next to another man.

This Joshua wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly straining at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch.  It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button down shirt and blue and green rep tie.  His hair was the same, but his face had undergone a change.  His jaw, formerly a little pointed and sharp, spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape.  He stood ramrod straight, sipping from his milky looking drink.  The man next to Joshua was older, but otherwise nearly identical.  He was thicker around the middle, but any gut he might have was hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage.  His tie was black and grey with a subtle windowpane pattern.

The man stared at Henley for a moment before tapping Joshua on the shoulder.

“John Howard,” his voice was slow and deep.  “I believe this boy is trying to get your attention.”  The younger man turned to look at Henley and then a faint bit of recognition crossed his face.

“Henley Tator,” the voice was practically monotone, low and deep.  He took a few powerful steps forward and offered a large, rough hand.  Confused, Henley accepted it and the grip practically shattered his bones.

“Mr. Amplebottom,” Joshua turned to face the older man.  “This is a friend from college.  Henley Tator.  Henley, this is my boss.”  He gestured robotically between the two.  Amplebottom offered his hand and it was the same rough shake.

“Nice to meet you….,” Henley sort of trailed off, hoping to get a first name.

“And to you, Henley,” he put a very strange emphasis on the words, as though he had never said them before.  Henley turned back to his old friend.

“So, Joshua,...” he was cut off by a cough from Amplebottom.

“Please call me John Howard,” Joshua said curtly.  “Mr. Amplebottom thinks I would be better suited professionally as John Howard.”  The way he spoke, extremely even in both rhythm and pitch, was unnerving.  Henley could make out some of Josh’s features in the hulking face before him.  An upturned nose and naturally thin eyebrows over wide eyes resembled the Josh he knew.  But the rest of the face clearly belonged to this corporate meathead named John Howard.

“Okay, John-”

“John Howard.”

“John Howard.  So, how is work?”

“I am very happy at Hemplebaum.  I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions under Mr. Amplebottom.  He has been a great advisor in my career.”

“That’s great.  Glad to hear you’re doing good!”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom has assigned me to a downtown acquisition project.”

“Acquisition?”

“Correct, we have a potential development on 520 Porter and need to remove the building.”

“Huh, okay.  So what building are you removing?”

“Currently the future site of Hemple Housing Porter is occupied by the Cherub Theatre.” “Cherub Theatre?  You used to work there?  You wanna tear it down?”

“It is an eyesore.  And it occupies a lot with high economic potential.  It is better suited for development.”

“Josh-,”

“John Howard.”

“What the hell happened to you?”  The wide eyes suddenly narrowed sharply and almost seemed to sink back into his skull a little.

“I’m offended by your tone, Henley.  And honestly,” he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves while disgustingly eyeing Henley’s dirty clothes up and down. “I grew up.  You could do with some growing.”

“You’ve grown into a soulless jerk.  We used to mock those fucking money obsessed frat boys back in college.” “I just bought a house out in Chester.  Right next door to Chadwick Statton.  You remember Chadwick?” “Oh my god, he was that Kappa Kappa Kappa asshole.”

“The KKK joke is stale.  Besides, it’s very difficult to purchase a home in that neighborhood.  I was fortunate to golf with him and he gave me an in with the Board.  Plus, I’m working on my country club application.  The application fee is $50,000.  Could you afford that?” “Jesus Christ! Fifty k just to fucking apply?  You’re insane.”

“And you, Henley, are a child.  But if you ever decide to grow up,” he reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a thick black card and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt.

“John Howard,” Mr. Amplebottom suddenly interrupted the discussion.  John Howard stiffened up and faced his boss.  “I’m glad you had this chance to catch up with your fraternity brother, but we have wasted time.  I assume you’ll stay late to make it up?” “Of course, Mr. Amplebottom.” They turned to leave.  Henley got a good look at the pair.  Despite the broad shoulders and bulging pectorals, both had a distinctly pear shaped body, with wide hips and massive butts that shook just a touch as they walked.  Henley laughed to himself, realizing Amplebottom really lived up to his name.

Henley grabbed the card from his pocket and examined it.  It was a thick card stock and slightly textured.  The Hemplebaum logo was obnoxiously large in one corner.  Right in the middle was John Howard Johnson, Associate.  Henley was quite sure he was going mad.  That was absolutely not his last name in college!  Had he changed his entire fucking name to fit in with these people?  Golfing with Chad, obeying his boss like some braindead goon, destroying his old workplace to build, what? Multi-use condos?  Like there isn’t enough of that?  The Cherub is a relic, in a good way.  Had Josh been putting on the entire time he was in college?  Was this who he truly was?  No, no this name changing was a deeper sign.  Maybe a psychotic break?

It occurred to him that standing in a Starbucks staring at a business card as people queued up around him made him look insane.   And he had to get to work anyway.  This whole thing had become so ridiculous he’d just ignore it.  He ordered his coffee, adding a heavy dose of cream, and went downtown.

-----

“John Howard?  Is that you?”

“You’ve reached Hemblebaum Inc acquisitions division.  How may I direct your call?” Damn, his card didn’t even list a direct number.  Henley had tossed the card around his apartment for a while, even starting to dial once or twice.  But then he’d ask himself why exactly he was doing this.  John Howard, whoever he was, wasn’t Henley’s old friend.  He wouldn’t have even spoken to Henley back in the day.  But theoretically this man was Josh or had been Josh.  And Henley couldn’t shake him from his mind.

“May I speak with John Howard Johnson?” Henley’s voice cracked a touch as he spurt out the words.

“I’ll transfer you to his desk,” replied the chipper female voice.  The line filled with static and then began ringing.  After a few rings, he was bumped back to the secretary.

“Would you like me to give Mr. Johnson a message on your behalf?” “Oh, uh, no thank you.”

“If this is a private matter, I can forward you to his personal mailbox.”

“Sure.”

“One moment.”  There wasn’t any ring, just straight to the mailbox.  He could practically see the stodgy man who produced the recording.

“You have reached the desk of John Howard Johnson.  Leave a message and I will respond.”  Damn, he was so terse and humorless.  And what exactly was he going to say?  The words came out of his mouth before he could think about them.

“Hey, John Howard.  This is Henley Tator, from college.  I was thinking about what you said when you gave me your card.  So, call me back?” He left his number and hung up.  What on earth had he been thinking?  I mean, the growing up thing had crossed his mind.  His two bedroom apartment was rough to afford even with two roommates.  It would be nice to have his own place.  And his clothes could use an update from his student days.  Of course, he wondered exactly how long he’d be waiting for a call back, which gave him far too much time to ponder his plans.

------

“This is Henley,” he wouldn’t normally answer the phone for an unknown number, but since he had no idea when John Howard would call, or from what number, Henley snagged the phone every time it rang.  Sure, he’d fielded a few calls from telemarketers, but he was going to get to the bottom of this.  Hardy Boy or something or other.

“Hello Henley, this is John Howard Johnson, I am returning your call from 2:15.” Damn, he was a total stiff.  He was probably sitting at his desk, feet flat on the floor, back ramrod straight staring straight ahead.

“Hey John Howard, how’s it going?”

“I am well, Henley, how may I assist you?” Straight to the point.

“Well, you know I was thinking about what you said at Starbucks.  About growing up and stuff.”

“Yes, you are quite childish.” “Can you help?”

“Of course, I think an interview with Mr. Amplebottom would be a delightful way to have a new start.  I shall arrange an 8:00 a.m. appointment tomorrow.  He’ll be expecting you.  Check in at the lobby by 7:45.  Oh, and please find more suitable attire.  This is a professional work environment.” “Great, well, that’s a lot more than I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Umm, no idea.”

“You asked for help, I am providing it.  Is something wrong?”

“No, no, no.  Thank you so much!  I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll see Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Yes, yes, of course.  Thank you, John Howard.”

“You are welcome, Henley.” Click. Well, that was brisk.  But a development.  Now of course, he’d need to find clothes.  I mean, he had a suit, just the one, in navy blue, and it got pulled out once a year or so for weddings.  A dab of cologne would top it off.  He didn’t want to be suspicious.  Of course, as far as he could tell, the only person who thought something was amiss was him.

-----

“This is Henley,” he replied to the officer checking name at the front desk.  He was a private security guard, bulky and bull necked with biceps that practically shredded his sleeves.  The stern faced man checked a list carefully.

“First name?”

“Henley.”  The officer stared at him.

“Henley Henley?”

“No, Henley Tator.” He could sense the guard sighing internally.  Henley was such an odd name, it usually was more than enough information for people to locate him.  But, judging by John Howard, this was probably an extremely by-the-books business.

“39th floor.  Please give your name to the secretary and she’ll let you in.  Tator, Henley.  Less confusion.” The man curtly directed him towards the elevator and returned to his post by the door.

Everything about the lobby, the elevator and the entry way on floor 39 was the same: wood, dark, overbearing.   Harsh fluorescent lighting easily guided the path.  The whole place was like a time capsule, the height of early 60s style.  This might as well have been a set for the early seasons of Mad Men.

The sharp ping of the elevator signalled his arrival and after a quick check-in, he was led across a sea of cubicles towards a large office in the corner. Despite the early time, the office was already alive.  He caught glimpses of suited men at some desks and a trio of buff suits standing by a water cooler.

Amplebottom’s office continued the trend.  It was big with large windows along the wall.  He had a gigantic wooden desk with an equally large chair that seemed twice as wide as normal.  Which made sense given his butt.  He glanced up as Henley entered but did not stand.

“Henley Tator,” the way he said his name was so peculiar.  He spoke so slowly that emphasis ended up on the wrong syllables, making the words sound foreign to Henley himself.

“Mr. Amplebottom,” Henley walked over in front of the desk and offered his hand.  Amblebottom leaned forward and shook it.  He’d prepared himself for the vice grip and felt the muscles in his forearm swell as he clenched back.  Once that was over, Henley pulled back a chair and began to sit.

“Before you sit down,” his thick words poured molasses over Henley’s movements. He found himself standing upright and looking at Amplebottom.  The man was a practically a hypermasculine parody, low brow, big nose, wide jaw with a gigantic cleft chin.  A touch of receding hair over the temples added more dignity than age.  His clothing was similar to the other day, pale black suit and subtle tie.

“John Howard setup this interview.  I am unsure how you can contribute to Hemplebaum.”  Henley stood uncomfortably as Amplebottom stared at him.  He took a dry swallow and stared into the big man’s eyes.  They were a strange grey color, cold and severe and almost lifeless.  He also found it hard to look away, they were enrapturing.  “What do you expect from me?”  Henley was almost sure he saw the grey eyes flash.

“I guess, umm, I was just hoping for a job?”

“That sounds very convincing, son,” the droll response unnerved Henley more.

“I want to try something new.  More grown-up.” 

“Hemplebaum isn’t some urban start up with billiards and soy milk.  This is a very demanding corporation.  I expect my employees to be eager and dedicated.”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom,” Henley found himself nodding in response.  He spread his legs a little wider and clasped his hands behind his back.  It was more comfortable than just letting them hang and it prevented fidgeting.

“This job can also be very rewarding.  Acquisitions works on a baseline salary plus commission incentives and bonuses.”

“How much could I make?” Henley honesty hadn’t thought about the actual financial potential of the job.  Sure, he’d casually looked up the cost of homes in Chester, but he hadn’t really considered the salary.

“As a Junior Associate, you’d start with a baseline of 100 plus three percent commission with incentives quarterly based on goals and projects.  Do well, and you can quickly move up.”

“Shit, seriously?”

“I am always serious Henley.”

“No, sorry, Sir,” he tacked on the honorific quickly.  The financial prospects were huge!  “That’s more than twice what I make now.”

“Yes, the corporate world has perks.”

“I’d like a job as a Junior Associate, Mr. Amplebottom.”  That caused the bigger man to smile.

“Are you willing to dedicate yourself to your job, Henley?  We do not tolerate slackers.”

“Yessir!”

“Well, I think, based on John Howard’s recommendation, that I can give you a test run.”

“Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“However, there will be a few adjustments required.  Your suit is fine, the sneakers are not.  And ties are mandatory with a collared shirt.  Human resources will give you a rundown of our policies.  I’m assuming you probably won’t have work appropriate clothing.  The company can offer you a corporate card to get yourself setup.  You’ll receive automatic payroll deductions to pay it back.”

“Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“I appreciate this new eagerness from you.  I assure you, if you work hard, you’ll find Hemplebaum the most rewarding place.”

-----

“This is Henley Tator,” he said confidently to the guard.  The officer, a gruff man with visible tattoos on his hulking forearms, gave him a once over and checked his name off a list.  He said nothing as Henley headed inside towards the elevator. The glass walls of the elevator gave him a great chance to reflect on the past twenty-four hours.

The employee handbook was massive.  Something like 200 pages of rules, regulations, and suggestions mixed in with corporate speak and industry jargon.  While HR had gone over some basics of the position, personnel forms, and whatnot, the only section he’d read closely was on wardrobe since Amblebottom specifically mentioned it.  It wasn’t terribly confusing since it included not just general recommendations but pictures, stores, and tiers of items towards “building a man’s wardrobe.”

Henley followed the basic directions and found the elegant, tiny menswear shop the manual recommended. Upon hearing that he had recently gained employment at Hemplebaum, the elder employee immediately went to work, selecting an array of khakis and polos to start.  Henley had resisted the creased pleats but to his dismay the shopkeeper insisted.  He had successfully rebuffed the notion that he needed new underwear.  He was an adult, he could make private decisions on his own.  The man also said he’d begin working on a basic suit.  Henley referred to it as “black” and was politely informed that the color was “charcoal” and black suits were only for funerals.

Which is how he found himself, smooth faced from new toiletries, in a salmon polo and crisp khakis, waiting on the elevator.  He had a minor flashback to when he first ran into John Howard.  Joshua.  Josh.  Whoever he was now.  Their outfits were similar, but Henley took a moment as he brushed a lock of hair from his eyes to remind himself that he was just playing pretend.  He was figuring something out.  Capitalist finery was required.  Although his mind had already started calculating exactly when he could get his own apartment.

-----

“This is Henley Tator,” he answered as the office desk rang.  He’d quickly been put into a cubicle and signed into a company website to begin training.  Usual stuff, safety procedures, privacy policies and intellectual property, then lots and lots of company information, acquisition and retail training, even negotiating for beginners.  He had been expecting to find a diversity or harassment training, but the program, like seemingly everything else here, was highly structured and old-fashioned.  It was probably deeper in the training.  He’d swiped his new ID card when he got up for the bathroom or to get some water, the program seemed on a timer because if he dallied or got distracted the pages would time out and he’d have to start again.  On the plus side, it made the day pass extremely quickly.

“Henley Tator,” he recognized that stoic bass.  “This is John Howard Johnson.”

“Hey, John Howard, how’s it going?”

“I am well, Henley.  I will be going to the cafeteria for lunch in 15 minutes.  If you are hungry, you are welcome to come along.”

“Sure thing, John Howard!  Thanks! I am getting hun-.”

“Please meet by the elevator in ten minutes.” John Howard was not a chatter.  Never had been.  But it gave him something to look forward to so he rushed to finish a basic finances video quiz narrated by a corporate casting finance bro in a tasteful suit talking about “life at the club” and “the importance of appearances.”  Finally, he badged out of his computer for lunch.

By the elevators, in an impossibly rigid stance, legs apart, hands straight at his side, face forward, was John Howard.  The square faced muscle man was packed into a charcoal suit and shiny dress shoes.  Henley noticed the colorful tie had been replaced with a more muted one with barely noticeable muted black stripes.

“Henley Tator,” he offered his rough hand and Henley accepted.

“John Howard Johnson,” he said, half mocking but also happy to see a semi-familiar face.

“The cafeteria is on Floor 15,” John Howard said briskly as they stepped in.

“So, having a good day?”

“My day is doing well, thank you.  How is your day?”

“Good, lots of new information.  Guess I need a lot of training.”

“The gym is on the fifth floor.  It is a good source of weight training.”

“Oh awesome!  Yeah, man you look great.  I definitely should hit that up.”

“I am happy to show you.  I workout an hour before work each day and one hour afterwards.”

“Holy crap dude!  And you live out in Chester?  How do you find time to sleep.”

“A good night’s sleep is important for muscle growth.  I try not to waste time on silly things.”

Henley had built a small salad for himself and grabbed some water.  John Howard had taken the platter, a slab of meat in gravy, potatoes, and greens.  Combined with what appeared to be a frothy glass of milk.  He sat the two down at a table with two other men.  One was a stoic, stern faced man who looked like he could be John Howard’s brother.  The other was a much flashier man with smooth blonde hair and a plaid bowtie.

“Henley, this is Bert Anderson, accounting,” he gestured to his clone.  “And this is-” he was cut off by the flashier man.

“Rotterham Casper Cornelius Southard, call me Rip.  Accounts.  So, J.H. mentioned you were his old college bro?  Bet you got up to some mischief back in the day, eh?” he gave John Howard a playful punch, and he did not react.

“I prefer John Howard.”

“I know you do, J.H.”

“So, you’re both in accounting?” Henley asked.  Bert shook his head while Rip laughed.

“No, Bert here is a number cruncher.  I manage accounts.  Management, keeping clients happy.  Happy-hours, bars, strippers, the works.  I’m the fun one.” “I’m sure your wife does not approve.”

“She approves of that pool boy I hired for her.  She approves of our second home in Mayfield Valley.  She can approve of my dalliances.”  Henley mostly stayed silent as they talked about work, wives, and sports.

-----

“Take a seat, Henley,” Mr. Amplebottom gestured to one of the extra wide chairs before his desk.  Henley hardly took up half, but he wondered if they were wide enough for Amblebottom’s ample bottom.

“Is everything alright, Sir?” Henley hadn’t seen much of his boss the past week, but he’d found himself thinking more and more fondly of his boss.  The training videos included a lot of stuff on professional behavior, and while a lot of it seemed like a pathetically antiquated throwback to worse times, it wouldn’t hurt to adopt some of the culture.  At least while he was here.

“Just doing a check-in, seeing how it’s going.”  Amplebottom made constant eye contact.  Those grey eyes were engaging, sort of hard to look away from.

“It’s good, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Enjoying the training?”

“It’s very informative.”

“Glad to hear it.  I take my employees personal development very personally.  I want you to think of me as a mentor.”

“Yes sir.”

“So, let me give you some advice.”

“Yes sir.”

“I appreciate the fraternity makeover.  Really, it’s a classic look.  But it doesn’t say corporate.  It doesn’t say rising star.  It doesn’t say money.  Does that make sense?”

“Umm, I guess so.” “Page 183 in the handbook.  Suggestions for the transition between fraternal life and entering the corporate world.”

“I wasn’t in a fraternity,” Henley laughed.

“I was under the impression that was how you know John Howard.  That you were one of his Kappa Alpha Sigma brothers?” “I, umm, no.  And I don’t think… John Howard was either?”

“You should work on speaking directly.  These umms and pauses don’t project confidence.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, you’re dismissed.”

“Thank you sir.”

One his way out, Henley took a moment to swing by John Howard’s desk.  Partially just to wish his fellow worker a good weekend, but also because that fraternity question bobbed around his head.

“John Howard?”  The stalwart man seated perfectly straight rotated his chair to face Henley.  Henley noticed that he sat on an extra wide chair and seemed to fill it well.  All those hours in the gym seemed to harden every muscle on his body except his butt.

“Henley Tator, do you need something?”

“Just wanted to say have a good weekend.” “Enjoy your weekend as well Henley.  If you’re feeling comfortable, I can show you the company gym Monday.  I workout at 7 am and 7 pm everyday.”

“Yeah, that would be great- wow you’re here a long time!”

“I take a lot of pride in my position at Hemplebaum.  I hope to become a division partner.  Legacy membership at Rolling Acres is five hundred grand.  And that’s my place.”  Henley pondered the man before him.  Honestly, there was a lot to like about John Howard.  He was honest, straightforward, and hardworking.  But there was something callous, cold, and privileged about him.  

“Hey, John Howard.  Were you in a fraternity?”

“Kappa Alpha Sigma, you know that Henley.” Did he know?  He looked like a K-Sig, the kind of former athlete who came to party hard and maybe pass a class or two.  

“Anyway, enjoy your weekend.  I need to finish up. Good night.” John Howard turned back towards his desk without another word, leaving Henley to shrug and walk to the tube and head home.

-----

Page 183 started with three pictures: a polo and khaki sporting college student, a man in trousers and blazer, and finally an old and noticeably thicker man in a conservative suit. Then it talked about the foundations of a man's future and his wardrobe.

“The navy blazer is a classic item that works for semi formal occasions and casual office places. Even as a man transitions to daily suits, the navy 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.  It is important to view the event and location when making a selection.  Bow ties in particular are more flamboyant in a workplace and should be considered carefully.  Business attire defaults to long ties, and more conservative workplaces require more conservative choices.  Consider emulating the attire of your superiors.”

“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.  A traditional undershirt with sleeves is ideal, as it provides sweat protection.  Briefs are the most appropriate underwear choice, as it provides support without being extraneous.  It is also compatible with tennis for those who participate in sport.”

This had to have been the third comment someone had about his choice of underwear.  It seemed a deeply intrusive thing for a company to comment on.  But a lot of other sections are good information.  It explained why men like Bert and John Howard wore ties and Rip, in a more colorful position, had the flashier bowtie.  He took some basic notes and decided he’d hit up that menswear shop.  They had a company account, he could probably just tack it on to his previous bill.

-----

“Henley Tator,” he said simply.  The guard, the same one as every other day, checked the list and let him in.  Uncharacteristically, the guard spoke to him.

“Early start?”

“I’m supposed to meet a friend at the gym.”

“Ah, good choice.  I’ve been lifting since my football days,” the guard said while flexing a bicep.  It strained the fabric of his shirt so much there was a tiny tear at the sleeve.

“Ah damn, gonna have to size up.  Sorry, please don’t report me.”  He suddenly seemed mildly afraid.

“Report you?”

“Some of the guys here are real sticklers about manners.  They don’t like cursing.” “No, man, we’re cool.  You look great!  Not sure I’d want to be that big honestly.”

“Hey, once you start, you never wanna stop.”

Henley wanted to stop.  John Howard was already changed and waiting on him, so Henley rushed to change and hit the floor.  The next hour was a diabolic hell.  John Howard started with squats.  Henley got a good look at his friend's monstrous calves and steel cut quads, surprisingly pale but doubted John Howard wore short pants much.  The most shocking feature was watching that jiggly ass clench and thrust with each repetition.  Hard muscle lurked underneath the jelly-like layer.  And it went on and on.  Big lifts, slow lifts, legs, legs, legs, he was deeply certain he would never be able to walk again.  John Howard had to help him strip down and lumber into a shower stall.

He took his time rinsing off, rubbing the corporate provided products into his aching muscles and letting the hot water relax him.  Leaning against a wall, still gasping for breath, he let himself drift off for a bit.

“You alright, Henley?” John Howard asked, cracking the curtain.

“Just, just finishing up,” he said, turning off the water and grabbing his towel.  In the locker room, he saw John Howard's muscled glory in more detail, the ravenous cuts of his back rippled as he walked.  He was thick from below his pecs down to his butt, no real waistline, and most of that part of his back was covered in cotton fabric.  His legs were bare below the butt, the garganuan thighs popping through the pristine white cotton of the briefs.

While Henley got ready, John Howard went to a mirror and began applying white shaving cream to his practically smooth face, treating every exposed piece of chin and neck to the cream and razor.  Slipping back on his underwear, Henley donned a white undershirt and pulled up some pleated khakis.  Out of his locker came a white button down shirt which he began hastily buttoning.  John Howard was finishing his face with aftershave and examining himself in the mirror.  As he approached the lockers, Henley got a frontal look at him.  He hadn’t realized how high waisted these briefs were from the back.  His bellybutton was completely hidden, practically cartoonish.

Henley went to the mirror and began combing and styling his hair, working in product and brushing a part in.  His hair was getting trained for it, the strands beginning to grow a part on the right side naturally.  It looked pretty good like this.  More corporate that he had preferred, but it was a classic style for a reason.

As he returned to his locker, John Howard was pulling some trousers up his legs, hoisting them up with a pair of silk braces.  Everything about John Howard was just so big nowadays, his proportions practically Marvel comic level, that he hadn’t realized how high waisted his pants had become.  No one wore them like that nowadays.  At least no one who wasn’t LARPing or Mr. Amplebottom.  John Howard reminded Henley of Mr. Amplebottom, a lot.  The book said to copy your bosses outfits.  John Howard had taken that to heart.

Henley fashioned the gold and green tie around his neck before slipping into a navy blazer with prominent buttons.  John Howard walked towards the mirror again as he rolled up the cuffs of his shirt and adorned them with cufflinks.

“Nice man,” Henley admired.

“Thank you,” John Howard was almost bashful as he showed them to Henley.  He noted the onix black button had the letters J.H.J cut into them.

“Are they monogrammed?”

“Yes!  It’s very popular at the club.  And they were suggested by the haberdashery.” “Haberdashery?  Wow, that sounds so English.”

“These are made in America.  All the clothes recommended by Hemplebaum are.”  John Howard seemed agitated by the suggestion. “I just meant the word.”

“I don’t want people to think I’m un American.”  The stern response caused Henley to stay silent as the pair continued dressing.

-----

Henley was honestly looking forward to his weekly review meeting with Mr. Amplebottom.  He was starting to get in the swing of this whole corporate thing.  And the tantalizing prospect of his first paycheck was right around the corner.  That wasn’t the only corporate benefit he was enjoying.  His clothes were tight.  Quite tight.  At first he’d thought something was snagged, but the small strain on the buttons of his shirt was unmistakable.  As he pulled up his pants this morning, he’d heard a slight tear as a few seams in the rear snapped.  He’d have to get some things let out.  Or maybe new ones altogether.

The growth had bothered him a bit at first, it seemed to come out of nowhere.  But John Howard explained it was just the result of an effective workout and diet plan.  On John Howard’s suggestion, he’d dropped the salads and switched to the daily platter, a fuller meal for growth.  And the workouts meant he was exhausted everyday after work and went right to bed.  Which kind of went against his reason for working here in the first place.  Wait, why was he working here again?  To make money.  He wanted to enjoy more of life downtown.  Wasn’t it something about John Howard?

“Take a seat Henley.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Henley gratefully replied.  He plopped himself into the cushioned chair and did his best to keep his back tall and straight.  The men around here had impeccable posture, at least the ones in acquisitions.  Rip certainly knew how to relax.  Which gave him an idea for after the meeting.

“How has work been proceeding?”

“Very good, sir.  The trainings have been very helpful and I am eager to begin assisting with projects.”

“Good.  I am pleased with the energy you’ve devoted to your job.”

“Thank you Sir.”

“I’ve decided to assign you to the Hemple Housing Porter project under John Howard Johnson.” “I look forward to it.” “Very good.  We’ve acquired the property, but there is still concern about ‘historical value.’  You will be tasked with pricing and selling anything valuable inside.” “Yes sir… is that the Cherub theatre?”  Henley got a touch concerned.

“We refer to projects by our goals.  But the Theatre currently sits there.  Is that going to be a problem, Henley?” His grey eyes seemed to flash.

“No, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Good.  You never struck me as the theatre type anyway, Henley.  I assumed you were into sport.”

“Not really Sir.”

“That surprises me.  Since you are friends with John Howard, you must have attended many football games with him.  And that sport is your preferred leisure activity.”  The words came out like a metronome, even paced and simple.  But they stuck in Henley’s mind.  What else would he and John Howard have done together?  He was clearly obsessed with sports and his fraternity.  And Henley was enjoying the gym, which was truly just another sport.

“Now,” Mr. Amplebottom continued.  “You will be working with some old men from assets and banking.  Really conservative types.  You should try speaking slower.  That will deepen your voice and give you more presence.”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom,” the words spilled out in nearly double the time. His tongue felt heavy as he spoke and every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.

“Very good, Henley, with practice you will also be able to use a deeper, more masculine tone.  That will be very helpful in business.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Now, just one last thing, Henley,” there was a venomous glint in his eyes as he stumbled over Henley’s name.  “Henley is a very peculiar name.  Unique.  It sets you apart when you should fit in, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” “In business, you know how important it is to give the right impression.  The men in these industries tend to be very old-fashioned.  And so much of this business is based on rubbing elbows and social connections.  You have to give yourself every possible advantage.”

“Yes, yes Sir.”

“I know you want my advice.  I am a good mentor.”

“Yes Sir.  You are a good mentor.”

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as Henderson.”  Henley’s brain practically exploded.

“Yes Sir,” he muttered weakly.

“Try it on me.”

“Hello, my name is Henderson.” More brain explosions.  It felt partially like getting hit in the head and partially like taking really good meds. “Slower.”

“Hello, my name is Henderson.” A glitter bomb went off in his brain.  It felt like magic.

“Very good, Henderson.”  Hearing someone else say it, as though it always had been, made the magical glitter settle on his brain, covering it in an ashy fog.  “Well, I figure you might want this before you go for the weekend.”  He opened a drawer and pulled out a large printed piece of paper.  He handed it over to Henderson who grabbed it eagerly.  Upon seeing the amount of money on his check, Henderson’s pupils practically morphed into dollar signs.

“Associates get more than double that.”  More dollar signs flashed before his eyes.  “And it’s a fairly simple promotion.  Good work is always rewarded.”

“Yes Sir!  Thank you sir!”  The first set of words rushed out of his mouth.  He calmed himself and regained his slow speaking tempo.  He glanced down at the check and realized it said Henderson Tator.

“I don’t think I can deposit this.” “You’ll use the company banking system from now on.  You’ll find it has much better rewards for higher income brackets.  We have built in direct deposit.  But I wanted to see the look on your face the first time.” 

John Howard was hard on work when Henderson knocked.

“Henley Tator,” monotoned his deep voice.  Henderson had a flashback to Starbucks and a similar conversation, but now the shoe was on the other foot.

“Please call me Henderson, John Howard,” his thick, slow voice drawled out.  “It is more professional.

“I agree, Henderson,” Henderson could have sworn a tiny smile crept onto the corners of John Howard’s mouth.  But the stoic man’s face returned to it’s sculpted indifference immediately.  “What can I do for you?”

“I was considering asking Rip for some... herbals, for the weekend and wondered if you cared to partake.  Maybe watch a game?”  Henderson had a distinct memory of two dudes chilling out to some cheap weed and beer while watching Reefer Madness and laughing their asses off.  John Howard's face was not amused.

“No, Henderson.  You know I do not partake in such things.” “What?  You went through a whole rasta-ganja phase in college…”

“I did not,” John Howard was visibly angry even if his voice maintained its impressive monotone.  “I do not approve of illicit substances or behavior and I do not appreciate your slander.” “Woah, calm down, big guy,” not that John Howard wasn’t calm.  But Henderson knew that one punch from the dude would knock him silly.  “I was just thinking back to our college days….”

“Yes, I remember Chadwick forcing us to try the stuff during Hell Week.  As I recall, you disliked it even more than I did.”

“What?  What does Chad have to do with this?” “The only time I ever tried marjiuana,” his voice gained a hushed tone as he said the word.  “Was for a fraternity induction.  And if you continued to use it, I was unaware.  If you would like to watch the game and enjoy some beer or liquid that would be fine. But I will not associate with drug users.”  Henderson was taken aback.  This man, well maybe not this man, but this dude he might have been at one point spent nearly a semester acting like some sort of stoner God.

“I’m sorry, John Howard.”

“If you are still interested in watching the game and having a beer, I would not be opposed.”

“Yeah, totally!” Henderson swallowed awkwardly after he spoke.  Those words felt wrong.  But either way, he’d spend a little more time with Josh Howard and figure out what was going on.

-----

“Tator, Henderson,” he said at the gate.  The officer was the same as before, but there were a few subtle differences.  His tight uniform now had full length sleeves and he wore a cap on his even more masculine face.  “Good morning, Mr. Tator,” the man’s deep voice spoke slowly and severely.  His face had not a glimpse of recognition.  That was fine by Henderson because he was actually quite tired.  He’d ended up in Chester Saturday, bringing a small batch of beer to a football party.  It was very strange to him, meeting several of John Howard’s neighbors, though Chadwick was mercifully absent.  He had a great time, watching, drinking, and shooting the breeze.  The evening went on far later than he anticipated and despite the offer of a guest room, he had taken a late night Uber back into town.  Newfound interest in football meant he had spent Sunday watching football, drinking beer, and ordering pizza.  And now he was meeting John Howard for a workout with a beer hangover on a Monday.

The workout was much better this week.  He found himself making great strides in his max lifts which made him exceptionally proud.  John Howard gave his butt a big swat after they finished cleaning up and he felt his rump shudder within his pants.  His pants had gotten so much tighter and when he looked in the mirror, the back of his sportcoat practically lay flat from the shelf on his behind.  As he admired his form in the mirror, Henderson couldn’t help but brush the smooth shaved line of his prominent jaw.  It really stood out nowadays.

“Miss a spot?” John Howard asked, assuming Henderson was rubbing stray hairs.

“Hey John Howard, why is working out making my jaw bigger?”  John Howard stared at him curiously and shook his head.

“I don’t think I understand.” “Since, I’ve been working out with you, my face just seems bigger.  My jaw and chin in particular.” “Maybe losing some baby fat?  Or maybe your improved posture is making your face look different?”  Henderson couldn’t explain it.  He examined the reflection a few seconds more, sure that something was amiss. But he didn’t have an idea better than John Howard’s so he let it pass and went into the office.

Henderson’s job required calls, lots of calls.  Calls to landowners, historical groups, insurance companies, auctioneers, all with their own opinions and interests.  Henderson wasn’t actually supposed to do any research, simply talk to the right people to get appropriate evaluations and transportation.  He found himself mimicking John Howard’s voice, deep, slow, and disinterested.  It wasn’t exciting work, but the progress was slow and consistent.  Museums wanted some old posters, there was a buyer in Argentina for the chandelier, and several vintage stores wanted furniture pieces.  A few calls were less productive, with upset protestors yelled at him.  He’d tried being sympathetic at first, but quickly found that being stern and direct got them off the line quicker so he could return to work.

His days soon blended together.  Morning workouts, work, lunch, work, home, sleep, repeat.  He sometimes worried that he was missing out on stuff, his old friends called or texted but he rarely responded anymore.  It always seemed to happen at an inconvenient time.  Eventually, he joined John Howard for his evening workout as well, the results were great, even if he’d had to go up a size or two.  Walking around with pecs straining a dress shirt felt incredible, like a huge dose of testosterone had been injected into him.  Strangely, his buttocks were growing considerably, in strength and size.  But it accumulated a soft layer of fat that spread across, making him even wider.  He’d asked John Howard about it once, and he simply told him a big butt was better than a big gut.  And Henderson had to agree.  None of the men here had big guts.  Mr. Amplebottom had a huge butt.  And Henderson wanted to be like Mr. Amplebottom as much as possible.  More and more, Henderson felt extremely grateful towards his superior.  Not only had he hired an unqualified applicant, but he had acted like a mentor and guide and coach.  He gave Henderson more and more advice, about standing, walking, talking, and each time he came back eager to learn more.

“Stand tall, Henderson. Head up, don’t slouch.  Keep your hands at your side.  And don’t fidget.”

“A deeper voice commands attention better.  Be direct.  Contain emotions, you are better suited to appear calm and in control at all times.  There is no need to appear energetic or excited.”

“Wide steps, heel to toe.  Legs apart.”

-----

“Tator, Henderson,” he said calmly as he buzzed in.  It was old hat by now.  The security guard was probably the same one as before.  Henderson paid less attention nowadays to things like that.  He had noticed that the security uniform had slowly been replaced with something more formal.  The man wore a coat and bowtie along with his cap, looking halfway between a mobster and the world's most muscular butler.

“Good morning, Mr. Tator,” he intoned back as he let him inside.  Henderson felt the weight of his body as he walked, his chest stuck out and helped keep his chin up.  The broad shoulders made him feel like he took up the entire doorway.  And his big wide stride made his butt and crotch kind of wiggle as he walked.  He could feel the fabric of his pants tighten around his balls and release, then tighten on the other side.  It was mildly arousing.

As he walked in, he greeted a few of his fellow coworkers as he walked to his desk.  Moments after sitting down, he received a call to head to Mr. Amplebottom’s office.

He stood at attention in front of the desk, legs apart, arms slack at his side, and staring directly into the grey eyes of his supervisor.  Amplebottom seemed to examine his employee for a moment before directing him to sit.  Henderson did, his increasingly wide and plump bottom expanding out, consuming nearly 3/4ths 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 large moose knuckle.

“The last sales were processed by accounts payable.  You did a good job getting every last dollar out of that disgusting building.” “Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom,” came the monotonous reply.

“How do you feel about the Theatre?”

“The Hemple Housing Porter project will be very profitable.” “Yes, but how about the Cherub Theatre.  It’s an old building.” “The lot is better suited for new development.” “Do you like theatre, Henderson.” “No Sir, I was never interested in art.” “More of a sports fellow?” “Yes Sir, I love football.” “Bet you were a big ole lineman back in the day, huh?” “No, I never played.” “I’m pretty shocked,” Amplebottom smirked.  “So, no hard feelings about tearing down a 100 year old Theatre.” “No Sir.  The development will be very profitable for Hempelbaum.”

“Good man,” Amplebottom kept his eyes focused on Henderson, maintaining steady eye contact.  “Well, looks like you’ve earned your first commission check.”  He pushed a small piece of paper forward to Henderson, who picked it up.  His eyes bulged and dollar signs flashed before his eyes.

“Holy crap!” “Don’t swear Henderson, it’s unbecoming.” “My apologies Mr. Amplebottom.  I wasn’t expecting this.” “Three percent commission can be an awful lot when you do a good job.  And your percentage goes up with promotions.  And good work like this makes me think you’ll be getting on very soon.”

Henderson thanked Mr. Amplebottom profusely and headed straight to John Howard’s desk.

“John Howard Johnson,” he said in a deep, slow voice. 

“Henderson Tator, what can I do for you?”

“I got my first commission check,” he said, flashing it for John Howard to see.

“Congratulations.  It feels nice to receive appropriate compensation.  Men like us work hard, we deserve to make money.”

“It feels great.  I could get a down payment on a house.” “Or you could apply for a membership at Rolling Acres Country Club.”

“Oh, no offense, John Howard, but I don’t think I’m country club material.”

“I think you’d like it, Henderson.  It’s very nice, and a good way to make connections with other successful men.”  John Howard flicked his wrists and displayed a set of ostentatious cufflinks engraved with the country club logo, a laurel wreath surrounding a tree with “Rolling Acres” written over it. 

“That seems flashy for you.” “I was accepted as a legacy member.  They only let legacy members purchase them.”

“They’re very shiny.” “Yes, too much for the office normally.  But I was very excited.  Oswald Laurence Carrington IV called personally to inform me.  It’s very rare to get a call specifically from the Director of the Board.”

“I’m happy for you,” Henderson said simply.

“Come golfing this weekend.  I know you will enjoy it.  I can bring guests now!” John Howard’s voice was still precise but there was just the subtle hint of mirth that made Henderson smile slightly.

“Fine, what do I need to wear?  I’m sure they have a dress code.” “Meet at my home before.  I will have appropriate clothing.”

-----

Henderson had thought a lot about Chester since his last time out here.  The spacious green lawns, gigantic homes, and expensive cars cleaned daily should have disgusted him or at least made his eyes roll.  Nowadays, he couldn’t help but imagine what life must be like out here.  There weren’t music festivals or concerts, but there weren’t smelly people vomiting on the sidewalk or polluting cabs on every corner honking loudly.  John Howard’s elegant home had a room dedicated for watching football.  It wasn’t even the media room, he said there was a room with a movie projector on the second floor!  This was just his man cave, except it was a sunlit, high-ceilinged game room.  It was bigger than the apartment Henderson was currently living in alone.  He’d kicked out his roommates a month back.  They smoked too much weed, it made him dizzy, and he could easily afford the rent on his own nowadays.

John Howard answered the door dressed exactly as he went to work.  Henderson had expected something more casual- he’d worn khakis and a pink polo himself.  Instead, his bulkier counterpart was embarrassed by his attire and insisted he put on one of his old suits.  Henderson thought about protesting, but instead allowed himself to be turned into a Ken doll clone of his coworker, the only difference being the subtle patterns on the tie.  He asked John Howard if they were golfing like this, and he insisted they would be changing at the club.  Henderson wouldn’t imagine most people showed up dressed like this, but whatever made John Howard comfortable.

Henderson was glad he’d been made to change.  After they got past the gate and into the main clubhouse, every man he passed had a tie on.  Some of the younger lads were dressed in polo and khakis, but the acne and baby fat on their faces made him happy to not be confused with them.  They checked in and “Legacy John Howard Johnson” entered his guests name and they headed to the lockers to change.  John Howard handed him a pair of black trousers made of a stretchy and breathable material.

“You sure this one is mine?” “They’re identical.” “Oh, I’m not sure I’ll fit.” “I’m certain we’re the same size, Henderson.”  Which they were apparently.  Henderson was shocked as the pants expanded over his thighs, showing off the thick trunks he’d developed and the amble jiggly buttocks that pressed generously backwards.  They sat a little higher on his waist than he was comfortable with, but he didn’t want the pants to sag on the ground.  John Howard handed him a white sport polo with the clubs logo on the left breast.  Then he added a black golf cap.  Henderson had been afraid he might be wearing jodhpurs and knee socks, so the mainstream outfit was relieving.  They tidied up in the mirror, and seeing the two of them side by side, dressed exactly the same, Henderson had a bit of a shock realizing how much he looked like John Howard.  His body had filled out tremendously, broad shoulders and baseball like biceps, a thick but strong core, that overly wide ass that led into legs and calves formed by deadlifts and deep squats.  The biggest thing was his face.  He really could swear that his face had been almost heart shaped, but now there was a distinctly square shape to the thing.  His longish ivy league haircut gave him a more youthful appearance than his coworker, but otherwise he might have been a son or young brother.

As they walked out onto the course, golf bags strapped across their backs, Henderson could see a tall figure in the distance, seeming to greet them with a small wave.  John Howard returned the small gesture.

“Who’s that?” “Chadwick Stratton.  I invited him to play with us?” “You invited Chad?” “Chadwick, yes.  He’s been a friend since my fraternity days.  You know that Henderson.  I thought you would get on quite well.  Besides, he’s on good terms with many important people.  No one is a better connection.”  Chadwick was in stretchy salmon colored pants and a white polo exactly like the ones they were wearing.  He had a ballcap on with their college logo on the front.  Locks of blonde hair spilled under the brim.

“Hey bro,” Chadwick shook John Howard’s hand and pulled him in for a pat on the back.  For his part, John Howard tensed up but did not resist.  “Damn, you’re getting thicker all the time.”  He groped John Howard’s shoulders aggressively.

“Henderson, this is Chadwick Stratton.  Chadwick, this is Henderson Tator.  We work together in acquisitions at Hemplebaum.  He also attended college with us.”  Chadwick grabbed Henderson into a similar handshake to hug and Henderson felt a strange repulsion in his stomach.

“You look familiar.  Were you a brother?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Henderson replied.

“What fraternity were you in?” “I wasn’t.” “A big bro like you?  Damn, we missed you.  Would have loved to see you on our intramural teams.  Bruiser like you can definitely rough some people up huh?” He laughed playfully and punched Henderson solidly in the chest.  It didn’t hurt.  “Well, let’s play.” “Are we taking the cart?” Henderson asked, pointing to a line of white, polished golf carts.

“Nah,” Chadwick reached out and gave both John Howard and Henderson hard butt slaps.  “Figure you two fatasses need some cardio!”  He laughed barkingly and John Howard laughed along.  “Kidding, bro.  I know dudes like you are all about that max lift.  But I still got abs and the ladies love ‘em!”  He pulled up the bottom of his shirt showing off the solid, smooth abdominals carved into his tiny waist.

Chadwick was extremely friendly and a little physical.  Upon learning that Henderson had never golfed, Chadwick took it upon himself to teach him everything he could, resulting in him saddling up behind him to correct stance and form, but also jokingly pressing his crotch into Henderson’s butt and thrusting.  The boys all laughed at the inappropriate horseplay.

Henderson had a hard time hating Chadwick.  Taking away all the pomp of politics and social structure, Chadwick turned into an incredibly friendly alpha.  The kind of guy who would be quarterback, homecoming king, and fraternity president (all things he learned Chadwick had been).  And Henderson was just another one of his bros, dressed in expensive clothes, spending a morning on the course talking about work and finances and spouses.  He could remember specific events, Chadwick being horrible during the election season when he was campaigning for a fraternity brothers father, taunting an LGBT students group, and pissing on Tara Kissimmee’s car.  But his brain was giving each of these events a little different interpretation now: he was working hard to get Senator Mulligan elected, taunting the gay kids had been meant as a harmless prank, and he was drunk out of his mind with Tara and she never pressed charges so it wasn’t that big a deal.  Chadwick was just being a drunken frat- fraternity brother like everyone expected.

“Wife’s pregnant with the third.  I got started early!” He bragged while grabbing his crotch. “Chrissy Collop was always into you.” “Yup!  Her dad’s super rich, he’s president of the C-Group, that big currency trading operation.  Old, old money.  But how about you?” Chadwick got a mischievous glint in his eyes as he hand reached towards John Howard’s crotch and gave it a hard smack.  John Howard yelped as he grabbed his balls.

“Nut check!” Chadwick busted out laughing.  “But seriously, bro, getting those fellas ready?  Almost breeding season, boys,” he whispered to John Howard’s balls.  Henderson was kind of disturbed but John Howard was laughing and so he joined in too.

“What does that mean?”

“J.H. is getting married.  Missy Dorianger.”

“Congratulations!” Henderson said happily.

“Thank you. We’re finishing some final details.  Her Mother is very specific.  Sometimes she acts as though I’m unworthy.” “Missy can’t do better.” “She is a perfectly suitable spouse.  I am very pleased with the situation.” “Can’t wait til we can throw that bachelor party!”

“We’ll do something at the club.  I have no desire to watch you stagger around Vegas and hold your head while you vomit.” “It’s your party bro!  I’d be holding your hair for once,” Chadwick laughed.  John Howard rolled his eyes as he set up his shot and launched the ball.  He let out a whistle of appreciation.

“Good shot,” Chadwick and Henderson said simultaneously.  John Howard suppressed a grin.

“Henderson, I know it’s late notice but I hope you can at least attend the wedding.  The club has strict guest limits and I’m running out of passes for nonmembers for the bachelor party.” “Thank you John Howard.  I’m sure I can make it.” “And if you get your membership before, you can enjoy all the fun!” Chadwick winked at Henderson and snagged at his nipple that pressed out firmly from the polo. The boys laughed and continued playing.

The locker room at the clubhouse was a lively place stocked with bathing supplies and also booze.  Henderson intended on just showering up and getting dressed, but John Howard and Chadwick were both sitting in their briefs (Chadwicks a traditional cut, John Howard's extremely high waisted to fit over his enormous rump) and undershirts removing the cork from a glass bottle and pouring three full glasses of amber liquid.

“Bourbon,” Chadwick said shortly as he handed Henderson a glass before taking a deep swig of his own.  Henderson was very confused about what to do.  He was standing in a towel while his two golf buddies relaxed in their unmentionables sipping on a bourbon that probably cost more than those obnoxious club cufflinks John Howard has.  He didn’t want to upset his new friends, and the financial connections they represented, so he pulled on his grey Hanes Boxer briefs (his growing buttocks had necessitated so many new underwear purchases that he was desperately searching for cheaper brands) and white undershirt and sat down.  Taking a big swig of the liquid, he did his best to relax, leaning back in the chair and spreading his legs as his friends chatted.

“You’re getting pretty good at the trap shot,” Chadwick toasted John Howard.

“You’re still better,” John Howard was already refilling his drink happily.

“Always gonna be, dude,” Chadwick laughed again.  “But keep trying.  I enjoy competition.” He held out his cup which John Howard dutifully refilled.  “Man, I’m glad you’re here, J.H..  I miss having some bros.  This club is great, but too many of the brothers moved away.  But at least I got you two!” Chadwick winked at Henderson and encouraged him to finish up as another round needed to be poured.  Despite his increasingly sturdy frame, Henderson hadn’t been drinking much lately.  He hadn’t been much other than working, but the alcohol was working its way through his golf dehydrated body quickly.

The trio continued chatting until John Howard excused himself to the toilet, leaving Henderson alone with a man he once thought of as detestable.  But this afternoon was fun.  He got a small knot in his stomach as Chadwick turned to him with a viperous grin.

“Henley?  Henley Tator?” Chadwick suddenly said, dropping his voice low.  Henderson was confused for a moment.  He hadn’t thought of himself as Henley in a while.  It was almost shocking.  But then he cautiously nodded yes.

“Please, call me Henderson, Chadwick.” “Oh, I will, Henderson,” he emphasized the name.  “You look good.  I was pretty sure I recognized you, though you look a lot better now.  Hemplebaum’s done wonders for you.” “Thank you, Chadwick.  I am very happy working at Hemplebaum Incorporated.”  Chadwick nodded and smiled as the robotic words left Henderson’s mouth.

“I like having fraternity brothers around.  It’s a real lifetime bond, ya know?” He took another deep swig.  “Something that really defines a man.  Who he is. Who he’s going to be.” He seemed to stare at Henderson curiously.  For his part, Henderson had no idea what to say, and so stayed silent.  “If I’d known this is who you were going to be, I’d have made sure you were my brother.  Of course, I knew Henley.  Not Henderson.  Not big strapping Henderson.”

“Yes,” Henderson stirred his glass and sat there.  Chadwick was slurring slightly, but Henderson wondered if he'd be able to stand up.  This drink was strong and Chadwick was pouring him a third.

“Now, Henderson.  What do you think Henderson was like in college?”

“I’m Henderson.” “Yeah, but in college you weren’t.  I just wonder what you wish you had done?”

“I wish I’d gone to football games.  I love football.” “Fuck yes dude.  Big guy like you played in high school,” it wasn’t a question.

“I’d want to have a group of men to watch sports with.” “Yup, every game we had a part at the house.”  Henderson stared at him with glassy eyes.  He was confused.  It seemed like Chadwick wanted him to say something but he could only shrug.

“Would have been nice.” “I hope you apply for membership.  The club would be a good fit for you.”

“I really enjoyed myself.  It’s very expensive.  I was kind of looking into getting a new apartment.” “Where are you living nowadays?” “I have a two bedroom downtown.  It’s a heap, but I live alone.” “Thought about buying a house?” “I can’t afford a house in the city.” “What about in Chester?”

“What?! No, I haven’t, I mean, I don’t need a mansion,” Henderson sputtered as he spoke despite training himself to not.

“Not yet, but once you get a wife and some kids, plus Chester is right next to Rolling Acres.” “I’m not sure it’s right for me.” “It’s right for Henderson.  For football playing, fraternity brother, corporate shark Henderson,” Chadwick smiled and let out a tiny burp as he finished another drink.  Henderson blushed, though it was hard to tell through his liquor flushed face.

“It’s hard to buy a house in Chester.” “I can set you up.” “Really?” The idea was setting itself in Henderson’s mind.  Far from feeling like a fresh fantasy, it embedded itself deep inside, 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.  It’s why he did what he did.

“I always support my Kappa Sigma Alpha brothers.” He poured two more drinks and raised his glass in a toast.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond.”  Chadwick said and stared at Henderson.  Henderson hesitated, but his mind wanted it so bad.  He wanted Chadwick to like him, to be his brother, to go back and be a total frat boy in college.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long.  Four years forged the lifetime bond.”  Chadwick smiled and the two chugged down their drinks.  John Howard showed up a moment later and plopped down while pouring himself another, though he was several behind now.

“What did I miss?”  The other two smirked and poured another round and the three K-Sig brothers passed another toast to their fraternity.

-----

Henderson woke up naked with a gigantic erection on the softest white sheets he’d ever felt.  HIs head throbbed like never before.  A glass of water and several ibuprofen sat next to the bed and he swallowed both without hesitation.  Looking around, he admired the pristine cleanliness and order of the room.  He was pretty sure where he must be, even if he’d never seen John Howard’s guest room before.

A white cotton robe laid over an old wooden chair, but no other clothes were about.  Wrapping the fabric tightly around himself, he opened the door and peered down an equally clean and quiet hallway.  He ducked back in the bedroom, helping himself to the toiletries in the attached bath before heading downstairs.  John Howard was dressed similarly, though the half closure of his robe meant that Henderson could see the waistband of his briefs.  He smiled weakly at Henderson and offered him a cup of coffee which he accepted happily.

“Where are my clothes?” Henderson croaked after a strong sip.

“Washing machine.  You vomited all over your suit.”

“Your suit, sorry man.”

“Quite fine Henderson,” John Howard let out a quiet laugh.  “Haven’t had a night like that in years.  Reminded me of our fraternity days.” Our fraternity days.  Henderson went to protest but found his brain muddled.  They had talked about it a lot last night, keggers, hell week, initiation, rush, all kinds of random details of fraternity life flooded his brain.  The memories seemed like his mostly, though they had a dreamy quality that he attributed to the hangover.

“Remember that party where Van Boegearden vomited after his keg stand?  And then he insisted on drinking it up again?”  Henderson laughed hoarsely and John Howard joined in. “He’s a congressman now,” John Howard added.

“Good, good.  Always knew he’d do well in politics.”  They both took large sips of their coffee.  John Howard was reading a paper but also had ESPN on, reviewing yesterday's college football.

“We missed the game!” Henderson moaned.

“We watched the game, Henderson.  At the club.” “Oh God.  They’re never going to let me join now!” “I wouldn’t be so sure.  Oswald V seemed quite amused by you.” “Which one is that again?”

“Son of the Board Chairman.  I’d commit that to memory.” “I have now.  Well, so long as he was amused.  Hopefully he can appreciate old fraternity brothers getting together.” “We’ll have to do it again soon.” “Hopefully often once I’m a Rolling acres member.” “I’m glad you’re going to apply,” John Howard smiled.

“I belong at a place like Rolling Acres,” Henderson said with a new confidence.

“Men like us need places like Rolling Acres,” John Howard replied.

“I’m going to have to call a cab,” Henderson said looking at the clock.

“I can take you.” “It’s quite a drive into town.” “I slept through church,” John Howard said, yawning.  “And I’m not feeling up to a workout today.  Besides, I thought I might take you around Chester first.  There are a few lovely homes for sale you might want to see.” “That would be delightful!”  The two men turned their attention back to the TV and their coffees, nursing the kind of hangovers they swore they’d never get again but always did.

-----

Henderson strode into the building swiftly, impossibly perfect posture, dressed in a charcoal suit and tie that he borrowed again from John Howard.  He noticed there was a new guard at the gate when he gave his name.

“Fine weather, Henderson?” the young guard, a redhead with a trace of a tattoo on his neck asked.  Henderson was appalled.  He’d ended up spending most of Sunday at the club, enjoying dinner at the men’s grill.  At the club, the staff spoke using honorifics and only used questions relative to their service.  He was deeply annoyed that this young guard spoke.  However, he buried that feeling as he hustled to the elevator.  He had a busy morning ahead.

After his workout, a grueling leg day that left him wobbly but his calves looked tremendous, Henderson asked Mr. Amplebottom’s secretary for a meeting, and his 9 a.m. was open.  So it was that he found himself standing before his boss's beautiful desk, arms at his side, staring into his eyes.

“What can I do for you, Henderson?”  Henderson had been trying to find the words to be concise but found that impossible.

“I want every piece of advice you can give me.”

“Why is that?” Mr. Amplebottom was suppressing a smug smile though Henderson didn’t notice.

“I want to be just like you.  And John Howard.  And the men at Rolling Acres.” “Enjoy the club?” “Immensely.  I belong there.  And here at Hemplebaum.  I want to become a partner.  I want to move out to Chester, in a house, not in some rubbish apartment in this squalid town,” he cast a disgusted look out the skyline of the window.  “I want money.”  That was low, deep and felt like a great truth awoke inside him.  Mr. Amplebottom smiled.

“So, Henderson, are you willing to fully commit yourself to Hemplebaum?” “I am sir,” he replied like a soldier.

“Excellent.  Well, I may say this suit is a good start.” “I’m borrowing it from John Howard.” “Yes, a good start.  You should get a dozen I think, at least.  Plus a few formal ones for special occasions.  Many ties and shoes.  New supports as well, you do look much better with your trousers at your proper waist.” “Thank you Sir.”

“A haircut.  I’m quite surprised you’ve stuck with the ivy league so long.  You are much better suited to something short.  Like mine and John Howard’s.  The part is a classic.  But I can set you up with my barber.”

“Yes Sir.” “Now, there is a rather large change that I believe is a necessity for your continued progression at Hemplebaum as well as your new social circle.” “What is that sir?” “Tator.  Just a gross, common name.  You agree?”  Henderson snapped back confirmation even though it made his head spin.  “Personally, I’ve always been very fond of alliterative names.  It’s a nice mnemonic device socially.  And it looks so great monogrammed.” “You want me to change my last name?  To something with an H?” Henderson asked, slightly confused.

“Well, I thought you wanted to.  To succeed.” “Yes Sir.” “So you want to change your name?  To what?” “I don’t know Sir.” “So you want my help, is that what you are saying?”  The words were coming so fast and his eyes so enticing that Henderson nodded.

“Yes Sir, please tell me what my name should be.”  Amplebottom leaned back in his chair, clearly relishing in the moment even though Henderson had no idea why.

“This is my favorite part.” Henderson didn’t say anything.  His boss clearly didn’t want him to.  And he’d just asked for help so there was no need to say anything.  “It’s a great moment, when you realize you want to be whatever I want you to be.  I was wrong about you Henderson.  I did not think you’d make it.  But here you are, willing and able.  And looking much better with the muscles.”  He reached into a drawer in his desk and produced something that looked like a ring box.  Ceremoniously, he pulled it open before Henderson’s eyes.  Inside were two silver and black cufflinks.  LIghtly engraved in the black was three vertical lines and one horizontal connecting them all.

“Henderson Harold Hearst. H.H.H.  Classic, but preppy, which seems to be the direction you’re taking.  Though I believe you should at least be a Junior.  Yes, Henderson Harold Hearst, Jr.”  Amplebottom suddenly got a concerned look in his eyes and made even more intense contact with Henderson.  “You’ll insist on being called Henderson.  No nicknames or shortening it.  Certainly, not Henry.  Tell them it was Grandmama’s maiden name.  A fitting tribute.”  Amplebottom seemed deeply satisfied as he leaned back in his chair a bit.  His jacket fell a touch to the side, and Henderson caught a glimpse of his black silk bracer.  He eyed the waist of the trousers, noting the lack of wrinkles and the perfect transition from charcoal wool to starched, cotton white.  Nothing was ever out of place on his supervisor, it was probably easier when you had such a boring wardrobe, each piece fit together without thinking.

-----

Henderson had set up an appointment at Winston and Co. right after his meeting with Amplebottom. They booked him for a half day on Saturday, which seemed like a very long appointment but they had assured him that this would be a one time appointment to get a permanent account situated.  His palpable excitement made his workouts and work days fly by.  He’d reworn the suit he borrowed from John Howard three times.  It was remarkable how it made him feel, strong, manly, and also kind of plain.  He’d talk shop with other men in his department, bland conversations about work and sports and home, that he found uninteresting but comforting.  There existed very little variety among the men at acquisitions.  No one ever brought up a thoughtful or challenging conversation, the most confrontational it ever got was between rival football teams.

And so it was that Henderson showed at exactly at 8 a.m. in front of the delightfully antiquated haberdashery (as John Howard had called it) for the full treatment.  He was greeted studiously by an old man with silver hair and thick black glasses who introduced himself as Art Sebert and insisted on calling Henderson “Mr. Hearst.”  That name made his blood jump and boil.  He’d thought the concept awkward only days ago, but found himself spouting off the name with such a simple, natural cadence he might as well have been born with it.

Forced to strip down in a rather spacious dressing room fitted with a few chairs and mirrors, Art had offered him coffee which he happily accepted after adding some cream and milk.  His personal fears around nudity had decreased in the corporate locker room but it still took him a minute to feel comfortable letting Art assess his bare form.  But he measured every inch with such quiet professionalism that Henderson soon became quite comfortable.  Art rattled off small measurements as he worked, informing Henderson that he’d need custom clothing for life.  Henderson found his brain startled by that information, but an honest assessment in the mirror showed how true that statement was.  He simply wasn’t built like a normal person anymore.  His neck was thick and his shoulders cartoonishly broad.  The jutting chest gave him a permanently puffed up vibe.  Uninterested in cardio, his thick rib cage continued straight down into hard abs.  And then the true shock, his sumptuous round booty.  It looked unreal, not only were his hips and buttocks wide and strong, but somehow there was a gelatinous layer on top that wiggled and shook whenever he moved.  It was a shockingly feminine touch on an otherwise hyper masculine body.  Henderson loved his butt.  It reminded him of being a lineman in high school, it was just like John Howard’s and Amplebottom’s.  Ridiculous but masculine and prominent, it took up space, like a man should.

“Alright, Mr. Hearst, give these a try,” he handed Henderson two carefully folded white objects.  The first was an undershirt, quite stiff and recently pressed.  He pulled it on with little problem, the starchy material felt soft enough on his skin and he appreciated how there wasn’t any excess pulling or snugness.  Even better, it actually reached past his belly button, which was further than his current shirts were doing, but still seemed undesirable.  The next item was a comically cut pair of briefs, again seemingly starched and pressed, blindly white with a simple waistband with a thin blue line running halfway through.  Henderson’s mind mounted a short-lived protest that didn’t even exit his mouth.  He’d known it was coming, it was in the book, from his boss, even at the club.  It was just another way he was going to fit in with the others.  It was deceptively erotic, something overly personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in.  He pulled the cotton fabric up his body, watching the white fabric stretch perfectly across his rump.  He attempted to leave the underpants lying low, just above his hip bones, but Art stepped up and dutifully pulled them higher, keeping the undershirt tucked in as they stretched over the belly button, up the stomach, before settling just below his rib cage.  He looked like a strange sort of sausage stuffed into a bleached white packaging.  There was something about, so uniform and simple, that Henderson couldn’t stop himself from smiling broadly at his reflection.

It went significantly faster after that.  Art offered him a range of trousers of slightly different fits, making marks and eyeing alterations, seemingly finding the best base.  An overly starched, white button down slipped over his upper body.  Henderson let it hang open as he sat in his skivvies and shirt, drinking a whiskey the store offered, as a suitable pair of trousers were whipped up for the day.  Half an hour later, he was being ordered to button up his shirt, as silky black dress socks were pulled on his feet and the wool fabric of the pants began their climb.   Higher, much higher than his old pants, even seemingly than the borrowed ones, these custom trousers rose up until the very top of the pants rested just millimeters below the briefs.  The pants were already designed for braces, completely lacking belt loops, and Art adjusted them precisely, ensuring that his pants would sit at this exact height forevermore.  Henderson recognized something was being pushed out, some bits of color or variance in his lifestyle and perhaps personality as he allowed himself to be dressed like a doll, clothing cut and shaped so he wouldn’t even have an option on how to wear it, let alone what to wear.  It was a deeply comforting thought.

The process was repeated with the coat, explaining why he had been required to book hours of time with a salesman and tailor.  But they assured him, everything would be perfect afterwards.  All his measurements would be on file, new pieces would be created on a strict schedule to ensure he had neither too few nor too many pieces.  He enjoyed another libation as he waited, the old fashioned television in the room had been flipped on to college football and he delighted in sitting back and watching.  Not that he really sat back as it were, the stiff shirt and exact cut of his trousers seemed to keep him upright and tall, legs planted firmly on the ground, the crotch of his pants pulled tight into a prominent moose knuckle, head staring almost directly forward.  Henderson sort of laughed to himself about it, feeling slightly robotic, and enjoying the rigid pose.  It reminded him of John Howard.  And he liked John Howard.  He liked being like John Howard.

The cut of the jacket was phenomenal, even with a thick waist, his broad shoulders and bulging pecs required a fantastic V shape that made him look thick and strong and almost debonair, in a sort of boring way.  Art selected a beautiful silk tie, completely generic and tasteful, and made it taut around the neck.  He stepped back, admiring his work and checking the length of the cut of small sections as Henderson stood, militaristically straight posture, arms at his side, staring straight ahead.  Once everything seemed to be in order, he instructed Henderson to remove the tie, jacket, and oxford shirt.  He’d continue working as another man offered him a pair of house slippers and escorting him into a room that looked like an old-timey barbershop with two chairs.

The wall had four pictures on it of generic hairstyles, each numbered.  His barber pointed at number one and told him he would receive that cut unless he did not approve.  Henderson felt nothing and simply nodded.  The shearing began, his back and sides thinned and trimmed and the edges shaved smooth.  The top was reduced and thinned repeatedly, clumps of hair falling lazily to the floor.  Each time, the barber seemed to be examining something on his head, but he said nothing to Henderson, who was silent in turn.  Finally, apparently satisfied, he squirted a greasy clump of goo into his hands and began working through Henderson’s much thinner hair before combing it aggressively.  The final look should have been shocking, but Henderson seemed to have accepted it already.  His hair was now dark, short, and combed and parted within an inch of his life.  The product gave his hair of bright sheen that was the only notable trait on the otherwise generic hairstyle.  It was an exact replica of John Howard’s and Amplebottom’s and almost every man in acquisitions.  It was perfect.

The only thing left was a hot shave, which left his skin buttery smooth, and tingly once the aftershave was applied.  The barber briskly informed that all the items would be added to his order, so he’d have everything he needed to maintain his appearance.  Henderson thanked him shortly and was directed back to the dressing room.  The slippers were removed and a highly polished pair of black oxfords were slipped onto his feet.  He was redressed in shirt, tie, and jacket and Art began applying a few small touches.  First, his french cuffs were closed with shiny silver cufflinks, square, with a delightful HHH cut in them.  A white handkerchief was tucked into his breast pocket and folded ever so carefully so that the monogrammed HHH was just visible over the jacket.  A dab of cologne followed, smelling woody, leathery, and astringent.  They informed him he could leave today with undergarments, ties, and grooming products, and to return in three days to pick up a large order, twelves suits, twenty four shirts, plus two speciality suits (one in seersucker and a formal black) in addition to a tuxedo.  He shook hands with the salesmen who had helped him, feeling quite pleased with the whole experience.

-----

“Heart, Henderson,” he said curtly to the well dressed guard at the gate.  Henderson noticed that he was far less chatty than last time.  In fact, the security officer barely seemed to register Henderson as a person, and more as an item line to check off.  He marched dutifully to the elevator.  Henderson admired himself in the mirror as he waited.  Quite frankly, he embodied everything a man should be: big, strong, soon to be rich.  Those commission checks had added up quite quickly, combined with incentives and the fact that Amplebottom had been hinting that he would be moving up to Associate very soon, so Henderson was feeling mighty pleased with himself, and honestly a bit haughty, as he slipped how hands up and down the tasteful braces holding up his trousers.  Despite the fact that his clothing hardly moved an inch in any given direction, he still unconsciously attempted to pull up his pants and underwear, making sure everything was in place.  It was a big day after all.

Mr. Amplebottom took John Howard and Henderson out to a large lunch in a company car that was clean as a whistle and beyond luxurious.  As they stepped out of the Partner elevator, they were greeted by a strapping man in a full chauffeur outfit, cap, gloves, and jodhpurs.  He greeted the men properly before taking Amplebottom’s keys and practically running to fetch his car.  He held the door open militantly as each man entered.  Henderson stopped to give him a good look, there was something familiar about him.  Henderson realized this was the old door man from his side, although the corporate makeover and more servile uniform gave him a less threatening appearance, and his empty obedience was a far better look than the military scowl and tattoos that were once visible.

The car took them downtown.  Amplebottom had made casual conversation about work but the atmosphere in the car was mildly tense.  Henderson had never been invited to something like this and he wanted to make a good impression.  John Howard seemed rather himself, upright and professional, nary a mention of personal life unless questioned.  

They exited the car and Amplebottom led them into a high rise building with black reflective glass covering the outside, making it look kind of like a supervillain’s lair.  They rode the elevator up, stopping at the 6th floor.  Unfinished with not even a desk or chair in site, they ambled over to the window and looked out.  They weren’t high enough to have a great view of the city, but they did overlook one particularly small building below.  Police had cordoned off a section as a throng of protestors with signs seemed to be confronting them.  Behind the police, by the building, were construction workers.

“I thought you’d want to see the results of your hard work,” Amplebottom said slyly.  John Howard and Henderson stared down curiously as the protestors seemed to get louder.  He hadn’t been here in so long, Henderson was unsure what he was looking at.  The chintzy building was old and surrounded by expensive real estate.  His mind began wondering how much the lot was worth and who could possibly own it when John Howard spoke.

“Cherub Theatre,” his voice was different than usual, quicker and lighter.  Amplebottom smiled.

“The future site of Hemple Housing Porter,” he gloated.  “And it’s all thanks to you.”  John Howard seemed uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot.  Henderson just looked quietly.  Then something happened.  The entire building shook and collapsed.

“Well, it wasn’t very grand, I admit.  But that’s the start!” Ample said happily.  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two envelopes and handed one to each of the men.  Henderson opened his tenderly, wondering what awaited him.  It was a very formal letter, on thick paper, declaring his promotion to Associate with a new salary of 400k a year, four percent commission, and a new set of company perks.  Henderson practically came inside his briefs and when he looked at Amplebottom he was holding out his hand.  Henderson accepted the firm handshake happily.

“Wow,” John Howard spoke quietly as he read the letter.

“Surprised?” “Yes, I, thank you, Sir!” John Howard’s momentary trepidation was gone, replaced with a beaming smile and he shook both their hands with the energy of a toddler on redbull.

“You’re a little young, to be honest.  But I think you’ve demonstrated a dedication and promise that will benefit Hemplebaum for years to come.  And Hemplebaum rewards good employees, Junior Partner John Howard Johnson.” Amplebottom emphasized the last bit so Henderson understood.  J.H. had just moved into a whole new income bracket.  A whole new way of seeing the world.  There had been some trepidation, some fear, as he had looked at the theatre, but now all he saw were profit margins.

“I'm starving.  There’s a great steakhouse nearby.  I say we get some prime rib and bourbon and have a toast.”  The three fatasses business men strutted out of the building, richer and more content than ever before.

-----

Things had progressed really well for Henderson.  He was now a member in good standing at Rolling Acres Country Club, which meant he’d been bumped up from guest to groomsman at John Howard’s oversized wedding.  Apparently, everyone and their dog walker’s best friend had been invited, so long as their net worth was greater than John Howard’s.  Which is how Henderson found himself, sitting in an auxiliary dressing room with the rest of the groom’s party, in nothing but their skivvies getting toasted hours before the ceremony.  John Howard himself was maintaining a pretty stoic demeanor, but several of the groomsmen were going whole hog.

“Just brilliant, J.H.,” Rip patted John Howard on the shoulder again, his eyes were slightly unfocused.

“Careful, you’ll be unconscious before the ceremony,” came a stern warning for their co-worker Bert.

“Imma juss wishing my buddy all the damn- happiness in the world!  Hopefully, your marriage is happier than mine!”  Rip sat down clearly woozy.  Rumor around the club was that his wife did not “approve of his dalliances” like he had hoped.  He’d recently spent some time warning the college boys about the value of pre-nups.

“Have some water, Rip,” Chadwick said, forcing a tall glass of sparkling water into his hands.  Even though it was John Howard’s day, Chadwick did a great job of ensuring he was generally at the center of things.  He’d been the best man, the bachelor party planner, the one who got everyone to relive fraternity induction by sitting around half naked drinking whiskey straight on a saturday afternoon.  There was something deeply fraternal about the thing.  Henderson could recall himself and a few dozen other young freshmen in a similar situation as their pledge master and rush chair had guided them through a vow committing them to the fraternity.

“I’m ready for another, not you Rip.  You’re sitting this one out,” came a highly affected male voice.  It belonged to Oswald V, practically a guest of honor.  John Howard had been absolutely beside himself when Oz had agreed to be a groomsman.  Henderson was happy for him.  J.H. was definitely a social climber and at Rolling Acres he could not do any better.  For his part, Oz was charming and congenial, born into a life of socializing and money, he had all the natural airs of an heir apparent.  

“So, I got the bridesmaid situation worked out,” Chadwick leaned into John Howard and Henderson.  “Missy was insisting on Kitty Bell being third, but I got her to swing her down the line and swap in Millie Cashon.  Oz doesn’t like her, but fuck him, he’s married.  So, Henderson, I got you set up with the hot one.  And the single one.”  Henderson looked bashfully at the floor as the other two stared at him.

“Oh, okay,” he sort of shrugged.

“Listen, Huck,” Chadwick had taken to calling Henderson “Huck” because apparently all men needed a nickname among brothers.  “This took a LOT of work on my part.  I’m not saying you have to marry her, but if you don’t get to at least second, I will consider you a waste.  Also, I owe Missy a doubles game of tennis now,” John Howard looked horrified at the prospect.  “So, J.H. is gonna have to slip into some tiny white shorts and I’m gonna deal with a ticked off aristocrat.  So have some fun!” Chadwick slapped Henderson’s shoulder in a paternal fashion as he returned to keeping up the fun in the room.  John Howard and Henderson made awkward eye contact for a minute.

“Sorry,” Henderson said sheepishly.

“She’s hot,” J.H. appraised.  “Dad’s not worth too much, but he does have some great boats.  Might as well make the most of it.”  He tipped his glass up to Henderson who met it solidly, producing a harsh click in the room.

“Here’s to J.H.!” Rip was attempting to make a toast, seemingly recovered from his drunken daze.  

“To J.H.-John Howard!”  Henderson polished off his drink and happily accepted a refill.  Without John Howard he never would have gotten a job at Hemplebaum, he’d never been sitting in this room, drinking liquor that cost more than a cable bill, planning on making an offer on a home in Chester, and planning on how to get into Kitty Bell’s dress tonight.  Cheers to J.H. indeed.

[clonewarslover55]

I feel like there’s not enough kal fics, so any fic about him would be great. He and the reader spending a day together maybe?

Spending the day with Kal Skirata

Kal X Reader //Fluff//

Absolutely!!! I loved this request. Kal definitely deserves more content. He was the first DILF to appear in the repcomm books after all……

Notes: May contain spoilers for the final Repcomm novels! So beware! Also I’m making an established relationship where kal and the reader have been together for a while; so Kal’s sons see the reader as their other parent

(Also in a universe where Kal and Darman don’t hate one another because Kal told Darman about Etain being pregnant. So Omega Squad is there and OKAY!!)

Warnings: Established relationship, reader is gender neutral, Kal and his kids are Mando’a but it isn’t specified if reader is; so it’s up to you

Kal was always an early riser, some days he was even up before the sun. Like today. He stood outside of Kyrimorut, watching as the sun of Mandalore rose. You smiled as you walked up behind him.

You knew Kal heard you coming, he just didn’t say anything. You hugged him from behind, resting your head on his shoulder. “Good morning Cyar’ika.” He spoke quietly, his voice a soft rumble.

You hummed a reply, pressing a kiss to his slightly scruffy five o’clock shadow. Both of you stood there in silence as the sun rose, the golden glow coating the land surrounding Kyrimorut.

“You know….” Kal spoke, looking at you from the corner of his striking blue eyes. “We haven’t had a day to ourselves in ages.” You grinned at his words, he was right. “You’re right!”

He turned around, his hands now on your hips. “I love our boys…...But let's go do something. Without them for once.” You laughed at his words, nodding in agreement. “Of course! We’ll have to make it up to them later though….We know they’ll get mad.” Kal only huffed at that.

You leaned back into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder once again. He gently swayed both of you back and forth, humming in your ear. “We should go to that small hole in a wall diner in town….” You muttered, “The one with the really good food.” Kal nodded, his stomach grumbling on que.

“Then what, my Cyare?” You shrugged, “Lets wing it and find out?” Kal smiled at that, he loved the sound of that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Keldabe, a few hours later*

After some killer breakfast you went for a stroll in the market area with your Mandalorian lover. You picked up some essentials you needed back at the big house along the way of course.

“We should get the boys some sweets while we’re here.” Kal sighed at your words, “You spoil them.” You busted out laughing, “And you don’t?!” You began laughing harder, Kal glaring daggers at you.

“Ah shut up. Give an old man some sympathy, Cyare!” You continued to laugh, Kal holding your arm in his. He was holding you up at this point, your laughing fit coming to a stop.

“Okay okay.” You grinned at Kal, “I’m done. Sorry.” Kal only rolled his eyes, snorting. You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Kal couldn’t keep the frown on his face after the kiss.

“Come on ‘old man!’ We got some shopping to do!” Kal shook his head at your words, a grin still pulling at his lips. You grinned back at him, leading the way through the crowd.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Kyrimorut, a few hours later.*

You and Kal dropped the two large bags of sweets off in the kitchen before heading outside once again. You two decided to take a walk in the forest that surrounded Kyrimorut; Kal, of course, armed just in case.

You two were lucky to get outside into the woods without a certain Strill following.

As you walked your hands were intertwined, Kal’s rough calloused hand bringing you comfort. Oh how you loved your old Mando…..You and Kal talked the whole way, mainly about your large family. Like how Kad was growing up so fast and how you two were expecting a new grandchild or two.

Right before the sun set you two made your way back to the house so you could watch the sunset in the same place as the sunrise. It was your ritual with Kal, watching the sunrise and sunset in the same place.

He sat down on the grass, you between his legs with your back against his broad chest. “What a great day.” Kal pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Yeah.”

Once nightfall came you two went inside, greeted by a room full of clones. All of your sons sat there, Darman was even there with Kad in his lap.

Corr was the first out of the group of sons to speak. “In thanks for the sweets I-” He yelped when Prudii and Niner slapped the back of his head, “I mean WE made dinner for you two love birds!”

You and Kal grinned widely. “Thank you boys!” You spoke, pulling the closest one in for a hug. The others quickly joined, wrapping Kal and yourself in one giant clone group hug.

You couldn’t ask for a better way to finish an incredible day.

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[heavymetalover]

Call Me Daddy (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

{i imagined scruffy sojourn michael w this one but i left the description kind of open so yall can imagine whichever teehee}

Summary: Michael is about to become your step dad and the two of you have an unusual relationship…

Warnings: DADDY KINK DUH, smut, dirty talk, fingering, vaginal sex, dom!michael, hickies, rough sex.

WC: 5.5k

A/N: ive done the unforgiven… omg.

this is a different format from my other stuff. i didnt see anyone doing this and yall know me and my daddy issues I HAD TO. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE anon me, message me, whatever, if you want more parts cuz im down.

~~~~

 You had an average run-of-the-mill life with your mom. The two of you lived in a sizable suburban Los Angeles estate; your mom worked for most of her waking hours to keep you comfortable and you worked your ass off to stay in your top college. You had a few friends that would pop into your life when your mom left town, a few boyfriends here and there, even your mom dated around. Everything felt normal until Michael came into the picture.

Your mom has been dating Michael for a few months now, but every time he’s around he brings an eerie feeling along with him. Despite being nearly half her age, he has the soul of somebody from the eighteen hundreds. The way he composes himself, how he speaks with the utmost confidence and how his stares linger too long; his glacial blue eyes always watch you like he can see right through your clothes. 

You’ve been skeptical of him since the day you met him. When you shook his hand and accidentally removed one of his large rings, he nonchalantly told you to keep it. You decided to sell the huge diamond-encrusted Cartier ring and use the twenty thousand dollars to help pay for college.

Since then you’ve avoided the two of them in protest of their relationship. You knew it was juvenile to evade them, but the man turned you on more than you’d like to admit. His soft-waved blonde hair, fluffy lips, jawline for days, prominent cheekbones, and how can you forget the eyes… Everything about him looked planned, like he was designed to be flawless.

On a mundane weekend morning, your mom calls you from downstairs. “Y/n!” her voice echoes through the halls.

You stop reading your favourite book and take out an earbud. “Yeah?!” you yell back, looking up from the pages for a moment and waiting for her to say something else, but the house is silent. You pretend to ignore her call and go back to the story.

“Y/n!” your mom yells again.

You sigh and drop your book, rolling off of your bed and skipping down the stairs to see what fresh hell awaits. As you approach your mom, who’s opening her mouth to call you again, you smell something unusual. Something you haven’t smelt since your dad left. Cologne.

“Honey, he’s here,” your mom whispers to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. You try turning away to run back to your room, but your mom stops you. “Can you be nice for once, please?” she begs, squeezing your shoulder.

“Whatever, let’s get this over with,” you groan and shimmy her hand off of your shoulder.  

Michael works at the dining table, setting up three plates and utensils. You’re planted to the ground in awe, you’ve never had to eat dinner with the two of them before. It crosses your mind that they must be confronting you about bypassing them these past few months, your fight or flight response is already kicking in.

Michael looks up at you, finally acknowledging you and capturing you in his ocean blue eyes with a nanosecond of contact. Your mom moves in between the two of you and takes some food out of a paper bag. “Michael and I wanted all of us to eat dinner together,” she skips to stand beside him. You widen your eyes at her and cross your arms in objection. She widens her eyes back, you can practically hear her nagging you to be polite.

Michael puts his arm around your mom. “Your mother and I thought it best for us to… start acting like a family,” he says.

Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t hold back your smile. “A family?” you laugh. You purse your lips and start walking backwards, aching to escape Michael’s spell. “Mmm, I think I’ll pass,” you turn around to start walking away.

“Y/n,” your mom snaps. You stop in the middle of a step and twist back towards them, taking small, reluctant steps to approach their little function. “We have something to tell you,” she says and immediately after, vaults her hand out to you.

You take it hesitantly and look at her, still trying to figure them out and failing. “What?” you ask.

“No, honey, look at it,” she rolls her eyes, “look at my hand.”

You gawk at her hand, her third finger is dressed in a huge diamond ring. It looks big enough to pay off your whole house. You unintentionally let out a dramatic gasp and drop her hand, she continues to hold it up for you. “It’s the bloodiest diamond he could find in the LA area,” she explains, “We’re in love.” She smiles and places her hand on Michael’s chest, looking up at him with hearts in her eyes. He gifts a small kiss on her lips.

You scoff and shake your head. Any tension that you felt from Michael has dissolved. He’s been dating your mom for five months, five fucking months. Who does he think he is? Are they both nuts? “You’re joking, right?” you ask, completely stunned by how brash the whole situation is. “Are you guys pranking me?”

Michael grins at you, it makes you melt and you hate yourself for it. “Call me daddy,” he sneers.

----

It’s a quaint Wednesday evening when you decide to take a break from studying and grab a snack. You’re scrolling through Tumblr when you walk out of your room and smash your face against a sturdy chest. “Jesus!” you gasp, looking up at Michael standing in front of your door; one of his hands is in a fist, ready to knock on your door, while the other is behind his back. “You scared the shit out of me!” You playfully push his chest away from you, trying to shake off the sudden rush of adrenaline.

He drops his fist as he stumbles back slightly. It’s the first time you’ve talked to him since they announced their engagement. Michael moved in about a month ago and it’s been hard to ignore him since he sits, day in day out, typing away on his laptop in your living room.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “But I have to admit it’s nice to hear your voice again.”

You lean against your doorframe, trying to act casual as if he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of you completely. “Did my mom come home from work or something? She send you here?” you ask, declining his attempts to meet your eyes, instead you stare at his lapel.

“No, I got you something,” he explains, wiggling the surprise behind his back.

“Another Cartier ring?” you joke. “Oh, or is it a new girlfriend? Because that would be even better.” His eyes find the ceiling in annoyance and it feels rewarding, you were starting to think he couldn’t be cracked. “Did you get me an apartment, so I don’t have to live with another failed marriage?”

“No,” he snaps back, starting to sound impatient with your infantile attitude. You straighten up at his belligerent tone. He slides into your room, keeping the gift hidden behind his back. “It’s thoughtful, something I know you’d like, but… if you’re hellbent on loathing my existence, why should I be so kind?” he asks. He somehow manages to speak reserved, yet impossibly intimidating. Every word that leaves his lips demands to be heard, it sends chills down your spine. “Right?” he prompts.

You take in a breath. “Right,” you force yourself to agree, mostly because you’re curious to see what the present is. Another part of you is getting bored of acting like a hermit and going days without social interaction. “Obviously it feels weird; I barely know you and you’re becoming my dad and you moved in, everything just seems so fast,” you explain yourself. You saunter back into your room to meet him. “I’ve been a bitch. I’m sorry, Michael. Seriously.”

He takes a step closer to you, you’re only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his body and fight the urge to wrap your arms around him. “We’ll work on ‘Michael’ later,” he replies. You’re about to question what he means by that when he takes the present out from behind his back. He holds a black bag in between the two of you and you immediately recognize the store. “I heard you on the phone with your friend about something red, lacey, with a bow. I think I found it…”

You take the Victoria’s Secret bag from him without saying a word. You have no words to say. You don’t know if you should thank him or refuse the gift or slap him for listening to your personal conversations. Your mind races wondering if you’d gossiped about his good looks on the phone with your friend.

You silently pry open the bag and paw through the lingerie, mountains of cute panties and bras, digging through things you were never able to afford but always wanted. And, of course, Michael bought the red, lacey one piece you were talking about with your friend. There’s a stillness in the room as you look through the bag. “You bought all of this for me?”

“Yeah, I can’t see how your mom would fit into any of those.”

All of the pieces are just your size, it’s the perfect gift… just not from your stepdad. “How did you even know my size?” you stop looking at the bag and make the mistake of falling into his eyes.

“I went through your clothes,” he carelessly shrugs.

You drop the present by your side. “You went through my clothes, like, my lingerie?”

He slowly nods his head, acting as if it isn’t strange for him to invade your privacy how he did. You huff and he begins looking agitated with you again. “Would you like if I returned all this stuff? I thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” you mutter and kick the bag away from him, you’re not jeopardizing this gift with your uncontrollable sass.

“Good,” he spits back.

“Just… don’t think you can just buy yourself into the family,” you mock. You catch yourself subconsciously crossing your arms over your chest to give yourself a breast lift, but you don’t stop.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirks. He looks down at your cleavage and it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. “You have quite the collection of lingerie you keep hidden at the bottom of your drawers,” he observes, “like a dirty guilty pleasure.” You peer up at him, again trying to read him, and again failing. He uses one of his fingers to hook onto the thin fabric of your shirt, your tits are practically pouring out and begging to be the center of attention. He tugs at the fabric, looking under your shirt and inspecting your boobs suffocated in one of your intimate Victoria’s Secret pickups. “Kitten’s all dressed up?” he whispers, his fingertips graze the embroidered details.

You bite your lip, anticipating the second he’ll rip the bra off your chest. “It’s all for you,” you tease, pushing your tits together even more, “I’m always dressed up for you, Michael.”

He breathes in, groaning under his breath. “I thought I told you,” his voice is low and intimidating, “call me daddy.”

You’re drinking in a breath of his cologne, shifting onto the tips of your toes to give his soft lips a rugged kiss, when the sound of keys rattling downstairs takes you out of it. Michael still stares at you, his fingers continue to linger over your clothed tits. “Michael!” your mom calls from downstairs.

You look up at him with fear in your puppy dog eyes and Michael grins. He shoots you one last, knowing, glance before leaving your room. He leaves you without saying two words. “Yeah, babe,” he answers your mom, closing your bedroom door behind him.

What the fuck just happened?

----

Holding back your gags, you grasp your friend’s hair as she projectile vomits peach schnapps into an expensive toilet bowl. Her phone rings in her pocket and you huff, digging through the pockets of the leather jacket you lent her and pulling out a vibrating iPhone. You pick up the phone with an ill “hello”, answering too late and looking down at the screen. She must’ve ordered an Uber a while ago, there’s a ton of notifications that the driver’s outside. “Oh shit,” you mutter under your breath. “Your ride is here!” you yell at her, trying to pull her onto her feet.

“What?!” she yells into the toilet bowl.

You roll your eyes and lean down beside her ear, “I said, your ride is here!” you yell over the thumping music.

Your friend stumbles around, trying to stand up in her six-inch heels. You pull her onto you and her head rests on your shoulder, she goes limp against you. “Stop, come on!” you shout over the music. “You have to g-”

You’re cut off by your friend puking onto an expensive mini dress you bought for tonight’s party. This shindig was supposed to be a fun little escape from your school life, your home life, Michael, all your stress. You expected to make new friends, meet hot guys, but instead you came an hour late and have been nursing your friend the whole night. You’re seriously going to kick her ass tomorrow.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, her breath reeking of throw up.

You toss her arm over your shoulder and start walking her out of the bathroom. “I’m going to kill you tomorrow, you know that?” you say in her ear and she lets out a small, apologetic whimper.

A cute guy who was talking you up earlier approaches the two of you. He holds two red cups in his hands and shrugs when he sees you. “What the fuck, y/n? You disappeared on me!” he talks to you over the bass-y music. “I got our drinks!” he shakes the cups in his hands and hands one over to you, as if completely ignoring your drunken friend hanging off of your side.

Your friend staggers, nearly bringing you down with her. The cute guy helps you pick her back up and you sigh, annoyed at how much of a disaster your night has turned into. He knits his eyebrows at your sour attitude, then finding the vomit on your dress, he looks back up at you. You see his doe eyes grow apologetic when he mouths a weak “sorry” to you, stepping out of your way. You shake your head as if telling him it’s fine; you just wish you had more time to get to know him.

You continue dragging your friend along your side and hear someone call out your name from behind you. You whip your head around; your hair irritatingly sticks to your lip-gloss. “Hope to see you again!” he calls after you. You nod in his direction and resume walking your friend, who is nearly passed out on your shoulder, to the front door. When you walk out of the house, you’re assaulted with the smell of salt water. Despite this night turning into one of the most frustrating nights of your life, at least you got to visit a Malibu beach house.

A big, black SUV is parked outside of the house and you rush her to the door. Opening the backseat and stuffing her inside the seats in the back. “The app says where you’re taking her, right?” you ask the Uber driver, your voice sounds muted from being struck by loud music all night.

He nods and reads out her address. “Y/n,” your friend slurs, gripping onto your arm with all her strength, “you’re a really nice… you’re a… you’re a really good friend, you know that? Like, seriously,” she pauses to hiccup, “thank you for taking care of me tonight.” Her words are so slurred that it’s nearly impossible to make out her compliment, but you just nod in hopes it’ll get her to let go. She drops your arm and hands you your pricey leather jacket, bunched up in a ball, before shutting the van door.

You throw on your jacket, protecting yourself from the ocean’s breeze, and watch the van drive away when you notice a familiar car parked across the street. The SUV blocked a four-seater Maserati parked on the other side of the road. Michael’s sedentary in the driver’s seat with a cigarette hanging from his lips. You balance yourself on your ridiculously tall heels and stomp over to his car. He doesn’t even see you coming, he’s leaned back in the driver’s seat reading a book.

You crouch down and knock on the glass of his window. His eyes meet yours for a second and he slowly rolls down the window. A mob of cigarette smoke escapes the car and he chucks the stick onto the pavement. You’re both quiet for a few moments, the crashing ocean waves fills up the silence.  “How did you know I was here?” you ask.

He finally puts down his book and looks at you. “Just trying to be a good dad,” he responds.

“Ugh, ew,” you groan. “You’re my step dad.”

He adjusts his seat to start driving, his eyes looking you up and down as he does. “Looks like your night went a little… rough,” he jokes and nods towards the puke on your dress. “You need a ride?”

You look back at the party. As much as you wanted to live up the night, you’re already in too much of a bad mood to go back in there. It doesn’t help that your new dress is covered in puke, too. You turn back around to Michael, he awaits your answer with a cocked brow. “You can’t tell mom,” you sigh, walking around the car to get into the passenger’s seat. The luxury car’s butterfly doors obnoxiously open up for your entry. “Not a word,” you assure him as you slide into the leather seat.

He starts up the car and one of his Led Zeppelin albums begins to play. “I picked you up at the library,” he quips.

He starts driving along the empty coast and you decide to skip the seatbelt, you don’t want to dirty his car with your friend’s retch. His eyes glance over to your seat for a moment, he notices you second guessing the seatbelt and puts a hand on your thigh. You look up at him and intuitively try to tempt him, biting your bottom lip and batting your lashes. “I’ll protect you if we crash,” he whispers, his fingers lightly caress your thighs.

You put your hand on his and slide him further up your leg. He keeps one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, but when his eyes do meet yours, it makes all the nerves in your core feel like a wave pool. Your dress is short enough for him to reach your panties without any hassle. Your hand is on his when his fingers begin to rub your pussy, still dressed in a pair of panties he bought you. “Baby’s already wet for daddy,” he says under his breath, kneading your clit in small circles.

You feel your stomach erupt with butterflies, you’ve never felt a nervousness so intense before. A rush of thoughts suddenly violates your mind, you try to shut them up but they keep coming. This is wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re disgusting for enjoying this. His fingers have been in your mom before.

You dig your nails into his skin and pull his hand away from you; bending over in your seat and clutching onto your stomach. You only had one drink tonight, you shouldn’t be feeling this sick.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, “are you okay?”

“I think I need air,” you grumble through the sudden sickness. “Can you pull over?”

Michael only takes a minute to find an empty parking lot on the beach and pull into it. You get out of the car without saying a word to him and take off your heels, throwing them into the backseat of his car. You’re already starting to feel your anxiety subside as you shuffle through the cool sand and pace towards the erratic waves crashing on shore. This is one of the reasons you loved LA, the tons of tiny, empty beaches. The ocean at night, and how it constantly smelt like salt water, how it relaxed you.

The breeze blew through your hair, a part of you felt like running into the crashing waves, but a voice took you out of it. “Y/n!” Michael called behind you, over the sound of the whistling wind. He trudges in the sand to get to you; you faintly snicker at his dedication. “Are you okay?” he asks once he’s closer to you.

When you see him, face glowing in the moon light, golden locks blowing in the ocean breeze, face twisted with concern, it all settles. Everything feels like it’s in the right place. Your stomach, although still turning with butterflies, no longer feels sick.

There’s a pause between the two of you; both of you deciding to admire each other instead of the beautiful ocean view beside you. Then, it feels like everything clicks. Like the two of you mentally communicate your longing for each other, your desire. Both shutting your eyes and diving in for a kiss at the same time.

His lips smash against yours, sucking your face, and his tongue quickly invades your mouth. He kisses you like he’s craved your lips for years, passionately cleaning up your mouth with his eager tongue.

Michael works your jacket off of your shoulders and you shimmy it to the ground. He unzips your dress, the zip running along your naked back sends a shiver crawling down your spine. He abandons your lips for a moment to pull down your dress, exposing your bare chest and expensive panties. You’re too lost in lust to even realize you’re half naked on a public beach.

You’re both panting and releasing all of the built-up sexual tension. He stands back up and kisses you again, his hands cup your ass and he gives an echoed smack; his fingers creep down your legs. He grabs onto the back of your thighs and hoists you up, you lightly yelp into his mouth and wrap your legs around him. His large hands hold you up and he leans down, resting you onto the jacket you’ve thrown onto the sand.

Once you’re laid down, he begins rubbing your pussy again. His cold rings adding a different sense of pleasure as he rubs you into entropy. He slides your feeble panties to the side and spits down on your cunt, shoving his finger inside you. You moan at the sudden intrusion, taking in a breath of the salt-scented air. “That’s it, baby girl,” he whispers, adding in another finger, “I want to hear you moan for daddy.”

You take in a breath and whimper as he curves his fingers inside of you, slowly pulsing against your g-spot. He touches you as if he already knows which parts make you crumble. “Ooh yeah, daddy,” you cry and grind on his fingers, pushing him deeper inside you, “right there.”

“You’re my dirty little slut, huh?” he asks, gliding in another finger. Your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Little girl likes to get fucked by her daddy?” He adds another finger, completely stretching you out. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you can’t reply. “I asked you a question.”

You meet his cold eyes for a second, before you throw your head back in pleasure. “Yes!” you breathe out, feeling the heat rise in your body. Your sensitive cunt throbs under his gluttonous fingers, persistently fucking you and begging for more. “Yes, oh, keep fucking me just like that, daddy!”

His fingers find a rhythm inside of you, constantly bringing you to the brink of climax and slowing down. “Such a dirty little girl,” he teases and spits on your soaking cunt. He pulls out his fingers and holds them to your lips. You grab his hand and suck on his long fingers, tasting the cool metal rings mixed with the sweet taste of your pussy.

You sit up and lock your lips with his again. Both, you and Michael, unbutton his shirt; you want to feel his flesh against yours as soon as possible. When you get to the bottom, you slide your hands up his body and square the shirt off of his shoulders. His perfect, porcelain skin shines in the moonlight. You want to appreciate it for a moment, but he’s already unbuckling his belt.

He’s propped on his knees, unzipping his black pants and bringing them down to pull his erection out of his briefs. It springs out when you start grabbing for it, he moves back and clicks his tongue. “My greedy little girl,” he mocks, “you don’t get a taste until daddy says you do.”

He pushes you down with one of his hands. His touch is so delicate, yet so commanding. Everything he does is done with conviction and a power that only you could dream of, he is inherently dominant over you. He strokes his long, girthy length over you, you’re practically drooling at the sight. He spits on himself and rubs it into the head. “Spit on it,” he orders.

You sit up and weakly spit on the tip of his cock; it’s too late when you notice your mouth is dry from nervousness. He shakes his head. “You’re so pathetic, you can’t even spit on me right,” he sneers, divorced from the nasty words leaving his lips. He presses his dick against your folds and your fingers curl into your jacket, awaiting the moment he plunges into you. “Say the word, baby girl, say you want me,” he’s lingering at your entrance.

“Please,” you whine, your pussy is beating against his hard cock, “please dad.”

He pushes his head inside you and you grab his arms for support, digging your nails into his skin. He’s so thick, you’ve never felt something so large obtruding your tight cunt. He moves in slowly, reading your stunned facial expressions to see if he should continue stuffing himself inside of you. You let out tiny weeps as he digs deeper into your hole, but you can’t manage much more.

Michael thrusts himself into you until he’s balls deep, even he can’t help but groan. “My little girl is so fucking tight,” he grunts under his breath. He starts to hammer himself into you, going so deep that you feel like pushing him back, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. His cock is so thick that it hits every nerve you could imagine; it’s hard to gather a single word.

He lets out a small chuckle at your reticence. “My innocent baby’s never felt a real cock before, huh?” he taunts, still pounding his length into you. You open your mouth to speak, but settle on shaking your head. One distinct tear runs down the side of your face while stifled cries pass your trembling lips with each time his balls smack into your ass. “You’re taking me like a good fucking girl,” he admires, “my good little slut.”

He lifts up your leg and rests your foot on his shoulder. You’re twisted onto your side, trying to look over your shoulder to see how vigorously he pounds into your cunt. Michael’s new positioning hits exactly in your g-spot, you feel your leg shaking under his grip. “H-holy shit,” your voice trembles, you let out a built-up breath. “Keep going, daddy! Right there, right there, I’m so close,” you’re begging, voice is flooded with desperation. You don’t care how childish you sound, you want nothing more than to come all over Michael’s big dick. “Don’t move, please, please,” you grab onto his arm again.

Tears overflow your eyes when you look into his. Just seeing his determined light blue eyes peering back at you makes you unravel even more. He has no remorse for how weak he’s making you, how vulnerable you’ve become, his unmistakable dominion turns you on.

He listens to your wails, finally granting you the satisfaction you’ve been begging for and plows into your g-spot. Your grip on him gets tighter as he thrusts harder, you’re almost certain he’s going to leave some swelling deep inside your cunt. “Your dick is so, fucking, good,” you breathe in between thrusts.

Michael doesn’t give up, keeping up the same pace and fucking you exactly how you want him to. You’re about to praise his long cock some more when you’re thrown into climax. You try looking back up at him, but you can’t say a word; your mouth hangs wide open with nothing but small chokes croaking out. He can see how dazed he’s made you and shoves your face into the ground, pushing your nose against the leather of your jacket. “You’re going to take daddy’s cock like a good little girl,” he seethes, suffocating your head into your jacket. “Don’t come,” he demands.

He continues punching your g-spot with his huge cock, you feel your pussy spasming under his rough thrusts. He holds both of your arms back, shifting you into doggy-style. His balls slap against your sore clit and you feel yourself starting to ejaculate. “Fuck!” you scream into the breeze of the empty beach. Your cunt twitches and gushes its balmy juices all over Michael’s hard cock.

He slows down his pace and pulls your arms up towards him, you feel his heaving chest against your back. “What did I just fucking say?” he fumes, tugging your arms even closer to him. “Answer me.”

“You told me not to come,” you answer in a syrupy, naïve voice.

He grabs both of your tits to push you flush against him, maintaining his rough thrusts into your cunt. “That’s right,” he whispers in your ear, “baby didn’t fucking listen.” He smacks your tits with both of his hands, striking you hard. You jump at how ruthless he hits you, it makes your stomach flutter again. His full lips lug along your neck. “Remember who you belong to,” he speaks into your neck, sending an iciness throughout your entire body.

Michael digs his teeth into your skin, sucking up your flesh while he continues massaging your breasts, pinching at the hard peaks your nipples have formed. He sucks so hard it stings, you wonder how that would feel on your pussy. His love bite begins to hurt and you shift your head away from him, he snickers. “Who do you belong to?” he whispers, lips chafing the shell of your ear.

He pinches your nipples even harder and you sob in pleasure. “Mmm, you,” you respond, looking over your shoulder to give his lips a frail kiss. “I belong to you, daddy.”

He takes in a deep breath as if shaking off your spell and regaining his confidence. He pushes you onto the ground again and goes back to fucking you like a ragdoll. “You better remember that,” he breathes, mercilessly pummeling himself into you again.

He holds both of your arms back once more, driving himself into you so hard that you’re concerned about cervix bruising. His pace slows down a bit and you look back at him, his mouth drapes open and he stares down at the back of your head. He pushes you away as he orgasms, savagely shoving your face back into the ground, as you feel his warm seed spilling inside your wet cunt. Michael groans from deep within his chest, letting out a long sigh when he’s done. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, “fuck, you sexy bitch.”

You let out a little giggle at this and he joins. He hauls himself out of you and you feel all of your muscles relax. You shift onto your back, looking up at Michael in disbelief. You’re too caught up in euphoria to comprehend what just happened. All you can think of in this moment is how fucking good he was. Even Michael has a dumbfounded look on his face.

He shakes his head and liberates a nervous laugh, “We’re so fucked up.”

You can say that again.

[whirlybirbs]

✶  —  las rosas están cayendo   ;   j.m. 

summary: you're a figurehead in a far-reaching criminal underground operation that's offered jesse mccree haven and work in the last few years. your relationship with the cyberized cowboy is complicated but oh-so lovestruck.

pairing: jesse mccree / reader, est. relationship

tags: fluff, angst, good guy falls for the bad guy who’s not so bad

a/n: i’m simping, it’s fine

                               (    read on archive of our own !   )

Jesse McCree likes the Silkroad's End. Always has.

The place's very namesake pays homage to some dark web marketplace that operated back in the 10s; it's fitting, Jesse thinks, since the entity itself certainly fits what he'd imagine the personification of that very digital market to be. Dark, a bit shady, and always crawling with folks who aren't really who they say they are.

Staff changes every three weeks. Location, too. Lucky for him, the only thing that stays the same is the barkeep. Everything else is rotating, always moving, always changing. It's best that way.

Truth be told nothing in the States offers true anonymity, anymore. All that's long since past. Every damn street corner has a camera watchin'. But, the Silkroad's End is good — and discretion is their business. They offer what people like Jesse McCree need:

Trustworthy resources.

Even still, knowing about the Silkroad's End is one thing.

Getting in is another entirely.

Jesse's learned not to be startled when a stranger ambles up and slips something in his palm — might get 'im killed someday, but for now, he offers a gentle tip of the hat to whatever camera is eyein' his current move in whatever city he's in.

The chips — obsidian colored and round — are few and far between. There's a chain-code implanted in the micro-computer inside that registers a location on his personal data-device; but without that chip, he ain't gettin' inside. It's one use, one time only.

This time, the den is a quiet little place on a side street in New Orleans.

This chip was delivered to Jesse in a seedy bar bathroom — and as he shoved it into his pocket and muscled up his tawny-colored jeans, he was left grimacing. Bastard that gave it to him didn't even wash his hands. Just pissed and dropped it on top of the urinal.

The den is downstairs, and Jesse turns in his chip after finding the little location to a towering omnic who reminds his a little bit too much of a certain butler he once knew.

"Might wanna wash that."

Spurs tinker on the wooden steps, and when the door's eye slot slams open, Jesse is met with the gaze of a human this time — an unknown staff member with a tattoo that crawls up the side of his head. There's a tense silence. Then, the slot slams shut.

With a quick yank of the three-inch durasteel door, Jesse finally steps foot into the Silkroad's End.  

And, with an elated sort of smirk, he swaggers right in your direction.  

Jesse reckons it's been four months since he's seen you — the ever-present barkeep and present owner of the Silkroad's End  — last ;  could be that you're one of many owners and operators, as he suspects but... Well, Jesse never had enough to go on that hunch.

There he was, as always, distracted.

You know the sound of his spurs from a million others. In an instant, your lashes are flicking up from the bar and through the crowded back room. Tonight is busy — seems a good few members decided tonight would be the night they cash in their chips. You shouldn't be surprised to see Jesse McCree, but...

He's always had a way of knocking you off your game.

"Have I ever told you," comes the low croon as a set of cyberized knuckles rap on the mahogany bar, "that you make the best drinks around?"

Your smirk settles into your words. You move slowly, reaching for that top-shelf whiskey he likes so much.

"Is that why you keep coming back, then?"

Jesse smirks. His trademark hat finds a spot beside him at the bar, and he leans back to run a hand through his dark, wild hair. "One of a handful of reasons I could list, sure."

The drink that lands in front of him is coupled with your full attention.

Jesse feels awfully big in it.

His fingertip tinker against the glass. The sound is pleasing.

Your elbows meet the bartop. You lean. Your eyes drift across his face, and for a moment you find a rush of relief bloom at the realization that there are no new scars. He looks tired, but well.

Alive.  

A lot for a man with a bounty of sixty million on his head.

You work hard to keep that very bounty out of the Silkroad's End 's docket. That ledger of his, deep and relentless, has become harder to ignore in recent months. With word that Overwatch was recalled... Jesse's name had been floating around more than you liked recently.

It made you worry.

Your voice is soft. So is your smile.

Jesse, the sap he is, is glad he's sitting down for the sight of it.

"You look good, Jesse."

He scoffs into the whiskey. His eyes, a dark brown and warm like the run, roll at the remark. You grin.

"M' gettin' old," he rumbles, "And things are changing' faster than I can keep up with."

You don't pry. A habit. A good one, mostly. Jesse has a habit of being an open book. Given the chance, you'll pry later. For now, you opt to air on the side of wistful interest. Fleeting and light.

Your chin finds your palm.

Long ago, you wouldn't have dared to let a soul see you so engaged with a member like this, but... This operation ran on trust. Discretion was a part of the bigger equation and the people in this room?  You've known most of them for years now.

Bounty hunters, arms dealers, drug peddlers.

They know better than to bite the hand that feeds.

"You been busy, then?" you ask, watching the way his eyes stick to you, even when he reaches to dig out a cigar from a pocket beneath his serape. In a flash, he's procured a gilded lighter and flicked it open. The flame dances between you both, and you watch as he puffs the cigar. The embers burn red.

He exhales and smoke swirls around his head like horns — Jesse's lips slip into a lopsided sort of look; more playful than anything.

"That lead you gave me," he drawls, "It worked out. Paid good, too."

Your smile is slow.

This song and dance is always fun.

"Been savin' a few for you," you say, "You're one of the few I can trust to actually bring people in alive."  

"I haven't even been here fer more than a minute an' you're already talkin' business, pumpkin," Jesse grins, all toothy and scruffy, and takes another puff of his cigar, "That all you ever do?"

"You know me, Jesse," you slide your fingers across the underside of the bar, sending the partition up and allowing you to step around. You shrug your shoulders and hang your hands. The way his eyes flick across your figure isn't lost on you.

You cock your head towards the back office as you speak. "Always scheming."

If that ain't the god damn truth.

You're a smart little thing. All devilish wit and pulled strings. You have enough dirt in your back pocket to bring a few governments down, Jesse supposes. Nothing to bat an eyelash at.

He follows with ease; hat tucked upon his head once more, cigar and whiskey held in his hands. He follows you, looming over your shoulder, as the sea of patrons part with sidewards glances and half-aware nods. Everyone has their own business to attend to. You're simply attending to yours.

The back office isn't really much of an office — if anything, it's a refitted storage room. There's a desk, a handful of monitors, and enough security barring entrance to the windowless room that Jesse's roughed up every time.

The omnic patting him down isn't gentle. He tugs the peacekeeper from his hip holster and grunts. Jesse scowls.

That ain't never been a problem before, though.

You, all poised with your arms crossed, wave it off. The gun is shoved roughly back into Jesse's holster. If both hands weren't preoccupied, maybe the bouncer would get more than the nasty snarl Jesse manages as he's waved through. Maybe.

As the door slips shut behind him, the sound of your heels is all he hears.

"Beefed up security, huh?"

Your sigh is tight. He can see the tension along your shoulders when you round the sleek desk in the middle of the room and unlock a drawer. If you'd thought he'd move past your silence, you're wrong.

Jesse isn't like you.

He has a bad habit of asking plenty of follow up questions.

"What happened, pumpkin?"

That damn nickname is enough to spur you to straighten yourself, to set the datapad down gently on the desk in front of you, and to frown.

"There was an incident."

His worry is palpable.

"Nothing dramatic," you wave it off, shooing him slightly when he nears the desk. You walk around it and lean, settling on the edge, "But it was enough to spook a few staff members into being more mindful of who carries in the establishment. Especially behind closed doors."

You've had enough guns pulled on you in your life to know that one could have been the last — but it wasn't. It was fine. Might have earned you a few restless nights and a few connections to clean up, but the disgruntled member was dealt with. That was a month and a half ago now. Distant.

Jesse frowns. He sets his whiskey down on your desk, then leans and smothers the cigar in a fizzle of ash and smoke in the ashtray there.

His voice goes low, gruff, and serious.

"Pumpkin, I ain't a good man," he breathes, eyes low beneath the brim of his hat, "You're better off not trustin' men like me."

He does this every time.

A glimmer of self-consciousness towards his own character.

You know him better than to believe that shit.

"Jesse, if anyone was to put a bullet between my eyes," you mutter, unlocking the datapad with a flick of your finger, "I'd be honored if you were the one to do it."

That earns you a low grumble.

His weight moves to shift beside you. His hip bumps yours. His shoulder saddles right up against your own. You can smell the cigar on him, the burn of the whiskey on his tongue. Jesse is warm. He laces his own fingers together. You can feel his eyes on you as you sift through the files of bounties — and you try not to seem startled when he says your name soft enough it could pass for a lullaby.

"... You alright?"

It's not often you're asked this question.

You were right before — you were always talking business. Personal matters were kept far from any business dealings you did on a daily basis. It was pertinent. Kept the machine well-oiled.

Things with Jesse, though... They'd been different for a long time.

Things changed when the two of you had forgone professionalism once a handful of years ago now. It wasn't long after the first time you'd met him the cowboy had stolen himself into your well-guarded feelings. You blamed the charm. He believed it was luck. Despite knowing nearly nothing about you, he'd become enamored, and — when you'd initially thought the sex was something to sweeten the deal, Jesse quickly made it plenty clear he intended on keeping the sex and the business separate.

The feelings grew between those two things.

Now, in the center of his attention... Well, you feel small.

You let out a slow exhale.

"I missed you, y'know," you say slowly, eyes still trained on the names staring back at you on the datapad.

"Yeah," he breathes, "I missed you, too. Ain't fun bein' gone so long."

"As if either of us has a choice?"

Another hum. This one a bit sadder. Jesse supposes you're right, that it isn't exactly ideal  — and it's not as if he's allowed himself to be vulnerable to anyone else these last few years. Not when he's a wanted man. Not when gettin' someone tangled up in the danger is the last thing he wants.

It was different with you. You knew the danger. You...

Christ alive, he wishes now things were different.

Back then, it was easy.

Coming to terms, now, with the numbing loneliness that hangs itself over the both of you hurts a bit worse. Time is ticking by. He'll be older than he is younger soon.

"You ever wish you could leave it all behind?"

His question is met with a tired scoff. Your cheek finds his shoulder. Your hair falls along his arm.

"And become the world's most wanted woman?"

"What you've got is an empire," Jesse drawls, a hand slowly reaching for your own, "M' sure someone would wanna call it theirs ."

"And then what happens to the tired, old queen? The queen who knows what makes that empire strong?"

Your quirk your brows. Jesse sighs.

"... Point taken."

"I made my bed," you say with a measured sense of finality, "And I've gotta lay in it, Jesse."

His eyes dance alight when something then that's tempered with fire; he blinks down at you through thick lashes as he speaks.

"Wouldn't mind layin' with you..."

It's husky. Drawn out. Nearly a sigh, especially when his fingers slip along the curve of your wrist and draw up to your cheek.

"I'm starting to think you come here," you mumble with an edge of sarcasm as his nose brushes yours, "For more than just business ."

"Oh, sweetpea," Jesse grins as he whispers, "It's been that way for a long time now."

The kiss is bruising — the sort you missed horribly in those months apart. It's lip and teeth and scruff; the brush of his beard is enough to make you smile, enough to make you abandon the datapad on your desk.

Enough to keep you distracted enough that you don't notice Jesse McCree tapping an encrypted data transfer skimmer over your datapad.

You'll notice in the morning.

And by then, he'll be long gone.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine

Erik and Reader are best friends and Reader is the best freaky love for Erik but he doesn’t know how freaky she is. He finds out when he sees her at a heels class dancing to Beyoncé- Rocket.

“Deep down, everyone doubts themselves. Sometimes, I think I’m not good enough but at the end of the day I know I’m the fucking shit. I pray you quit overthinking, replaying failed scenarios, feeding self doubt & seeing the good in everyone but yourself you deserve more, ma.”

He passes Y/N the blunt, licking his full lips with a quick swipe of his tongue, and showing off his gold canines. Taking a puff of weed, Y/N watches Erik scratch the side of his defined torso over a tattoo that says Fuck Reality in that cursive lettering she loved to see. He yawns, blinking his sleepy eyes a few times before looking over at Y/N. She couldn’t help but look at his face.

“Make yourself a priority, Y/N. For real. Stop settling for these toxic lame ass niggas. When you meet a real nigga you gon’ realize you was never asking for too much.”

Y/N passed the blunt back to Erik while staring out of his bedroom window from his king sized bed. She knew her worth, she really did, but she always ended up going back to the same fuck boys.

“You’re too fine to be giving all your time and energy into him. Too fine. My bestfriend needs to know her worth. You looking at me like that but I’m being honest, shit, when was the last time you felt appreciated? When was the last time a nigga did something for you and didn’t expect something in return? Called to check up on you? Texted you back? Ate your pussy because he knows you had a rough week and you just need your pussy ate? Some good sex? When?”

Her carefree bestfriend with his tapered dreads and full beard and mustache. His sincere whiskey colored eyes and messy brows that he always talked with. Raising them, creasing them. He smooths a hand down his solid and sculpted chest before resting that hand over his abs. The gold rings on his fingers against his brown skin was just as beautiful as the sun setting before them.

“I can’t remember. I’m embarrassed to say,” Y/N finally speaks. She heaved a sigh, unzipping her velour pink hoodie, a white form-fitting shirt underneath, “I know I deserve more. Ugh, now I’m going to be single and lonely for Valentine’s.”

Erik sat up on his elbows, the hue of the sunset against his russet skin, “I’m your valentine now. i’ll be there at 10pm climbing through your bedroom window with flowers. Dahlias right? Cool, I’ll see you later tonight?” Erik gave Y/N a teasing smile. She knew he was trying to make her feel better but it didn’t change the fact that it sounded so...honest? Like he wanted to do and say that.

“Scary movies and chill? That romantic movie shit is played out. We can snuggle close with some popcorn with Freddy Kruger on the screen.”

“Your obsession with 80s slasher movies is amazing,” Y/N laughs, “Why must you mix Valentine’s with blood and gore, Erik?”

“Why not? Instead of bleeding your heart out because you’re heart broken, you can watch a heart actually bleeding out,” Erik chuckles before he ashes out the blunt in his ceramic ashtray that Y/N made for him with 4/20 carved into it.

“Should I dress up?” Y/N played along.

“Just keep those same straight backs in your hair and wear those little stripe linen shorts that make your ass look nice. Oh, and that mini white T-shirt that says Daddy on it in pink letters. Can’t forget the mix match ankle socks either.”

“You can wear a durag with a pair of grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt. The ones you wear that’s all loose fitting on you because you refuse to wear a tighter one? Yeah, and a pair of Vans.”

“What time for our little date, ma?”

“8. And don’t be late either.”

“To a date with you? Never.”

“Okay, I have a question,” Y/N turns towards him, “what’s your idea of a perfect night with your girl?”

“Hmm,” Erik rolled his moistened lips in deep thought, “Dick rubs and intellectual conversations. Head in a comfortable bed. Falling asleep with my head laying on her crotch so I can just pull her panties to the side and eat her pussy. Honestly, give pleasure by just being there. We don’t even have to talk or fuck. Presence is just comforting.”

“That sounds amazing,” Y/N never had those things but that’s what her bestfriend likes? She wished she had that same treatment.

“Those chill, nice nights with someone you feel comfortable with.” Erik spoke in a low tone while twirling a single loc, “I crave that.”

“I know, ugh, me too, Erik,” Y/N laid back against the bed, “I have to go to class today.”

Erik gave her a questioning look, “What class?”

Y/N turned around to lay on her belly, “A heels class. Remember I was telling you that I started doing this like a month ago?”

“Shorty, I have other things going on with me right now I didn’t focus on that,” Erik gives her a sad look, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been working on a routine. I think I have it down. It’s gonna be real sexy.”

“Sexy? Who you tryna impress with this class?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Y/N teased.

“Ah, man. That ain’t fair, ma. I’m your bestie.”

“You are but I don’t need to tell you my business,” Y/N rolls her eyes into her head.

“It’s cool, cuz I’m coming there with you.”

Y/N’s face flushed.

“What? I can’t come-“

“NO.”

She didn’t want Erik to watch her dance. Being surrounded by those women made her feel like she was in her room dancing in the mirror. They all connected because they related to each other. If Erik came there she would probably mess up her routine since he would definitely be watching her move. It was a heels choreography class and Erik is a man, he’s going to watch. Y/N wore either a pair of black high crotch panties with fishnets and a cropped t shirt or a form fitting leotard with black sheer stockings. Six inch heels on her feet with a skinny heel since she’s gotten better. Popping her ass and hitting splits to the music. Erik never saw her like that. What would he say and do when he did?

“It really ain’t that deep, ma,” Erik jokes because Y/N was spaced out, “I promise I won’t laugh at you. I don’t have shit else to do but sit around so let me come with you.”

Y/N pondered while staring down at her hands before heaving a sigh of defeat, “okay. You can come.”

“I knew you would say yes,” Erik gave her a half smirk, “You can’t tell me no even if you tried.”

“Don’t embarrass me in there, Erik,” Y/N spoke to him with a warning in her voice. She knew he could be silly and fuck with her but when she danced, it was her time to shine.

“Teh, girl, you really think I would do that?”

Erik got closer to Y/N, leaning on his elbows while his face got closer to hers, “I’ll be on the side lines cheering you on. I promise, okay?”

Y/N looked up into his eyes, giving Erik a weird look before turning away from him, “Okay.”

He was acting very...strange. Not like his usual self but Y/N could be overthinking it. She sat up on her knees, lifting off the bed to put her sneakers back on before picking up her velour jacket and her PINK gym bag that carried all of the things she needed for class.

“Put on a shirt and come on, Erik.” She picked up a shirt that was wrinkled and balled up on the floor before throwing it at him, “I’m not trying to be late!”

“Calm that shit the fuck down, Y/N. Don’t give me attitude before I really make you late for this class.”

—————————-

“You calm down yet?” Erik asks Y/N while following behind her to the dance studio that held her heels class. The closer they walked, the more Erik could hear the deep base to the sensual music that vibrates the walls. He’d sit back and watch a bunch of women shake their ass in heels. Erik looked at his bestfriend walking ahead of him as she lead the way with a sway of her hips. Those tantalizing hips. Erik looked up at the back of her head as if she had eyes back their and could see him checking her out. He couldn’t help himself. Like he said back in his room, she’s too fine.

“Are you going to behave?” She looked back at him over her shoulder with a brow raised, “Well? Are you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Erik said with a husky voice, “whatever you say.”

Y/N rolled her eyes before making a left turn, opening the double doors to a dimly lit studio with a pink neon sign of a woman in heels that read dance. A few chairs rested in the corner of the room, mirrors were placed on one side of the wall so that the ladies could watch themselves. A guy stood off to the side in deep conversation with a short plump girl about 5’ 3 dressed in a mesh leotard with red fishnets and heels. He was fumbling with a camcorder that Erik assumes is used to record the ladies do their routines. On the polished hardwood floor, directly in the middle, were all the ladies doing stretches. Some were down in a split stretching out their legs, others were bending over to touch their toes, stretching out their backs. Erik recognized the music. It sounded like Teyana Taylor & Kehlani- Morning.

“Okay, I gotta get myself changed, I’ll be back, alright?” Y/N spoke with a whisper to him.

“Yeah, I’ll be over here,” Erik pointed to a black chair with a leather cushion to sit on.

“Cool,” Y/N gave Erik a silly smile before walking away, waving to a few ladies as she made her way over to the dressing room. Erik rested his hands in the pockets of his black cargo pants that he wore. The wrinkled shirt wasn’t the shirt he had on. He was wearing a muscle tee with the sides cut really low, giving you a view of his muscles and scars along his ribs down to his hips. Black boots on his feet and gold around his neck and on his fingers. Erik scratches his scruffy facial hair while looking around the class. When he did this, eyes were on him, wondering who this handsome guy was that came with Y/N. He entertained their looks for a minute before taking his phone out of his pocket to scroll through pointless apps.

“Oooo, Y/N, what routine are we gonna start out with today, honey?” A tall mocha skinned girl with a large curly bush and a black catsuit on asked. Erik looked up at the mention of her name. His eyes seemed to widen and gawk at Y/N. Erik was in a state of stupor. Stupefied but mesmerized at the same time.

“I have something I’ve been working on all week but that can wait for tomorrow. I gotta have a guy to do the lap dance with. When is Montell coming back?”

“Girl, why use Montell when you can use him?” The tall chick pointed at Erik. Erik looks over at Y/N, watching her eyes grow wide.

“Erik? No,” Y/N laughs, “He’s just here to watch until I’m done.”

The chubby chick that was talking to the camera guy came over to intrude, “Isn’t that your boyfriend though?”

“No. He’s my bestfriend and he’s just going to watch.”

“Well, can I use him for my routine then? I put a little something something together to Ciara- Body Party and I need a nigga to pop this ass on. He so cute, Y/N. Hi bestfriend!” The pretty chubby girl waved at Erik who returned the wave with a smile on his full lips.

“He is cute. How can you just be friends with that?”

“Dominique,” Y/N was referring to the taller chick, “Erica,” She looked over at the short plump girl, “I’m using him for my routine.” Y/N spoke with finality. Wasn’t no chick in that class gonna put ass on him if it wasn’t her.

“Oh? Why the change of heart?” Dominique folded her arms while giving Y/N a sassy smile. Y/N didn’t say a word as she walked away, looking over at Erik before sticking her tongue out at him. He was in a fit of laughter, clutching his chest and everything.

Y/N was dressed in a black thong with sheer black stockings that had tiny rhinestones on it, a tiny black and gold wrap top that made her breast sit high and black stilettos on her feet. All that ass out and bouncing each time she walked. Erik knew his bestfriend has body but damn, he never saw her like this. Y/N was fumbling with a wall audio system that was installed to play throughout the studio. She found the song she wanted, pausing it, then grabbing a chair to bring in the center of the dance floor. The other ladies crowded around and the camera guy set up so that it was facing her. Y/N then walked over to Erik, a roll of her eyes while trying to fight a smile. She got down in front of him in a squat, talking closely with him. Erik leaned forward on his elbows to hear her.

“Okay, so I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that but,” She sighed, “I’m gonna need you for my routine.”

“Hmm,” Erik smirked, “What I gotta do?”

Y/N licked her lips, “All you gotta do is sit in that chair for me. You’ll be in that chair while I do all the work, alright?”

“Let me ask you something,” Erik narrowed his eyes, “Why did you change your mind so quick?”

Y/N rolled her eyes away from him before kissing her teeth, “You gonna do that for me, or what?”

“You ain’t off the hook, ma,” Erik stood up, while looking down at Y/N who was still in a squat position while staring up the valley of his body to connect with his eyes, “You gon’ tell me after this class.”

“Whatever,” Y/N finally got up, grabbing Erik’s hand with force, walking him to the middle of the dance floor. He wasn’t nervous one bit. He wanted to see what his bestie could do.

“Sit.” She instructed, earning oooo’s and ahhhh’s from the ladies around them. Erik raises his brows at her before taking his seat real slow, legs wide and one arm stretched over the back of the chair. He motioned with his head for Y/N to get started, his eyes intense and heated. Y/N motioned for one of the girls she started the class with to play her song.

Beyoncé- Rocket began to play.

Let me sit this ass

On you

Y/N sat down real slow on Erik while looking back at him. She wound her hips, back arching and ass moving up the length of his crotch nice and gently. She did a spin on his lap, her leg going up and over his head so she could straddle him. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders before pulling on his shirt to bring him closer to her. She made him watch her while her hips moved over him. Erik has to hold onto the sides of the chair.

Show you how I feel

Let me take this off

Will you watch me

Yes, mass appeal

Don't take your eyes

Don't take your eyes off it

Watch it, babe

If you like

You can touch me baby

Do you

Do you wanna touch me baby, ooh

Grab a hold, don't let go

Let me know

That you

Ready (ready)

Erik looked at her with eyes so deeply filled with desire there was no denying his attraction to his bestfriend. Y/N held those eyes with her low ones, before grabbing his jaw to tease him. She almost touched his lips with hers but she pulled away before Erik could even get a taste.

I just wanna show you now

Slow it down

Go around

You rock hard

Y/N stood up, getting down on her knees in front of Erik while running a hand from his chest down to his crotch that was indeed rock hard.

I rock steady

She bounced up and down in a squat to demonstrate how steady she would rock on that hard dick. A few chicks wolf whistled at that, cheering her on.

And rock right up to the side of my mountain

Climb until you reach my peak baby, peak babe, peak

And reach right into the bottom of my fountain

Y/N pats her kitty kat to indicate where that fountain he needed to find was.

I wanna play in your deep baby, your deep baby, deep

Then dip me under where you can feel my river flowing and flow

Y/N went back on the floor, her legs coming all the way up to rest on each side of her head. She was open like the peace sign. Her hands ran up her body, eyes still on Erik to show him that she was nothing to play with. He gave her a sly smirk that showed off a single dimple. So this how she got down? She danced all freaky like this? Showing him where she wanted him to go with his hardness?

Hold me 'til I scream for air to breathe

She grabs her neck, body arching from the floor. Erik could feel his dick growing stiffer.

And wash me over until my well runs dry

Send all your sins all over me, babe, me baby, me

Rock it…

Y/N got up from the floor, swaying her hips. She stared into the camera, moving in those heels like she was wearing a pair of sneakers. Erik didn’t know she was this flexible. When she arched her back to pop her ass, getting into a split stance while running her hand on her crotch he wanted to lift from that chair, pick her up, and hold the back of her neck while making her pop her ass on his hard crotch. He had to have restraint because this is her routine but FUCKKK, was it hard.

Rock it 'til waterfalls

Rock it 'til waterfalls

Rock it 'til waterfalls

Bathe in these waterfalls

She grinned her hips into the floor before bringing her legs up from behind, her heels almost touching the back of her head before rolling over to lift a single leg in the air, grinding her hips forward. She was showing him what that body could do. She was showing him exactly how freaky his bestfriend could be.

I do it like it's my profession

I gotta make a confession

I'm proud of all this bass

When you put it in your face

She stood, arching forward, and grabbing her ankles while looking back at Erik. Her ass popped and swayed from side to side.

By the way, if you need a personal trainer or a therapist

I can be a piece of sunshine, inner peace, entertainer

Anything else that you may read between the lines

You and I create rockets and waterfalls

“YES HUNTY!” One of them yelled out while snapping their fingers.

“THATS IT Y/N!”

Erik nods his head in approval. He found himself rocking to the beat while tapping a single foot and grinding his hips in the chair. She rode that song with so much ease. Beyoncé’s voice mixed with her sensual moves had everyone in that room watching in complete silence now. The song played on and then that’s when it became really intense...

I can't help but love the way we make love

Daddy, daddy

Ooh child, ooh now

Yes, Lord, damn baby

She was going crazy. Popping her ass, arching her back, looking at Erik with her mouth hanging open. Swinging her head from side to side, running her hands over her breasts before jiggling them. That continuous Daddy, Daddy, has Erik losing his mind. The self control was unraveling.

You driving me cray, cray, yeah

You ain't right for doing it to me like that daddy

Y/N crawled towards him. She was staring at him like she wanted to rip his clothes off and show some attention to the hard dick that she felt growing in his pants. When she made it over to him, she got into a handstand, her legs widening into a split, before descending back on him, her legs wrapping around his waist while Erik pulled her forward with his hands on her hips.

Even though

I've been a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad girl

Y/N bends her body back while grinding on him so hard and forceful that Erik couldn’t help but to grind up into her on that chair. His hips were lifting from the chair.

Tell me what you're gonna do about that

He wanted to do something right fucking now. Y/N was driving him crazy. His growls and moans were trapped in his throat because of everyone surrounding him.

Punish me please

Punish me please

Daddy what you're going to do with all of this

Ass

Y/N turns around, her ass rubbing along his chest. Erik moves his hands down her back before slapping her ass, causing Y/N to gasp and everyone around them to cheer and clap.

All up in your face, yeah

Hell yeah

Love me so deep

Ooh my shit's so good it ain't even right

This shit wasn’t fair. She bounced on his lap in a continuous rhythm to the freaky beat. Since she wanted to give him a little lap dance to this beat she was definitely going to fuck him to this song. Bestie or not.

I know I'm right

Hell yeah you the shit

That's why you're my equivalent

So sexy

To Erik’s disappointment, Y/N got up from his lap, circling him in the chair before standing behind him. She lowered her arms over his shoulders from behind, taking her fingers to drag his muscle tee up to reveal his chiseled body. Abs flexed, skin so smooth even with the raised scars, her nails clawing lightly at his ripped abs all the way up to his chest. Her lips lightly touched the side of neck, giving him a lick there while the song faded out. The room erupted with applause at her routine. Y/N wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck, rocking him back and forth with a big smile on her face. Erik grabs her arms, holding them with a grin on his lips. Y/N did her thing.

“Girllllllllllll,” Dominique shouted while coming over to hug Y/N, “You had your bestfriend ready to hop off this chair and handle you, girl.”

“Oh? Really?” Y/N spoke into Erik’s ear before giving him a quick peck on the cheek, “I’m sorry I put this ass on you and you couldn’t do anything about it.”

Erik clenched his jaw. She only fueled him more.

“Nothing to say? Hmm?” She dragged on.

Erik looked up at her with a tilt of his head. She knew those hard domineering eyes meant one thing and one thing only: she was going to get it for sure. He had something for her after this class.