#will scan and post nicer

[exdeputysonso]

Blue Velvet (1986) Press Photos

[squuote]

I haven’t posted any of my sketches for her but I need everyone to know that anya mouthwashing is extremely fun to draw and that um. I love her <3 yay <3

[sleepyjim2]

wips of my latest wormie beast , before i post the final scan tomorrow :p !

[signorpaolinopaperino]

Hellooo! I'm back with a small update. I'm (slowly) uploading all of the Original X Mickey issues and stories to the internet archive! You can find everything that I've added so far here: https://archive.org/details/@whitemouseinn

Eventually you should be able to read each issue on the archive without downloading, but it takes a while to process so check back in a few days/hours if its not available yet.

They're all in the original Italian, unedited (as far as i know). I left the scans as-is, nothing has been cleaned up. If you want to download these scans for your own translations (or to just re-upload elsewhere), please go ahead!

[frankendeth]

Sketch dump!! All ocs

[strawhbrrries]

Movement

pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

summary: a double date that leads to mike schmidt coming home with you in the name of "helping your friend" and he ends up fucking you.

warnings: unprotected sex, no foreplay, creampie??, female pronouns, slight degrading??, pet names, heavy cussing, mike being hashtag v hot, no established relationship, porn with no plot, not proofread

word count: 2.1k words

author’s note: listen to movement by hozier for the full experience!!! I know this fic wasn't voted to be the first mike one to be posted but I had to do it okay!!!! he's so hot n sexy in this and i need him badly...please enjoy! mwah!

Your eyes scanned the restaurant in front of your car, you were promised a very nice dinner with a very nice man and the place you ended up might as well have been a denny’s. Gia somehow managed to rope you into a double date and as the amazing friend you are, you obliged. Now, you wanted to take it back. If the guy you were set up with wasn’t just an absolute heartthrob you might consider strangling her in the bathroom.

“Gia, this better be the best damn food and the hottest men you have ever experienced or I’m never doing you another favor ever again.” You teased, getting out of your car as she walked up to it.

“I swear he said this place was nicer! Thank you so much babes, I owe you one!” She responded, slipping her arm inside of yours to walk inside. “Maybe the inside is really nice and it’s just a shady exterior.”

You’d never seen the man Gia was seeing tonight so when the two of you arrived at the table you weren’t sure which man was yours, but you knew which one you wanted. He looked gentle, shaggy hair untamed almost like he wasn’t prepared to go on a date tonight. 

“I suppose I’m your date.” He smiled softly, getting up to pull your chair out for you. “I’m MIke, you look uh, really beautiful tonight.”

After the introductions and small talk the two of you hit it off right away, it helped that Gia and her date were more interested in each other than remembering that the people they brought also existed.  The more you talked the more Mike came out of his shell, he wasn’t as shy as you first pegged him to be. Your heel was slowly caressing his calf, neither of you were quite sure when it had ended up there but he wasn’t complaining.

“A man in uniform is hot.” Your flirting was a little rusty, but it seemed to be working just fine for you.

“It’s just a security gig.” He shrugged it off, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. 

You grabbed the straw of your drink, wrapped your tongue around it, and took a sip. Mike choked slightly but covered it up with a cough, adjusting his pants under the table at the same time. 

“She’s not going to go home with him unless I go home with you.” You whispered in his ear as you leaned over the table, tangling your fingers in his hair to trick Gia into thinking you were whispering something dirty. “I’d really like to go home with you.”

You could feel the heat creep up his neck, his face was flushed. His heart might as well be on the outside of his chest with the intensity that it was beating, it’d been a long time since he’d been on a date or even gotten laid but Abby was at home and that just wouldn’t work.

“Uhm, my sister’s at home, can we go to your place?” Mike’s saliva was thick and pooling in his mouth, it felt almost impossible to swallow. He had to be dreaming, this just didn’t make sense otherwise. He was just doing his friend a favor and now your breath was hot on his neck and his jeans were uncomfortably tight.

The second the two of you walked outside he got fidgety, like he was going to take off the second you let go of his hand. Frankly he was surprised you hadn’t let go of it the second you picked it up, he was dripping sweat from the moment he realized you were his date. He quickly made a mental note to send a letter to the company who made his preferred deodorant, the fact that he didn’t smell absolutely putrid spoke volumes on their product.

“So did you mean what you said inside? Because I’m perfectly okay with just going home.” 

“I meant it, don’t be so nervous.” You smiled back at him, handing him the keys to your car.

The tension was thick, his knuckles were white as he tried to keep his focus on the road ahead and making it back to your place safely and not the fingers drawing figures on his thigh as you spoke about something he couldn’t quite grasp. 

Your place wasn’t too far from the restaurant that Gia’s date had picked, that Mike was thankful for. The longer he had to endure the torture that was your fingers on this thighs, the less his ability to be a gentleman and control himself existed. If it was up to him, he’d probably just pulled over and fucked you in the backseat of your own car but it wasn’t. He was a gentleman, he’d just met you all of a few hours ago, he knew better.

“This is the place.” You smiled softly as he pulled into your driveway.

“It’s nice.” He stated, handing your car keys back to you and taking your hand. “Suits you.”

Mike’s eyes wandered the walls, taking in every aspect of you, as you led him through the house. It didn’t take him long to notice that you lived alone, another thing he was now thankful for. His fingers trailed the zipper of your dress as he stood behind you in your bedroom, his other hand rubbing your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“Are you going to take it off?” Your voice was shaky and quiet, for the first time tonight you were nervous. 

“And you thought I was the eager one.” He chuckled, tugging your hair back softly to give him just enough access to your face to make eye contact with you. “Do you get off on bringing strangers to your home and having them fuck you?”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, blessing the ears of the man behind you who responded with a groan. His lips made contact with your neck, biting and sucking at any of the skin he had access to. The hand that was holding your hair back made itself busy drawing the zipper of your dress further and further down until it couldn’t go any further, you shivered as the cold air hit your back. 

Mike detached himself from your neck and took a step back, briefly admiring how disheveled you looked despite still being fully dressed, he made a quick motion for you to turn around and you obliged almost immediately. If you got his dick any harder it might’ve fallen off before he ever got the chance to use it. 

He backed you into the bed, laying you down and sliding your dress off and into a pile on the floor. Another deep groan was emitted into the air as he took in the sight in front of him, you hadn’t worn a bra and the underwear you’d chosen left nothing to the imagination. Mike immediately started thanking whatever god was above for you and the experience he was about to have. 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest. Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone tonight but then you saw him and your entire plan was flipped upside down. You lied about your friend not going home with her date if you didn’t leave with him, you didn’t want him to think you were desperate but he knew now. The second he touched the zipper of your dress, anything left of your facade was gone. You needed him.

“If you weren’t so fucking wet I would’ve thought you were only doing me a favor.” He spoke nonchalantly, rubbing his finger over your folds through your underwear. “ Or maybe you’re just a whore? Huh?”

“For you.” You choked out, words getting caught in your throat over his words. 

At the beginning of the night you would’ve placed money on the fact that he wasn’t capable of things like this, it was like another side of him had come out during the drive to your house. You weren’t complaining, his words were getting to you in a way you’d never experienced. 

“Yeah? For me? Mikey’s own personal whore.” He slipped your underwear to the side and slid his finger through your folds, collecting your juices and bringing them to his mouth. “You’re as sweet as you look, need a honey jar full of you.”

You cried out at him softly, trying to use anything you had to stop his teasing. He was winding you up but edging you right before you could pop, he could’ve said anything and you would’ve agreed just to get him to fuck you. Being this desperate for a man you hardly knew was an exhilarating experience. 

“Please, I need you.” You whined, grabbing at his shirt in a desperate plea. “Please.”

“Good job using your words, pretty girl.” Mike praised, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down, throwing them in the same pile as your dress.

His clothes soon joined yours on the floor, a small pout emerging when you realized you wouldn’t be able to suck him off, his eyes catching yours as he climbed up your body. He kissed his way up, biting occasionally. Fingers tracing your skin just as you had done to him earlier in the night, lighting a fire on your skin as they went. It was like his body was made to fit yours, like your souls had searched for each other through every lifetime and yet this was the first time they had met.

His lips finally met yours for the first time, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away to breathily whisper something in your ear. You shook your head in agreement at whatever he said, as long as he kept touching you like that and making noises in your ear you’d agree to anything he said to you. 

Shaking your head yes was the best decision you’d made so far, you felt two fingers slip inside of you. Thrusting for a few moments before they were replaced by the tip of his cock, slowly pushing in as his mouth found one of your nipples. The gentle man you had once perceived had been replaced by a god who was hung like a horse, splitting you in half with the cock fit for a god.

“Fuck.” Mike moaned, tipping his head back when he bottomed out, taking your legs and placing them on his shoulders. “So good, pretty girl.”

Anything you had planned on responding with quickly dissipated the second he pulled out and thrusted back in, a low groan coming out insead. His fingers were digging into your thighs as he held them up where he wanted them, all you could hope for was the imprints bruising as a reminder that this actually happened. What hair that wasn’t sticking to his skin from the sweat covering it was dangling backwards freely, all his focus was on not cumming too soon and if he continued to look at you he definitely would.

Your eyes had glossed over a long time ago, tears streaming down the sides as a byproduct of the blissful state his cock had put you in, fingers gripping desperately at the sheets and your tits bouncing with each thrust. He was once again praying to every god that he would get to do this another time, then he could sear the image of you under him into his mind.

“Mike, Mikey I need..” You whined, the knot in your stomach twisting and turning, threatening to spill before you could even finish a coherent thought.

“C’mon pretty girl, you can do it, let it go.” He praised you, bringing his thumb down to your clit and drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts to help your orgasm spill over.

His words were the final piece in the puzzle, your orgasm hitting you soon after he spoke. Legs shaking, mind blowing, tears, and silent moans was all your body could do at the supernova your orgasm had proved to be. You’d never cum this hard before but if every orgasm after didn’t measure up, he had ruined you. 

“You did so good.” Was all you heard as you came down from your high, Mike’s hands soothed down your hair as he whispered into your ear. 

His thrusts continued at the same pace for only a few seconds before his hips stuttered and he painted your insides white. 

“I guess tonight wasn’t a total waste.” You joked quietly, turning to the side to smile at him as he laid down next to you. 

“We need to do this more often.”

[subarashiihibi]

i got a bunch of drrr/izaya merch in the mail and a lot is new stuff i’ve never seen in more than like 9 pixels so i’m going to scan all the stuff i want scanned and mayyybe put it up on here depending on how satisfied i am w my scans 💀

[lookinsideitsallendings]

box for my stamp collection (materials: leftover cardboard, an envelope and bouquet wrapping paper)

[takes1]

ah, hello kuroken anon again here!!! :> I LOVED LOVED LOOVEDDDD THE PART 2 HAHAGWGSH SOO EXCITED TO SEE HOW IT’LL END!!!! AND MASTERMIND KENMA??? YOU. GET. IT. YOUUU FUCKING GET ITTTT. IM SO CRAZY THATS LITERALLY HOW I THINK HE’D BE IN BED AJAKSIFIRKRJ. thats the team’s brain right there!!!! cant wait to reread this story over and over <3333

thank you again for sparing some time to write even when youre busy with your education, i’m also busy with my education related stuff so you posting your writing at this time is really helping me to keep me going 🫶 good luck to u!!! ^^

[final] kenma sharing you with kuroo

you're a gem and i will sorely miss hearing from you after this part is posted. fuuuuck you made me cry a lil bit 🤏not even kidding omg. i'm genuinely so glad the characterization got through 😫💕and that i could help you in any capacity loves.

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / porn with plot / threesome / angst, fluff, and smut / jealous?kuroo / secure!kenma / submissive(with conditions)!reader / praisewhore!reader / use of toys / m!rec oral / riding / kuroo working through his emotions / mastermind!kenma / poly!conversations / happy!cuck'd kenma / fluid pecking order / 3k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. part one here. part two.

"Good," A little drive-by peck to your temple and Kenma was off the bed, grabbing some water.

"I need a break."

Kuroo filled the space he left verbally and physically-- a starved scan of your body, trembling already, on top of him. His head swiveled from you to Kenma's cute butt. He couldn't keep his hand off of his own cock to save his life, so it didn't surprise you that he stroked himself and checked your boyfriend out at the same time. If you had one, you'd do the same.

"You lazy fuckin' bastard..."

They shared a laugh.

He let the chuckle die for a second, more of a yearning as he looked at you again, "You sure it's alright with you, man?"

You realized you couldn't stop your hands from shaking. You really wanted him.

You both looked at Kenma, who put his hands up, more annoyed that the question kept cropping up, "Promise. I'm fine, I just got- kinda close."

You were brimming with pride at that truthful statement, hips automatically rolled against Kuroo's cock. He could play the role well, but it wasn't natural. Neither was his pace or his intensity, so it made sense that he was forced to sacrifice his already shitty stamina.

Kenma liked slow, smother-y, whiny, missionary stuff that went on for a couple rounds and ended in you both passed out in your own slippery mess. This was all a little pornographic, performative, for a neutral observer.

"F-uck," He groaned, face tense at how well you took him.

He couldn't believe neither of you made him wear a condom. He never fucked raw, and never imagined he would have the chance to get with you. This was too perfect.

Kuroo was on the thicker side, and leaned hard to the left. Two features you weren't accustomed to, but instantly learned to love. He stretched your cunt out so easy- leaving you at a shallow gasp, as he wasted no time to show you how much he had been craving you over the past year.

That pretty, occupied, shock was exactly what he wanted to see.

He grinned, a possessive grip around your throat, "That's what you wanted, huh?"

His lip curled, twitched. He bottomed out and rolled his hips the way Kenma had, earlier.

"You wanted me?"

You squeaked at his premature intensity- nails digging into his shoulders. He squeezed you to prompt an answer.

A whimpery, "Yeah."

Kuroo was different when he let himself talk to you like this, like it was just you two. It felt like he was finally being honest.

It was apparent that he wanted you close, intimately so, and not posed up for Kenma. He was still sipping his water, watching, as if he was hanging out on the bench during a game.

Kuroo fucked you slower, nicer, after he hearing your pitiful sob of an answer.

His thumb rubbed slow, a nearly imperceivable circle in your hip, as he searched your eyes.

"Why didn't ya tell me?" Was so quiet. It made your heart squeeze.

He felt too good, pumping in and out of you so easy, filling you over and over again like it was nothing.

His voice was ever softer, as you were rewiring your brain to make room for a singular thought.

"You hear me, pretty girl?"

You softened at his endless list of nicknames for you- all so methodical and sweet, like he had always thought of you as his baby, his doll, his pretty girl.

"Mhm," Got muffled against his fervent kisses.

It would have to go unanswered. You realized at some point you didn't have a satisfying response for him; even if you did before, you couldn't do his questions any justice, now.

He was like Kenma when he got close. He grew huffy, and leagues worse at kissing. His little taunts were incomprehensible, but the nature of his mumbly, dirty words was enough to get you close and considering the possibility of a future arrangement here.

The idea had you pushing out of his weakened grip, looking towards Kenma. Adoration had filled his features even before he caught you looking at him, evidence that he had nothing to hide.

He came closer to kiss you.

Kuroo allowed you to you lean close to Kenma's ear, amused when you covered your whisper up with your palm, so he had no chance of hearing.

"Let me suck you off again," Was your request.

Kenma stepped back, face too hesitant for your liking. He shook his head, undecided, with a long and quiet hum.

"Please," Your hand fell from his shoulder as he stroked himself, just to see if he could last for it.

You had to beg a few more times, real sweet, real pretty, for him to decide that finishing first wasn't all so bad. It clearly wasn't an original part of his plan, but he couldn't tell you no; not with you all fucked out, waiting for more, on top of his best friend.

"Ohh my god," Kuroo groaned, forcing you still, as he pieced together why Kenma climbed back up, on his knees, at his side.

Your dirty little smile only broke to press a kiss to the tip of Kenma's cock.

"Oh my g-od..." He repeated himself, voice breaking this time.

It was easier from this position, than the one you had been in earlier- the whole reason any of this was playing out now.

The way your tongue stretched out, the hollow in your cheeks, how fucking easy you made it look, and most of all, your pretty little stare up at him was all too perfect. Kuroo didn't blush often, but this was a true surprise, and a moment worthy of the red on his face, now.

He wasn't going to last long, from the start, but this was overload. You had gotten comfortable with him long before he was ever in the picture- knowing exactly how Kenma liked it, what got him closest, the fastest. He didn't make the connection before now, but that's what Kenma had shown earlier, too.

Kenma was huffy, a bit higher in tone, "She got me off the game- ah-h, like-- this,"

One hand was still, twitchy, at his side- one kept your hair back, but didn't control you. His abs flexed, uneven.

"Fuckin' knew it," Kuroo gave a tired, very distracted chuckle.

His shoulders would stoop hard to the side with a big, struggled sigh when you'd take him deeper. You brought out a more submissive side of Kenma. It was a welcome sight.

Kuroo had to let you go to rub the ache from his temples. In the absence of his hands, you rolled your hips. You didn't want to just be a cock warmer-- you wanted him to fuck you. So far, Kenma had been rougher, and that didn't meet your expectations at all.

He seethed, and kept you still again with a shuddery sound, "Don't- don't move."

You came back up, popping Kenma out of your mouth, stroking him quickly as you gave Kuroo a mean stare.

"Relaaax, babygirl, I just need a second--,"

You frowned. So they both couldn't last? You took your frustration out on Kenma- twitching, gasping, at your lubed palm making an embarrassingly quick work of his endurance. He was really cute when he was about to cum.

"Babe- fuck- I'm-- I-h- Ah!," He stuttered, his panting growing quicker, the tension across his body now locked.

He let you to decide what you wanted. You could feel him tense as you kept your tongue laid flat, swirled in little circles on the underside of the tip, as you pumped the rest of his length.

"Mm-h, fuc-k--"

"Aah, ah-hh-!"

Kuroo had to scratch little divots into his palm to keep himself sobered enough. He watched along in awe as you swallowed, hardly any labor on your brow. You looked at him the whole time, this impossible innocence in your steady gaze.

Kenma was a work of art, his mouth parted, lips wet with drool, his brow tense at how you kept sucking at his sensitive tip. He adored you. There was no hope for Kuroo to replace that, going either way.

"Oka-y, okay," Kenma pulled you off with a shuddery sigh.

He muttered, "I love you s'much," against your scalp as you licked your fingers clean. After stealing a kiss, he sat back on his heels, a hand rested on Kuroo's shoulder.

There was a sorry lack of quips from him. He wasn't being a smartass anymore, or even funny. He was acting a little dull, like Kenma after a couple rounds. You tilted your head down at him, analyzing what the hell happened.

He returned it, his intense, deep eyes cutting right through you.

You softened your expression. Maybe he was still in there.

"He won't move," You pouted to Kenma, as if he could possibly do something about it.

He covered his snicker with his hand- Kuroo rolled his eyes but got cut short when you tried to move your hips up and back down. His nails dug so hard into you that you gave a small whimper- trying to pry his hands away, unsuccessfully.

"If she doesn't stop doing that, I'm gonna fuckin' cum," In a similar fashion to you, he looked at Kenma, like he could fix it, "I'm so serious, bro- it's not even funny."

Kenma gave a loaded sigh. He did look like he was thinking for a solution.

Kuroo had your face in his big hand, warning you, to be still. You liked the sound of him cumming inside you, and how he was barely holding himself together, so you only met his harshness with a small, maniacal smile.

After rifling through the sheets, Kenma found your favorite vibrator and wiggled it with pride in front of Kuroo. He didn't disappoint; he truly had a solution for everything.

"Dunno how I forgot about this," He muttered, clicking through the settings to the only one you actually used.

As he took the time to do this, you clocked that he was still half-hard, even after two orgasms, and felt some butterflies in your tummy. He glanced your bodies over with a little smirk.

He kissed right behind your ear, "Let's try leveling the playing field, yeah?"

It was easy to act all big and bad when they were both closer than you. Once they had you on your back, completely honed in on just your body, your short-lived confidence was shaken.

In a similar, reverse fashion, Kuroo was back to his original state: an irritating tease.

He was eager to listen to and watch Kenma as he cuddled up to your side.

"We usually don't go for this long-," He admitted, making him smirk.

He took one leg hostage to spread you before pressing your vibrator up to your clit.

"A-hh-ah-!" You twitched, under all the sudden pleasure.

"But you're getting spoiled today, huh?" Your partner chuckled, a little kiss to your temple.

This may have been one of the few times Kuroo didn't keep his cock in his hand. The whole point was to get him further away from a climax, after all.

He used that effort to take your opposite side, in an almost identical orientation as Kenma. Your other leg was relieved of its fatigue once Kuroo wouldn't let it go.

If he focused too hard at the delicious tension in your face, or the way Kenma had to keep you forcefully still, he had to look away for twice as long with a big, calming sigh.

"She is such a pretty thing," He muttered, during one of these moments.

"Sooo pretty," Kenma agreed. He watched Kuroo's affliction, how it seemed more than just physical.

Another little peck to your sweaty temple, as you squirmed and flexed, panting, under their weight and pulling, "You should tell Kuro how much you want him."

They couldn't let you rest. It was psychological torture paired with the most a dizzying turn of events you hadn't prepared for.

It was, all things considered, a simple task.

A fluttery sigh- then a short, pitiful whine at how Kenma was making it hard again-

"I think- ah! I-i... I've 'ad a-... crush- on you-- Mh!"

Your pushing against his forearm became compromised as Kuroo laced his fingers through yours, pulling your hand to his lips. He listened closely.

That little tension around his eyes seemed to melt, his smirk becoming more of a smile. It was partially amusement at how difficult it was for you to speak, but it was also something he needed to hear.

"You're- h-ah-- soo hot," You seethed, unfocused eyes finally landing on his face, how he pressed that kiss real slow into the back of your hand, eyes unfaltering, "'And-- mmm, s-ooo sweet."

His true nature, with his guard down, didn't even show much like this. When he let loose, you could see that he was not much of a scheming, cunning, captain naturally. He was a big cutiepie that filled the gaps of his loneliness with too many distractions. That left him feeling guilty. Which, in turn, gave him more reason to compensate with the same sinful crutches.

It was easy to feel empathic for him as he gave you those big puppy dog eyes, but it was the very affinity for these crutches that got him all fired up at your words.

"Yeahh-," He gave another, rougher kiss to your hand, and sighed, "You're gettin' dicked down for that one."

Kenma chuckled at his silly, sudden change in attitude. You smiled, relieved, to see that you didn't have to move, that Kuroo would actually go for missionary, because this edge was heaven.

When he was settled between your legs, filling you up again to the base of his cock- he leaned forward and swerved to hold Kenma's face in one of his hands.

"I see what you're doin'."

Surprise was all over his delicate features.

"You're not subtle," He spat, using a rough kiss as the end of it.

They shared a long, messy kiss that spurred Kuroo to start fucking you- your gasps, whines, only encouraged him, only inspired their curiosity.

Maybe Kuroo did understand that Kenma had a higher plan; one that involved persuading you to come clean about your secret feelings, and use that as a weapon to inspire action in Kuroo. What remained ambiguous was why.

As distracted as Kenma was, he still didn't let off of your poor, overstimulated clit. They were both so rough in their respective tasks, and every time you tried to move one of them, your hands would be intercepted.

You had to just lay there and take it.

The 'why' kind of- fell away, when he parted from Kenma's soft lips, looking down at your clingy, blacked-out expression. Needy. He didn't get that look often- it made his cock swell, and turned his thrusts harder, as he felt you tighten.

"Fuck-! Ughh-" He had to swallow the build-up of spit in his mouth, push his sweat-soaked hair back, "You gonna cum around my cock?"

You responded so well to the pain on his face, the wanton desire behind the way he dug into your hips and watched Kenma lean over you for more kisses.

"Right in front of your- Mmh, pretty- little- boyfriend?"

In your pseudo-daze, riding that high, long-awaited build-up, you could feel Kenma sigh against your mouth at the attention.

"Fuck- fuck, fuck--!" You gasped- your pussy spasmed around his perfect cock.

Kuroo bit the inside of his already chewed up cheek to keep from cumming inside of you.

He felt your nails dig hard into his hand on your hip, your other one adding another trophy to Kenma's scarred shoulders. It was confirmation that Kenma had been lying to the team in the locker room on dozens of occasions, talking nonsense about a cat somehow scratching him up.

"Mmh-h-Ah-!"

It was nearly impossible to listen to you, as he fucked you hard through it all. Kenma recognized that expression well, a little proud smirk at his friend's restraint, and at how good your pussy was to keep him so obedient.

You were coming down, stupid and breathless, when he rushed to pull out of you.

"F-uck, a-ah-Haah, shitshitshit," He whined.

He was shaking, panting, and unsure if he had pulled out in time.

The nasty, addictive feeling of hot, sticky cum painted all between your folds, in the sheets, over your vibrator, tummy, inner thighs, and Kenma's hand.

His face was twitchy, but slowly spread to a panic that wasn't shared between you and Kenma.

Kenma considered torturing him longer, but decided against it.

"Birth control," He clarified, then repeated at Kuroo's empty-headed expression, "She's on birth control."

Kuroo gave a big, loud groan, slouching back to sit on his ankles: "Thank God- Ohhh-! Thank God, Holy shit...fuck."

This relationship had too many cum-hungry habits to not take every precaution. Aside from condoms.

His exhausted relief left him cracking his neck, rubbing his warm face at the sight of how covered you had gotten. He nearly missed Kenma licking the back of his own wrist.

You still looked as cute as ever, all sleepy and drenched. He couldn't help but shimmy lower, just to press a mean kiss to your slicked-up and tired clit.

"Ah-!" You squealed, thighs squeezed around his head.

Thankfully, he didn't intend to stay. He wiped the excess cum off of his cheek, finding it a little too salty for his taste, and chuckled at your quivering form.

Kenma was already taking on the responsibility of cleaning up. It left Kuroo to mess with you a bit longer and nestle up to your side again.

Kenma was on a mission for a warm rag for your slick, starting-to-be-sticky body and pulled on some clothes. He finished his water and excused himself to go grab more, for the two of you.

He watched him leave. It was quiet, except for your still-shaky breathing.

"You okay, babydoll?" Kuroo used his big hand to guide your face towards him, sharing in a few long, soft kisses.

You still kissed him with the same passion as earlier, even though Kenma wasn't around.

A weak, "Mhm."

"Was I too rough with you?"

You smiled, the question somehow able to make you blush, "N-o, you were- you were great."

Kuroo grinned, but it was a little empty. He wasn't optimistic about the reality of the aftermath. One fling, a spur-of-the-moment threesome, was fun, exciting, new. What about after that? After the newness wore off?

The last kiss you shared was a bit harder, rushed, for a reason you couldn't pick apart. He kept talking to you as he moved off of the bed and started getting dressed again.

"Y'know- I thought you and Kemma fucked like old people."

You chuckled, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah- but... you taught me a couple things."

Kuroo knew he would never be satisfied if he was seen as the outsider- but there was no room for him in your dynamic, from what he had seen so far.

He had no idea where he phone was, so he began searching for it, and it took so long that Kenma was already coming back in.

"Where are you going?" Kenma clocked him instantly.

You opened your eyes, confused- and now Kuroo had both of you looking at him like a fox in your henhouse.

"Well- I," He chuckled, again, empty, and you sensed it now, "I just- thought this was-..."

Kuroo swallowed, way more emotionally invested than he wanted to be. Usually, he could brush off that 'Why are you leaving?' look, as a sort of trophy sometimes, in recognition that he fucked somebody well. Here, he felt like a genuine asshole.

Kenma had a rag balled up in his hand, dripping onto the floor like a weapon. He set two bottles down on the bedside table without looking away from him.

"I don't know how you managed to twist it all up in your head, Kuro-," He walked closer, shoulders squared, until he was a little too close. Kuroo mimicked him, naturally.

You covered your mouth, a little too trembly, naked, and uninformed to contribute.

He was incredibly frustrated, as he continued, "-But I know you're not heartless. If you walk out--,"

"What?" Kuroo laughed, egging him on.

"I'm gonna beat your ass."

Kuroo laughed harder, brow furrowed, eyes searching down at him.

Disbelief laced his voice, "Oh, yeah?"

Kenma pushed him. It wasn't hard, but it made him take a step back. Kuroo blinked, and all the amusement had vanished, leaving only irritation in its wake.

It was unironically quite a scary display- you had already taken the initiative to sit up and cover yourself with a blanket. You were swimming in your own guilt. If you had said no, or just never liked him in the first place, it wouldn't have gotten to this point.

Kenma looked incredibly small with Kuroo's heavy hands on his shoulders.

"Good thing-," His hand slid down to Kenma's, interlacing their fingers, with a quick kiss to the top of the head, "I'm not leaving."

You shared big sigh of relief with Kenma.

"Fuck you," He muttered, giving into a grumpy kiss.

Kuroo's brow raised, already cheerful, and satisfied that he was wanted, especially enough to warrant that kind of reaction from Kenma. It was successful at settling any present doubts that this was just surface-level lust at play.

"Mm- maybe next time, yeah?"

He caught sight of you, all worried and bundled up in your blanket, "Aaww, sweetie-!"

"You poor thing-," He quickly returned to hug you, a thousand apologetic kisses to your head, "I would never hurt Kemma."

The only problem left to address was your stickiness, now also all over that one throw blanket. They both shared in the arduous task of cleaning up. The two were back to goofing around, showering you in compliments, apologies, and kisses for getting so stupid and worked up while you were caught in the middle.

Kenma had put his foot in the figurative door for something pretty special between the three of you. It would be a process, navigating this new thing together. If it meant more of this, though, it was worth a shot.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

taglist - thanks for your patience and the support!!

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my masterlist. more haikyuu. (new) my imagines.

[sanjisleggy]

a chance at reconciliation (sir crocodile x reader)

req: I was wondering 💭…If you could do something for Crocodile. I was thinking of something along the lines of where the reader is a warlord but she’s also the ex-wife of Crocodile, like they had a fallout and never actually properly talked about it. So maybe they make up somehow and discuss things? I don’t know something like that 😭

a/n: gonna try to be more relaxed and freeform with some requests so they don’t sit too long in my inbox! if you have any feedback on this bullet point/scenario combo type of format (whether you like it/hate it/have any suggestions to improve it) let me know!

contents: a little bit of angst/hurt, some fluff, soft!crocodile 

wc. 1.5k

wanna be on my taglist?

you initially decline the Marines’ request for you to relocate to Alabasta in order to keep an eye on Crocodile. though you’ve been a Warlord for quite a few years now, you’re still the newest addition to the group so the Marines tend to twist your arm a bit more if they really want you to do something. they don’t do it often but this time they go so far as to threaten to revoke your Warlord status so you begrudgingly give in, knowing they only chose you because you’re legally still his wife

you’d split up before the Eight Warlords was even a thing but since neither of you bothered to legally divorce, you’re technically still his spouse. you’re not sure if the Marines thinks that’ll make you more or less inclined to snitch on him but you don’t really care. at most you’ll go say hi before fucking off to whatever penthouse suite’s available to buy, the nicer the better–Alabasta’s a beautiful country but even you can smell something fishy’s happening behind the scenes and you’d prefer to stay indoors as much as possible

when you arrive at Alabasta you head straight for Rain Dinners, deciding it best to just get the ordeal over with ASAP. although you left on bitter terms, you can’t deny you still harbour some feelings for the man. he was your childhood sweetheart, after all, which is especially why you’re still somewhat bitter over how easily he let you go

Crocodile smells you before he sees you; or, more specifically, the familiar scent of your favourite perfume triggers something deep in his chest before he even realises you’re here. effortlessly keeping his cool in front of the Alabastian businessmen he’s chatting with, he scans the casino and nearly chokes on his cigar when his eyes meet yours.

you look older now but time has been kind to you. you’ve aged so gracefully it’s no wonder he recognises you right away despite having spent so long apart. he’d spent his growing-up years seeing your face almost daily, after all. 

you maintain eye contact for a mere second before breaking it and making your way to the end of the bar, hips swaying in a way he just knows will attract attention sooner or later. even after 15 years, you know how to get what you want from him–or is the truth just that you’d gotten him wrapped around your finger a long, long time ago and he simply never let go?

whatever it is, Crocodile excuses himself, much to the visible disappointment of the two young ladies who’d been glued to his sides for hours now, and makes his way over to the bar. he claims the only vacant seat beside you before anyone else can even consider the idea and pulls out a fresh cigar.

“fancy seeing you here, dear.” the term of endearment escapes his lips so easily any onlooker would assume you’re still actively together. it’s very unlike him to slip up in such a juvenile manner but he hides the fact that it was a complete accident extremely well, hoping, fruitlessly, that you wouldn’t comment on it.

“bold of you to call me your ‘dear’, Sir Crocodile.” you take a sip of your drink but not without shooting the handsome bartender a wink first. Crocodile immediately dismisses him and makes a mental note to hire a new one tomorrow.

“that’s a shame,” you lament as you watch the bartender leave his post, “i was planning on having a bit more than just a drink tonight.”

“why’re you here?” he asks pointedly. “surely not for sentimental reasons, especially since you’re a Warlord as well now.”

“i’m surprised you even know that,” you shoot back, the slight sharpness in your voice betraying any attempt to hide the hurt in your chest. you’d long buried it somewhere so far away you thought it was out of reach and yet here you are, feeling the heartbreak claw its way up your throat the moment you see Crocodile in person again. “funny how being apart for so long seems to make it easier for you to keep up with my life.”

it’s a low blow but he can’t deny the truth in what you just said. it was easy for him to neglect your relationship back when he was shooting up the ranks as a pirate, he’d taken your loyalty for granted and only realised his mistake when it was too late. 

eventually his name became known all throughout the seas and he was even offered the position of Warlord by the World Government themselves. the power tasted sweet on his tongue–it still does–and yet on some nights he wondered if the price he paid was a bit too high. it’s been many years but even now Crocodile sometimes finds himself turning to his right to ask you for your opinion, only to remember you’d long since detached yourself from him in pursuit of a more fulfilling life. 

nothing could have prepared him for your rise to Warlord status, though. Crocodile had always known you were extremely capable, he was simply never aware how huge your ambitions could get.

“i really let you slip away that easily, huh?” he wonders aloud, much to your confusion. 

“i’m not entirely sure what to say to that,” you answer honestly. it wasn’t like him to speak so sentimentally and, truth be told, you were expecting a bit more hostility from him during such a sudden reunion. “to answer your question, though,” you continue, keeping your eyes glued to the single ice cube floating in your drink, “the World Government wants me to snitch on you and your little operation.”

without even looking at him, you can pretty much see the way he’s quirking an eyebrow.

“i know all about your little organisation going on here in Alabasta.” you tear your eyes away from your glass and tilt your head up just enough to see his face, only to find he’s already staring right at you. has he been looking at you this entire time? “all your little code names, your agenda, your Millions and Billions.”

to your surprise, Crocodile smirks.

“would i be wrong to assume you were feeling a little sentimental coming up with the name ‘Baroque Works’?” you ask, not breaking eye contact.

“you always loved Vivaldi, my dear,” he answers simply, his smirk softening into a smile. he hadn’t felt his lips move in such a way in a long time, it was always reserved exclusively for you, after all.

“still do.” you look away once more, now hyper aware of the fact that he’s still staring at you.

for a few minutes, the two of you sit in a comfortable silence only interrupted by the goings-on of the casino around you. after taking the final sip of your drink, you opt to play with the glass, running your index finger through the droplets of condensation. 

you’re not entirely sure what it is you want to happen anymore. prior to arriving here, you’d been so confident that this would be a quick and easy meeting. you’d say hi and leave; and yet here you are, drawing the affair out as long as you can, it seems.

“are you waiting for me to say something, dear?” Crocodile asks, not even bothering to forgo the pet name at this point. “do you expect me to go down on my knees and beg you to leave my operation alone?” he nearly taunts.

“you and i both know that’s not really my style.”

“a lot can change in fifteen years.”

“a lot can stay the same, too, don’t you think, Mr Zero?”

without warning, he reaches out to brush his fingers through your hair, sending warm tingles down your spine like it always used to do all those years ago. Crocodile trails his hand back up, brushing his fingertips past your neck before settling his large palm against your cheek. unable to help the smile stretching across your face, you let yourself indulge in the warmth of his hand as your eyelids flutter closed.

“what could i have done to make you stay?” he murmurs, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your skin. your own hand rises up to lay over his to keep it in place as you nuzzle into his palm and the Warlord feels a dull ache in his chest. 

“you know i just wanted some of your time and attention,” you reply softly, keeping your eyes closed and your face resting in the palm of his hand. Crocodile nods even though he knows you can’t see it.

“and if i were to offer both of those to you now?” he suggests and for the first time in decades he feels anxious.

“you seem as busy as always, if not more, actually.” you hum thoughtfully. “don’t you have important business to attend to?”

“would you believe me if i said i’m much more capable of separating my work from my personal affairs now?” you let out a soft laugh and the sound soothes his nerves almost instantly.

“i could be,” you reply, eyes fluttering back open to meet his own, “with some convincing, that is.” 

“very well.”

Crocodile decides to start by bringing your hand to his lips and pressing an uncharacteristically tender kiss to the back of it; and from the way your smile widens, he believes he might just succeed. 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch

[hischierhoney]

night out // a Nico Hischier blurb

1k words. warning for mentions of alcohol!

You’re at the 3rd bar of the night when you start to drag. It’s like a switch flips- suddenly your limbs feel heavy, along with your eyelids. The drink in your hand is suddenly far too strong and the thought of another sip makes your stomach twist unpleasantly. You shift back and forth on your feet, trying to steel your face. You’re not going to be a downer. It’s a night out, one you’ve all been trying to plan for weeks.

It’s not often that it works out like this- a Friday night, no events planned, and the guys home with no game to play. Nico’s across the bar, posted up at a booth, listening intently to Jack who’s talking animatedly. You’re standing with a few friends, doing the same. Trying to listen, at least. It’s just.

You’ve been having so much fun, all night. It’s been nice, to see friends and catch up and gossip, even nicer to let Nico pull you with him to dance. It hadn’t mattered how bad you both are at dancing, the alcohol had loosened your limbs and lowered your inhibitions. But now the music is too loud, the lights are too bright, and you want to be anywhere other than here.

You want to be tucked into Nico’s side most of all, safe in your cozy warm bed. But when you turn to look at him in the booth, he’s suddenly missing.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist, but the laugh that gets muffled against the side of your head tells you that it’s Nico. You sigh softly and lean back against him, letting the way he’s holding you close ground you. Maybe you can last a little longer if he stays right there. You take a tentative sip of your drink and force a smile.

He pulls away just slightly, and you turn to look up at him. You see the way his eyes trace your features, brown and deep and wide and scanning for something. Whatever he finds, he doesn’t like. He frowns, nose wrinkling, his gaze soft and warm. You tilt your head as if to question him. He squeezes your hip with his fingers and then turns to the rest of the group.

“M’sorry to be a downer,” he says, voice full of remorse, “but I think it’s time for us to head out.”

One of your friends whines. “Come onnnnn, we’re just getting started!”

You try not to laugh at that- three bars in, and it’s nearly 1am, you’re nowhere close to just getting started.

“I know, I know,” Nico says. “But I’ve got a bad headache.”

You turn to look at him, concern written all over your face. Now that he says it, you can see it- the pinch in his brow, the frown that tugs at the corner of his lips. You reach up to press your palm against his cheek, and he leans into the touch slightly.

Another friend tugs on your arm. “Okay, well. Doesn’t mean you have to go,” she says.

You keep your eyes on Nico. “No, no, I’d better go take care of him,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the scar on his cheek. He smiles thankfully. “Sorry, guys.”

You’d probably go with him even if you were feeling fine, not wanting to leave him alone while he’s not feeling well, but this is the perfect excuse. There are grumbles from the rest of them, but eventually everyone accepts it, pulling you in for hugs and goodbyes. Nico keeps his hand wrapped in yours while you swing by the booth to let them know you’re leaving. Jack gives you a funny look when you mention Nico’s headache, but he says nothing. After that, Nico pulls you away and out of the bar, eager to get home.

It’s only when he starts to laugh on the sidewalk outside that you realize he’d never had a headache at all.

You stop in your tracks, turning to look at him, eyes wide. “You lied to all of our friends.”

He nods, grinning. “You didn’t want to be there and you’re too nice to say so. If you’d really wanted to stay you’d have let me go home alone.”

And. He’s right. You burst into giggles on the sidewalk, shaking your head at him, before you collapse into his chest. He lets out a soft noise but keeps you steady on your feet, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The night air is cold, but he’s warm, like always. He pulls you close, again, and you relish in the feeling of it. The feeling of being known.

“Thank you,” you tell him, sighing heavily. “My feet are killing me.”

“Mm, told you not to wear those shoes,” he reminds you. You roll your eyes affectionately. “Come on. I’ll carry you.”

The apartment isn’t far, but you take him up on it anyways. Partially just to get to be draped across his back, to have the excuse to press your face into his shoulder blade and hold onto him tightly. He insists on carrying you all the way into the bedroom, where he helps you pull off your shoes while you giggle and grin up at him. And then, before either of you have the chance to take off your clothes, he collapses on top of you, heavy and comforting. He lets out a soft sigh when he presses his face into your neck.

“I did have fun, you know,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says. You can feel his smile against your skin. “But I know you well enough to know when you’re done.”

You grin up at the ceiling as you run your fingers through his dark hair, relishing in the little happy noise he lets out. “Yeah. I love you.”

He laughs again, and presses his lips to your neck. “Love you too, baby.”

…

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile. 

You dressed up for him. 

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second.  “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair. 

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that. 

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work. 

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again. 

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively. 

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat. 

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground. 

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight. 

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply  when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him. 

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.” 

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done. 

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous. 

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now. 

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

[keeryhours]

naked in manhattan - robin buckley

Robin Buckley x Best friend! female reader

Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

2024 Promptmas Masterlist

Summary:

You share a hotel room with your best friend Robin on a band trip to NYC, and things get exciting.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), fingering, oral (both f receiving), underage drinking, reader is conflicted about her sexuality

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N:

I’m posting out of order, but here’s my second fic for The Twelve Days of Promptmas event by @littlexdeaths ! Prompt: “mistletoe mayhem”.

—

The excitement in the air was palpable as the bus slowly made its way through the busy streets of New York City. Snow was falling outside and buildings were decorated with lights and garland. It felt like a winter wonderland.

“Holy shit,” your best friend, Robin, said, her face pressed against the bus window. “I can’t believe we’re actually in New York.”

You adjusted your clarinet case at your feet. You had spent weeks excited about this band trip, and now it was finally here. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were to get to visit the city.

The bus rolled up to the hotel - it was much nicer than you’d been expecting. The Hawkins High marching band filed off the bus, the band director leading everyone into the lobby.

If you thought the outside of the buildings were decked out for Christmas, the inside of the hotel lobby was something else entirely. Tinsel and garland spread around the large room with marble floors, a giant grand Christmas tree sitting right in the middle.

“Wow,” you whispered, taking it all in.

“This is so cool!” Robin exclaimed, taking your hand in hers. She turned to you, her eyes shining and a smile on her face. “I’m so glad we’re here together.”

“Me too!” You told her, squeezing her hand in return.

The band director began handing out room assignments and hotel room keys. You crossed your fingers you’d be assigned with someone you actually liked, since you weren’t allowed to choose.

When you were given your room assignment, you practically screamed in excitement. Robin looked over your shoulder, seeing you had somehow been paired together.

“Yes!!” She yelled, wrapping you in a hug. “I’m so fucking excited. This is going to be the best trip ever.”

You and Robin separated long enough to grab your luggage and instrument cases, then you were piling into the elevator with some other kids from band. You rode up to the 10th floor, walking down the carpeted hallway to room 1006.

“This is us,” Robin said, scanning the card and pushing open the door.

The room wasn’t big but it was nice. Plush carpeting covered the floor, a floral wallpaper on the walls. A king size bed sat in the middle of the room with a TV and mini fridge across from it. Two comfortable looking chairs sat in the corner with a table between. A large glass window covered the wall behind them. The bathroom was directly to the left of the door, a huge tub and glass shower inside.

“This is amazing,” you said, looking around your accommodation for the weekend. You and Robin stored your luggage against the wall and collapsed down on the incredibly soft bed, exhausted from the long ride.

After you both had a shower and ate dinner in the hotel restaurant with the rest of band, the two of you retired back to your room for the night. You were sitting cross legged on the floor facing each other, talking.

“So, I brought something,” Robin said, wiggling her eyebrows.

You raised yours at her. “What?”

She reached into her bag and dug around, before pulling out a bottle of tequila. “Ta-da!”

You laughed hard. “Oh my god. You did not sneak a bottle of tequila on our band trip.”

Robin smiled mischievously. “I absolutely did. Steve got it for us. Want to take shots with me?”

“Um, absolutely.”

Robin didn’t bring shot glasses, so you used the styrofoam coffee cups provided by the hotel. Robin poured you each a shot and you downed it, making a face.

As you drank together, you felt your cheeks flush, both of you feeling giggly and light. Robin had the cutest blush when she was drunk-

Wait, what?

You didn’t think about Robin in that way. You didn’t have feelings for her, she was just your best friend. You didn’t have feelings for girls in that way. Right?

After six shots each you were both pretty drunk, laughing and gossiping and talking about anything and everything.

“Oh my god,” Robin said, barely able to talk through her laughter. “So Steve starts flirting with this girl, right?” She gets lost in a fit of giggles again. “And the girl literally throws her ice cream at him!”

You busted out into laughter. “No way!”

“Yes! I swear to god!” Robin pours two more shots, handing you your cup. You both down them again.

“Oops,” Robin giggled as she spilled some of the alcohol down the side of her face.

You don’t know what made you do it, but you leaned in, licking the excess alcohol off her cheek. Robin’s eyes went wide as you sat back, and then both of you fell into another fit of laughter.

“You’re so cute when you’re drunk,” Robin said. She looked down at the bottle in her hand, like she was suddenly shy. Robin was never shy around you.

“You think so?” You felt like you looked like a mess. You were sure your hair was all disheveled, and you were dressed in your old pajamas, a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. You definitely didn’t feel cute.

“Of course I do.” Robin looked back up at you. “Have you ever kissed a girl?”

The question caught you completely off guard. Your eyes widened, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “No.”

“Would…you want to?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came out. “Uh…”

Robin immediately backtracked. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything, I don’t know why I-“

“I would.”

Robin stopped cold. “You would?”

“Yeah…why not?” You felt your whole body blushing, feeling like your skin was on fire.

A smile spread across Robin’s face. “I got something else.” You watched her curiously as she dug back in her bag - pulling out a hanging mistletoe. “I snagged this from the lobby,” she admitted sheepishly.

You laughed. “Oh my god, you’re so cheesy.”

She smiled, holding the mistletoe above both your heads, between you. “Now we have to kiss. It’s the law.”

You couldn’t wipe the dopey grin off your face as you both leaned in. Your eyes fell closed as you neared Robin’s face, and then you were feeling the softness of her plush lips against yours.

She raised her hand to cup your cheek as you kissed, and it’s like the world fell away around you. You couldn’t think about anything but how her lips molded to yours, the way she smelled and tasted like her fruity bubblegum from earlier along with a hint of the tequila. Her tongue ran across your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth, your tongue meeting hers.

You moaned into the kiss, surprising yourself. Robin moved closer, her hand moving to tangle in the hair at the back of your head. You leaned backwards as she crawled over you, kissing you deeper.

“Robin…” you said, not wanting her to stop but feeling conflicted. You had never had feelings for girls before, but Robin was making you feel something you’d never experienced, and it scared you.

“What?” she asked between kisses to your soft lips.

“This is wrong…”

She pulled away a little, looking at you with concern. “How is it wrong?”

“I don’t…I don’t like girls in that kinda way…” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Robin or yourself.

Robin buried her face in your neck, placing a gentle kiss there. “You know it’s okay to like girls and boys, right?” She murmured into your ear. “If you want to do this, it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Her words made your heart race in your chest. You did want this, you knew deep down. You were just terrified. Robin pulled back again to look into your eyes, and you feared she could see the conflict in them.

“Seriously. It’s okay to want this,” she repeated. “But if you don’t, just tell me. It won’t change anything between us.”

You thought for a second. “I…I want this.”

Robin smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned in again, slowly this time, and when you felt her lips pressed to yours once again, everything felt right. She kissed you with a passion you had never experienced from the guys you had kissed. You ran your fingers through her short hair, moaning into the kiss and not even caring anymore. She returned the moan, her tongue meeting yours again.

“Do you want to move to the bed?” She asked, breathless.

“Yeah, yeah that would be better,” you giggled. She helped you up and you sat down on the bed, Robin crawling back over you again as you laid back. She leaned over you on her left arm, her right hand trailing up your side and grasping at your breasts over your shirt.

As you made out, you got more and more turned on, wanting Robin to touch you everywhere. She must have had the same idea, because she began pushing your t-shirt up your body.

“Can I take this off?” She asked, reluctantly pulling away from your kiss-swollen lips.

“Yes,” you breathed out, sitting up to help her get the clothing off. You were left bare chested, and Robin’s eyes locked on them as you reached for her shirt to remove it as well.

You had never seen Robin like this. Your eyes went wide and you tentatively reached forward, grabbing at her breasts and rubbing your thumbs over her hardened nipples. She hummed at the feeling, her eyes falling closed.

“Have you ever done this with a girl before?” You asked.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to,” she admitted. “…Especially with you,” she added sheepishly.

You smiled back at her. “You’ve had a crush on me, Robs?”

She blushed, looking away. “Yeah, for forever.”

You placed your hand on her cheek, turning her head to look at you again. “I always thought you were beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” You leaned in to capture her lips with yours again. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Robin blushed even deeper. She looked so cute with her cheeks tinged red, her lips wet from kissing. Your kisses. You pulled her back for more.

Robin leaned over you again, kissing down your neck and chest until she was wrapping her lips around one of your nipples. You gasped, but it turned into a moan as she began to suck on it, running her tongue in circles around the bud.

“Robin,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in her hair again. She moved to the other one, sucking gently. Her hand wandered down your body to the waistband of your sweatpants. Her hand dipped beneath the fabric of your panties, and you gasped again as you felt her fingers against your clit, beginning to rub slow circles.

“Is that okay?” she whispered against your skin. You nodded vigorously.

“Yes, please don’t stop-“

You could feel her smile against the skin of your chest. “Can I take them off?”

“Yeah, yes,” you breathed, wanting more of the way she was making you feel.

Robin hooked her fingers into the waist of your pants and panties and pulled them down together, exposing you completely to her. Her eyes widened as she looked at you, and you suddenly felt self conscious.

“What?” You asked, hoping there wasn’t something wrong or that she found unattractive about your body.

“I just…” she started, eyes locked on your body. “I’ve never seen a girl naked in person like this before.”

“Me either,” you said, blushing slightly. “I feel like you’re overdressed, though.”

Robin giggled. “Want me to take these off?” She asked, hooking her thumbs into the waist of her own pants.

“Please,” you confirmed, and she slid the clothing off her body while holding eye contact with you.

God, she was even more beautiful like this. Seeing her completely naked had your heart beating wildly in your chest, and you couldn’t help reaching out to touch her, running your hands all across her smooth skin, her breasts, her ass, over her stomach and down to her core, running your fingers through her folds and feeling how wet she was for you. It was so much different than being with a man, you felt a little out of your depth.

But evidently you were doing something right with the way she closed her eyes and moaned, looking absolutely ethereal. She laid on the bed next to you and reached her hand over to do the same to you.

Before you knew what was happening, she pushed you over and was back on top of you, kissing her way down your body. When she reached between your legs, your thighs were trembling with anticipation - you hadn’t had many guys want to go down on you, usually they only wanted it themselves. But now Robin was placing kisses on the inside of your thighs before licking a stripe through your folds, causing your back to arch off the bed. “Oh!”

“Feel good?” she asked from between your legs, before licking over your clit.

“Fuck, yeah,” you said, voice breathless as you felt the most intense pleasure. Sex with guys never felt like this.

You could feel her smile, and she wrapped her lips around your clit, sucking gently before running her tongue around it again. You felt her finger at your entrance, and she pushed it inside, pumping it in and out as she ate your pussy eagerly, like she had been dying to do this for ages.

“Oh my god Robin,” you moaned, hands grasping at her hair. “How’d you learn to do this?”

She pulled away long enough to giggle - “Just a natural, I guess-“ and then she was diving back in. She licked at your pussy greedily, drinking in everything you gave her. She added another finger, pumping them into you and curling them up so they hit a spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars.

It’s like she knew exactly what to do to bring you to your high. You felt it building quickly, thighs trembling around her head as she lapped at your core, paying special attention to your clit. “Tastes so good,” she remarked, moaning as she ate your pussy. “Just like I always imagined.”

“Robin…I’m…”

She grabbed onto your right thigh with her free hand, squeezing it tightly as she buried her face in your pussy, nose pressing against your clit when she would lick lower before moving back up to suck on it again. She moved her left hand from your thigh and trailed it up your belly to pinch at your nipples. “Cum for me, babe,” she encouraged, pumping her fingers faster and sucking hard on your clit.

That pushed you over the edge and you came hard, holding her face to your pussy as you grinded against her tongue and moaned so loud you were sure your bandmates could hear on the other side of the wall. “Robin! Fuck, Robin, oh my god!”

She drank up your release greedily, riding out your high until you were so sensitive you were pushing her away. When she looked up at you, her mouth and chin were covered in your wetness. She collided her lips with yours and your tongues tangled together, tasting yourself on her tongue.

“That was so fucking hot,” she said, breathless. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“Me either,” you giggled, still feeling light and bubbly from the alcohol. You grabbed her shoulders and pushed her over, an adorable squeal coming from her mouth. “Now it’s my turn.”

Her eyes were wide as you kissed your way down her body, over her breasts, licking over her peaked nipples as you went. You kissed down her stomach, goosebumps peppering her skin as you moved. When you were laying between her legs, you realized you didn’t exactly know what to do, but you were eager to try.

You took an experimental lick along her folds, tasting her slick on your tongue. Her pussy was already soaking wet from what you had done together, and she tasted like heaven. She moaned above you, hands tangling in the bedsheets. “Ohmygod, feels so good,” she said, which only encouraged you to do more.

You licked lightly over her clit, gauging her reaction. She arched her hips up, wanting to feel more of your mouth on her pussy. You obliged, sucking on her clit before licking between her folds. She tasted so sweet, nothing like you had expected pussy to taste, since most of the guys you’d been with had no desire to go down on girls. They were missing out.

You pushed two fingers into her hole, curling your fingers the way she had that felt so incredible. Robin tangled a hand in your hair with the other still in the sheets. “Good?” You asked her, and she nodded quickly.

“Yes, please please don’t stop,” she begged, body writhing beneath your movements. You didn’t dare stop, loving all the sounds you could pull from her as you devoured her just as she had done for you.

“I’m close,” she said, hand trembling in your hair, and you could tell she really was by the way she began to grind her hips up against your mouth, her moans becoming higher and more desperate sounding.

“Already?” You teased, before quickly wrapping your lips around her clit again. She let out a high “Oh!”

“You have no idea how turned on I was doing you first,” she admitted, her voice completely breathless. “Shit, I’m gonna cum, babe-“

You cut her off by sucking hard on her clit, and then she was practically screaming, calling your name over and over like a prayer, pulling on your hair and writhing beneath your mouth. You rode out her high, lapping up all of her wetness.

When you were done, you collapsed on the bed next to her again. You were both breathing heavily, in shock about what had just happened between you. You looked to the huge window at the side of the room, seeing the snow pouring down heavily.

“Wanna take a bath together?” You asked her, wiggling your eyebrows. You wanted to keep being close to her, didn’t want this to end and be a one time thing.

“That sounds amazing,” she said.

You ran a bubble bath for the both of you, sitting in the giant tub together. You explored each other’s bodies with your hands in the tub, kissing and laughing. That night you slept in bed together, cuddled close.

You were woken bright and early by the band director pounding on the door, and you groaned, your head aching from the alcohol the night before. The memories of what happened between you and Robin came flooding back, and you were suddenly terrified everything would be awkward now.

But Robin woke up with a smile on her face. “Hey, beautiful,” she greeted.

“Hey,” you said back, a nervous smile on your face. She reached over, grabbing your hand.

“I was thinking…” She began.

“Yeah?”

“Would you…want to be my girlfriend? Maybe?” She looked at you with hopeful eyes, and it made you feel warm in your chest.

“Yeah,” you said, squeezing her hand. “I’d like that.”

[museum-mind]

I CAN TELL YOU MISS ME

ᯓ★ sae thought it was the right decision to break up with you before moving to spain, but soon found himself checking your socials every other day — and searching for your face at every game.

a/n : i wanna do a part 2 of when sae comes back to japan but i don’t know..

“i’m breaking up with you.” … “this relationship will never last.” … “goodbye, name.”

sae’s words rang through his head like a curse throughout the whole flight, his teeth biting harshly at his lower lip.

was this really the right decision? was it really necessary to throw away the love of his life for the sake of pursuing his soccer career?

it better have been, because it sure is difficult holding back tears in front of a bunch of strangers on a plane.

he sighed, unlocking the door to his new apartment; it strangely reminded him of your cozy little place.

sae had to remind himself over and over that you two were no longer, you were just a memory of the past; someone who he left behind in japan.

but when he’s laying alone on his large, king-sized bed, body sprawled out like a starfish and the sounds of the lively city drowned out his own harsh words — “name, we need to talk.” — he found it so hard to let you go.

he was the one who ended things, he had to! it’s not like you wanted to go to spain with him — you had a life, and you’d just be a nuisance to him anyways.

that’s what he says to himself, hands trembling as they click on the new story you just posted on instagram.

it seems that your friends, whom he never really liked, took you out to a club, of sorts.

his thumb flew to like your story, almost like a reflex, but he was quick to stop it.

he scanned the picture, a fancy outfit hugging your curves — did you always have that, or was it new? he certainly hadn’t seen you wear something so… risky, before.

he taps again, the next story — it’s you with your friend. all he can focus on is the smile on your face, so bright.

you seemed to be glowing, as if you’d turned into the brightest star in the sky.

you’d always been like that, sae thinks. you were the star, no — sun to his moon.

now you’re glowing for the sick eyes of the men in that filthy club. he would’ve taken you to a much nicer place.

he scowls as he taps again, eyes glaring down at the photo of you with another man — he guesses your annoying friend took the photo and posted it.

they always loved to meddle, didn’t they?

sae turns his phone off, deciding he’s seen enough for one night. it’s not like he cares about what you’re doing anyway… right?

sae places his phone back on the table, the tiredness from flying finally getting to him.

“just a nap,” he tells himself, laying down as he places his hands on his stomach, teal eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“just a nap” turned into an hour of emotions. sae couldn’t handle it, the thought of you — his one and only with some other man?

well, you’re not his anymore.

and with that, sae finally fell into the hands of sleep, dreams and images of you plaguing his mind.

as the sun sunk low, the moon glittering beautifully in the night, sae’s eyes fluttered open. he didn’t realise he’d been asleep for so long — the time difference sure did get to him.

days went by, and over time he grew to get used to the time.

one thing he couldn’t get used to, was being without you.

he didn’t even notice when he’d look at your account, scrolling through your new posts — you’re so pretty.

you seem much happier than he’s feeling.. ironic, since he’s the one who broke up with you in the first place!

he had his first game in spain, muscles cracking as he stretched.

it hurt when he stretched himself, you’d usually massage his muscles to help loosen him up — what is he thinking?! he’s better off without you!

but he did miss the touch of your hands.

he wasn’t playing as he normally would, this match… anyone could tell, even you, who was watching from the other side of the world.

you stayed up late, your room lit up by the screen playing sae’s match.

his game is so off today, you think. is something bothering him?

it’s not like it matters, anyway, he broke up with you…

sae stood still, eyes blank as the winner of the game was announced; itoshi sae’s team had lost.

all his dreams of becoming a striker, crushed. just like that.

in the span of weeks; sae had lost everything dear to him. and it was all his fault.

you knew the look in sae’s eyes — it was the very same emotion he looked at you with before he left.

emotionless and empty.

you sighed, turning the device off as you lay back down in your bed, arms reaching out to where sae used to rest.

your hand balls into a fist, tears threatening to spill. you can’t help but feel angry, yet sympathetic at the same time.

but is he really deserving of your emotions?

no. he’s not.

sae knows that, so as he plops back down to his bed, he’s already reaching for his phone and turning it on.

he’s doesn’t deserve to message you — he doesn’t have the right!

so he was surprised to see a text from you.

“i can tell you miss me.”

[bluewxrld07]

Stuck (Luke Hughes)

Warning(s): none

Luke Hughes x female!reader

Summary: In which you do the famous Tik Tok trend, telling your boyfriend your tampon is stuck

It was a nicer evening in Jersey, the weather finally being decent after being knocked over by the crazy below zero insanity. Y/n was finishing up her skincare waiting for Luke and Jack to get back to the apartment from an evening practice, a plan in motion to prank Luke.

It had become a thing between the couple to prank one another after a night post a game, when Luke decided to bring home squid thrown on the ice by a fan.

Leaving it in the fridge for y/n to only yell out a scream at the rotting sea creature the next morning, trying to get her coffee before her workout.

She had been doing her digging for this next prank, knowing it was time for her to hit him with one. This one was more so a test too. A loyalty test if you will. Thanks to Tik Tok of course.

One afternoon, y/n was scrolling through her for you page, only to stumble upon a prank a girlfriend did to her boyfriend. A tampon prank. She immediately grinned ear to ear, knowing that this little test would get Luke to cave.

It had to at least. Especially sine she was actually on her time of the month. It would be more believable.

So after finishing her skincare, hearing the front door open, she set her phone up in a way where it wouldn't look suspicious or seen easily by the curly-headed boy.

"May the pranks be ever in your favor, Hughesy," she chuckles quietly to the phone, hearing her name being called out.

"Babe?" he calls out, his footsteps being heard down the hallway.

She could hear the brothers saying goodnight to one another, his bedroom door opening. "Baby, you good?" she hears on the other side of the door, the girl trying to hide her amused smile before answering.

"I uh," she says slowly. "Luke?" she says, biting her lip to hide her laugh.

"What's going on?" he asks, the girl opening the door. He scans her figure, a confused frown on his face. Y/n crosses her arms, looking up at him.

"I need you to take me seriously when I tell you this, okay?" she said, watching an eyebrow of his raise.

"Why?" he trails off slowly, then his eyes widen. "Are you pregnant, y/n?"

She rolls her eyes and palms her forehead. "No, babe, I'm on my period remember?"

"Oh shit right. Then why are you acting funny?"

"You swear you won't laugh at me?"

"Promise you I won't."

Y/n sighs, hiding her face in her hands for a second as they stood there. "I was trying to change my, you know, out," she starts off, her eyes looking up at to his.

"And I can't find the string." she says, watching his face turn contort into a frown. "What string?"

"Luke my tampon is stuck."

His eyes widen, eyebrows raise, mouth dropping slightly. "What do you mean it's stuck? Where's the little string attached to it?" he whispers in shock, running his hand over his mouth.

Y/n looks at him with a look. "Luke I just said I can't find it. It's really stuck, like I can't get it out." she says, watching his face contort to different emotions.

"So what're you going do? How're you gonna get it out?" he asks, gesturing to her lower abdomen, one hand on his hip.

She gives him a sheepish smile, watching the confusion turn to horror. "Luke," she trails off. "I need you to try and help get it out."

Luke freezes, his eyes looking back into hers, then darting down to her abdomen, then back to her eyes slowly. "Get the thing out? The thing inside you?" he asks, and she nods with a hum.

"Lu, it's really stuck. I really cannot get it out." she says in a horrified voice. He hums, staying frozen in his position.

"Do you think you can get it out?" she asks.

"Uh huh," he says softly with a nod, his horrified eyes looking into hers.

"Really? You'd help me even if it's all bloody?" she says, watching him put a hand over his mouth and nod once again. "Yeah, yup, sure would." he stutters out.

Luke runs a hand over his face, walking away from the doorway for a second, only to come back without his sweatshirt on, only clad in his t-shirt that was underneath.

"Alright baby, let's get this going," he says while shaking his arms out as if he was about to go lift something heavy. He turns on his flashlight from his phone, making his way towards her.

She immediately puts a hand on his chest, bursting into a fit of giggles. He looks at her with a frown, raising his hands up in the air. "What? I'm gonna help you get this thing out, aren't I?"

"Babe, it was a prank." she laughs, pointing to her phone. He immediately looks over at the camera, rolls his eyes, mumbles an oh thank fuck, walking out of the bathroom.

Y/n rolls her eyes at his dramatic response. "Oh stop, you loved me enough to be willing to help get it out."

He turns around to look at her and point. "Not loved. Love. watch your grammar." he retorts, walking up to her once again.

"Okay mister tough guy. But glad to know you love me enough to help me. Even if it's all messy." she chuckles, pressing a couple chaste kisses to his lips.

"Now hurry to bed, I need a good sleep tonight. I almost would've had nightmares for days." Luke jokes.

Y/n scoffs playfully. "I need to go to the bathroom actually, and then I'll be out so calm down." she says, shutting the door softly.

Luke settles into him and y/n's bed, sighing at the comfort. Smiling at his girlfriend's antics, then shaking his head. His eyes found the nightstand next to his bed, a certain velvet box hiding in the corner of the drawer.

"Lu, we actually have a real problem on our hands," Y/n calls out a few moments later. The boy closing his eyes. "And what is that?" he asks.

"It's stuck. Like for real this time."

[mypimpademia]

— The Teacher (pt. 2)

Single dad! Gojo x Fem! Preschool teacher! Reader

Synopsis: Little Megumi wonders if you’re his new mom, and Gojo finds himself wondering the same thing.

TW: None

Note: click/tap here for part 1! or Click/tap here for part 3! I forgot to mention it in the first part, but ig it was kinda implied, Gojo is 29 in this not a teen like he was in canon. Gojo is also very briefly implied to get around

⇶ Satoru stuck to his promise of taking you out

⇶ He left Megumi with Utahime for the night, and made sure that everything was perfect for you

⇶ Truthfully, he went a little overboard out of his own anxiety

⇶ Booked reservations for one of the nicest restaurants in town, deep cleaned his house (just in case), got his already clean car detailed, bought a new suit despite having many hardly-worn ones in his closet, stalked your socials for hints at what you might like, and more that he’d be far too embarrassed to ever admit to

⇶ Satoru picked you up from your house at 6 pm, knocking on your door with a giant bouquet of flowers in hand

“You look incredible.”

Those were the only words Satoru could come up with when he saw you.

He always thinks you look incredible, but seeing you all dressed up outside of your usual work attire was a nice change of pace, and you looked effortlessly beautiful.

“Thank you, Toru,” you beamed. “You look pretty,” you told him, scanning over his tall figure, clad in a deep blue suit.

‘Toru’, ‘pretty’. He nearly passed out on your porch.

Satoru smiled, clearing his throat in an effort to gather his bearings as he fought back the deep blush that was crawling up his face.

“For you, mon chéri,” he said, in a corny fake French accent, presenting the large bouquet of flowers to you.

They were neatly wrapped in a brown paper, and tied off with a white bow. From just the look of it, you could tell they were expensive.

“These are my favorite,” you gasped, taking them from him. “How’d you know?”

He stalked your instagram and found a post from a year ago where you said you loved them.

“Lucky guess,” Satoru smiled. “Y’ready to go?”

⇶ He led you to his shiny black sports car, opening up the door for you to get in

⇶ It even smelled expensive, and the fresh scent of car shampoo was still lingering. You could tell he had it cleaned just for this, but didn’t say anything

⇶ When you got to the restaurant, out of place was an understatement for how you felt

⇶ You were just happy you decided to dress nicer than you had originally planned

⇶ Looking around, the restaurant was beautifully decorated, and the people dining were dressed just as beautiful

⇶ The more time you spent with Satoru, the more that you realized you knew next to nothing about him

⇶ Where does he get all this money from? What does he do for a living? Who is he, really? And what’s up with the sunglasses?

⇶ You will admit, the mystery only made him all the more attractive, but you had a newfound determination to peel back his layers

⇶ But your first date might not be the best time for that, so you were willing to let things unfold naturally for now

⇶ Satoru insisted that you ordered whatever you want off the menu because he was paying, and ignored your protests

⇶ You hopped around different topics of conversation throughout dinner, and you did eventually make it to the subject of work

⇶ Satoru asked you what exactly made you want to teach preschool, or teach at all, and watched your eyes light up

⇶ Teaching was undoubtably a job you need to have a passion for, and you had more than enough passion for it

⇶ You told him that you’ve always had an interest in teaching, and loved kids and thought they were precious, sacred even, and that their early years are the best part to watch and be a part of

⇶ Satoru’s heart was getting ready to leap out of his chest just watching you talk about something you love so much

‘She’d make a great mom for Megs…’

⇶ The thought surprised even him, Satoru wasn’t sure if it was genuine or intrusive, but it had him glancing at your features and around him to make sure he hadn’t accidentally said it aloud

⇶ He told you that all the kids were lucky to have you, and that seeing you take care of Megumi and all those kids with ease made him feel like his worries from adopting were pointless

⇶ He glazed over the adoption part so easily, you almost missed it

⇶ Sure, you were more than well aware that Satoru was a single father, and when you saw that his last name was different from Megumi’s, you just assumed it was his mothers last name

“It is his mothers last name, but he’s not at all my biological kid. I adopted him from… a friend.”

⇶ You had removed a layer from Satoru, only to find how thin it was in comparison to the amount he had left

⇶ The revelation answered some of the questions you had, and left you with even more at the same time

⇶ Just based on the hesitation he showed, you knew better than to press any further, and changed the subject

⇶ The rest of dinner went smoothly, and you and Satoru once again went back and forth about the bill before he was calling the waiter back to take his card

⇶ On the drive back, Satoru asked if you wanted to see Megumi since Utahime’s house was in the same direction as yours

⇶ You said yes, because of course you wanted to see Megumi, and because it was getting harder and harder for you to say no to Satoru

⇶ When you arrived at Utahime’s, Megumi lept at you before he even said hello to Satoru

⇶ Satoru feigned being hurt by the action, but Megumi still payed him no mind, directing all his attention to you

⇶ Satoru thanked Utahime for watching Megumi, and you overheard her saying something about not dumping his kid on her again

⇶ Megumi had you sit in the backseat with him, and told you about all the stuff he did at Utahime’s

⇶ All the sudden, he asked why you and Satoru were all dressed up

“Did you guys go on a date?”

You and Satoru shared a questioning look through the rear view mirror, one that asked ‘Should we tell him?’.

“Sure did little man!” Satoru told him, but Megumi didn’t seem too surprised by his answer.

“Oh, Dad goes on a lot of those,” Megumi said, before going back to playing with the plastic dinosaur in his lap.

Satoru was rethinking all his life choices in that moment. He gulped back the saliva that had pooled in his mouth, already going over how exactly he could explain that to you later on.

To his surprise, he heard you laugh at Megumi’s comment.

“But I’m your favorite, right?” You asked the boy, playfully nudging him. He turned to you with big wide eyes and smiled.

“Yup!”

⇶ Dropping you off at your house, Satoru thanked you for letting him take you out, and haphazardly tried to apologize for Megumi’s little comment and explain himself

⇶ You told him it was fine, and thanked him for the night, hugging him and planting a kiss on his cheek

⇶ Satoru froze up at the action, but managed to say bye to you as he collected himself and you disappeared into your house

⇶ When he and Megumi got back home, Satoru made a point to explain to Megumi why he couldn’t just throw out information like that to people, especially you

⇶ While putting on the boys pajamas in the dimly lit dinosaur themed room, Megumi yawned out a question

“Hey, dad,”

He spoke through a yawn while rubbing his eye with his fist. Satoru hummed back in acknowledgment, straining out the bottom of the little boy’s pajama shirt

“Is Ms. L/n gonna be my mom?” Megumi asked, looking at Satoru with low, sleepy eyes.

Satoru thought back to the statement that popped into his head during dinner. You would make a great mom for him.

“Um,” Satoru started, tucking Megumi underneath his comforter. “I dunno yet.”

He was honest. He didn’t know if what he was feeling for you was real or if he was just in over his head.

“I hope she is,” Megumi muttered, huffing out as his breathing turned into soft snores.

“Me too, Megs.”

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