#💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗

[writing-good-vibes]

Bestie! Can I please have number 4 from the steamy prompts for your valentine's day drabbles? I'm thinking an expansion on or a similar scenario to the thing with the waitress in Dirty Domestic Bliss. Definitely a post-Michael!Corey but you can decide if you want it to be cunningmyers!Corey or a distinct iteration. Thank you, happy Valentine's Day! <3

bestie, thank you for the req !! ahh the way i'm kinda kicking my legs, twirling my hair that you brought up dirty domestic bliss 😈 it's not necessary to read that story first, but this is the (un)official sequel. i hope you enjoy because this spiralled !! 💗

WARNING for corey x f!reader, smut, flirting, a tiny little bit of angst because i couldn't resist, and the fact this is technically set in the cunningmyers au (but michael only makes an appearance emotionally lol). 2.5K word count.

🍓very cute divider by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more 🍓

taglist: @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

You finish wiping down the counter after a very, very busy night. Valentine's day always brings in more customers, even to the roadside diner you have no hope of leaving anytime soon.

You're on shift for the next four hours alone, but you're thankful that it should be a quieter from now on, with most couples heading back home to relieve their babysitters or to make the most of the rest of their night in the comfort of their own beds. All that remain are stragglers and harmless ne'er-do-wells who have nowhere better to be at this hour.

Around 1 am, you hear the bell over the door jingle and you look up from the counter to see a young man walking in.

If anyone saw the intensity of your doubletake, you would have been mortified.

He sits at a booth towards the back of the diner, but in clear view of the door. He's polite when you go over to take his extensive order -- a coffee with creamer and sugar, a club sandwich, side of fries, a plate of bacon and eggs, with hash browns if you have any -- and thanks you earnestly when you bring out his food.

He keeps to himself, and you'd almost be able to forget he was there while you served the couple of other patrons, if it weren't for how striking he was. Dark hair, tousled but naturally curly, and even darker eyes. Eyes that look almost black even under the harsh halogen lights. He holds his cutlery tightly with broad, bruised hands.

He ate like he was starving; you'd seen plenty of men with eyes bigger than their stomachs, but he seemingly wasn't one of them. All of his plates are cleaned when you take them back to the kitchen.

The reserved atmosphere between you makes you question if this is really the same guy. He has to be, right? The possibility of someone else like him was slim to none, with his curly hair that you desperately want to pull on again, his broad, handsome features that you could stare at forever and never get bored of, and his Levi's jeans that hug him in all the right places.

Returning to his table, you ask, "Can I tempt you with dessert?"

"I think you can. What would you recommend?"

"The cheesecake is my favourite, but I'm biased because I make the strawberry drizzle for it." You lean your hip against his table,

"Strawberry? I normally pick chocolate."

"We have a great chocolate cake too?" you suggest instead.

"No, let's try strawberry. I'll have a slice of cheesecake, please."

"Sure thing," you smile. When you turn back to the counter, you glance over your shoulder, catch him watching you. The sway of your hips is unintentional, should anyone ask.

You draw a few love hearts in strawberry sauce around the edge of the plate. There's something wrong with me, you think, but you don't get a new plate.

He turns the plate slowly once you put it down in front of him, considers each strawberry heart. Then his eyes turn up to you, and it's almost like those strawberry hearts are reflected in his dark, dangerous eyes. "Would you sit with me? Please?"

"I'm working," you smile, but still you linger at his table, waiting for him to convince you.

"I'm sure they won't mind," he says, nodding towards the other weary patrons, nursing steaming coffees, filling in crosswords with blotchy pens, or reading the sports pages.

No one gave you a second glance as you slid into the booth across from him.

You watch while he eats, his pretty pink lips closing around each bite. There's a comfortable silence between one, one that you could get entirely used to, if given the chance.

"It's nice to see you again," he smiles around the food in his mouth. You'd rather get used to his voice though.

Breaking into a grin, "I thought it was you!"

"I've been thinking about you," he half-drawls "Every day since I last saw you."

The last time you saw him was a couple of months ago -- six, maybe? -- sat at what might of been this very same booth. He was just as bruised and timelessly rugged as he is now, and you remembered him being with a another man -- older, more weathered, but rugged in the same sort of way. This guy, your guy, had ordered for the both of them, and seemed relieved to find his companion where he left him after your back alley escapade.

"This is really good," he compliments. "And it's your favourite, right? Have some," He offers you a piece of cheesecake on his fork, smeared with extra strawberry sauce that had dripped down onto the plate.

You open your mouth, lips closing around the fork just where his lips -- his soft, pink lips -- had been, and take the bite from him. You chew slowly. Even without the strawberry sauce you labour over making in the kitchen, the cheesecake really is good.

He watches you closely, and you find that you don't mind at all. He's not like other men, whose stares bore into you because they want to take something from you. No, no he looks at you like he wants you to take something from him.

The palm of his heavy-knuckled hand, the one that isn't still holding his fork, feels rough against your skin when he catches your chin; the pad of his thumb is slightly weathered when he swipes it over the corner of your mouth, catching a stray spot of strawberry drizzle. Pulling his hand back, you watch him -- his eye contact never wavering -- as he sucks his thumb into his mouth, licking it clean.

"When do you get off?" His question catches you off-guard, startling you from your fleeting thoughts of his lips and tongue and hands.

"Um," you try and remember your shift. "4 am." You glance at the clock on the wall and silent curse. Still two hours to go and there's no way he's going to wait for you, why would he? This perfect stranger with his split knuckles and pretty lips and --

"I think you deserve a break, don't you?"

You don't think this is like last time. This won't a quick smoke break endeavour. "I still have --," you're about to gesture at the other customers, but when you turn around, you find the diner empty. You hadn't even noticed them leave, you'd been so caught up with...

Shit. "I don't even know your name."

"Corey," he answers, and his accent swells stronger on his name than you'd noticed during the rest of your conversation.

You give your own name in return, giggling because you can't quite believe any of this is real. Because a beautiful boy walked into your diner and made you fall for him, and you never even thought to tell him your name.

Corey stands from the booth, not quiet as smoothly as you think he might of wanted to because his hip catches on the edge of the table. You're not surprised, he's built like a bull, all broad shoulders, broad hips, broad hands that trailing along the table top as he walks past. Even so, he wanders to the door, flips the open sign to closed and twists the lock.

The backroom is pretty small, the table has been wobbly for as long as you've been working there and no doubt for longer, and you distantly register that you never closed the door behind you, so you have a mostly-clear view into the diner, all the way to the locked front door, but you don't really have time to think about any of that. The only thought your mind can conjure up is please!

Corey is somewhere under your sunshine-yellow skirt, there's a sharp sting at your hip when he snaps the elastic of your panties against your skin, then his teeth biting so gently at the flesh of your thighs that they could be kisses instead. Desperate to see his face, you pull your skirt up to your waist and moan involuntarily at the sight of him, flushed and focused, between your legs.

His eyes glint impossibly dark, pupils blown wide, and he doesn't stop look at you. Reaching down, you twist your fingers through his tangle of curls, making him moan into your heat.

When he kisses you, he tastes just like you remembered, like cigarettes and something distinctly boyish, but now he has the sweetness of strawberries on his lips, like chapstick, and on his tongue there's the heady taste of your own arousal.

Corey's cock is pretty and pink just like the rest of him. (How can even his cock be pretty?) Grazing your entrance slowly, you angle your hips to encourage him, tightening your legs around his hips to pull him in.

"Is this okay?" he asks, tip pushing just enough to make you clench on him. His rumbling voice right by your ear makes you shiver, with anticipation, with need, with downright desperation.

"I've been thinking about you too," you say in lieu of any other answer. "Every night since I last saw you. Wanting to see you so bad."

Sinking it your wetness, Corey groans, sounding almost surprised. You clench around him to draw out the sound, louder and longer, until he makes himself pull back out, only so he can thrust back into you. The table rocks beneath you precariously, Corey's thrusts making it shudder an inch across the bubbling lino.

Corey's as good as you expected and even better; he's heavy on top of you, covering your torso with his, until there's nothing between you. His smell all around you, and you hope it seeps into your skin, taints you forever with the smell of the storm that he carries with him. His lips pressing wet open-mouthed kisses anywhere he can reach, along the soft line of your jaw and scattered on your neck, trickling down, down, down as he unbuttons your yellow shirt.

And his pretty cock isn't just for show; heavy inside of you, coated in the wet mess between your legs, hitting just the right spot to make you squirm and clench and rock your hips up against Corey's, his auburnish hair providing the most delicious, burning friction on your clit.

The tinny radio in the main diner is barely audible in the break room over the sounds you both make. Every thrust drawing a breath, or a groan, or a moan. Corey starts low in his throat, a rasp of a groan always on his lips, until he gets closer, and high little breaths spill out of him like he's going to cry if he doesn't finish right now.

You pull up your panties and catch Corey following your hands along your curves. He seems... cuter, somehow. Before he was a powerhouse of confidence, every bit the All-American rogue you daydream about walking through your diner doors. But now he's more modest; bashful as he tucks himself away.

The shift in personality brings your confidence back, and as the endorphins hums pleasantly under your skin, you feel like you did back then; taking a chance on hoping a pretty boy might make out you by the dumpsters.

You smile slyly at him as you straighten out your uniform, lip caught between your teeth. There's a string of hickies around your collar, you can feel them already. You want to poke and prod at them to stop them fading.

"I gotta go," he mumbles, doing up his fly and buckling his tarnished-silver belt buckle.

There's a long pause between the two of you. Uncertainty.

"Sure," you say. You chew your lip as you head back out to the diner, with Corey following behind. "So, um... will I see you around again?"

Corey shrugs, seeming genuinely unsure, "Maybe, maybe not. We might have to leave soon or... I'll see."

You decide not to push him on it, and there's too many reasons, too many different situations and scenarios for you to even start speculating on what might make him so skittish about sticking around. The thought forces an ache through your chest anyway.

"Well," you force a smile. "Whenever you come back, I'll be here waiting with a slice of cheesecake for you."

His smile lights up his whole face, tugging up one corner of his mouth and then the other in a dimpled grin.

Corey pays in cash and another kiss, before walking out of your life as if he didn't just ruin it.

You could recognise him anywhere. Anywhere, any place, any time. You'd recognise Corey by the sound of his boots on the lino, or by the smell of his cigarette breath, by the accent that cradles his words, or by the bruises that paint storms across his sunset skin.

He walks through the door, bell jingling cheerily at his arrival, and sits at a booth towards the back of the diner, shrugging his leather jacket off.

It'd be embarrassing how much his reappearance disarms you, if your mind could think of anything other than how you need to keep your promise.

There's a plate in your hand, a slice of cheesecake covered in strawberry drizzle sits pretty in the centre. You hardly remember crossing the diner; Corey's dark eyes watch the way your sunshine-yellow uniform hugs your hips as you walk.

Sliding into his booth, you place the cheesecake in front of him and press a fork into his scarred palm.

Pretty pink lips pull up into a broad grin that he almost bites back before giving in; his smile is glorious on his bruised face. His knuckles are split. His throat is ringed with yellowing bruises that shift when he swallows.

Your hand finds his on the table top. "Welcome back."

He eats slowly, even though you can tell he's hungry. After this, you'll fix him all the food he wants, plates upon plates of it until you're sure he's happy and well-fed.

"You in town for long?" This time, goes unsaid.

Corey's smile falters, his dark eyes reminding you that you probably can't even begin to imagine what it is he does, and where he goes and how he lives his life outside of the witching hours you spend with him in your diner.

"Yeah," he says, boyish smile returning. "I think I am."

on the topic of restaurant sex, you should also read [warnings apply]:

good boy by ghost (@/ghostwriterforghosts). corey and reader go out for dinner and he is very, very fun to tease.

#corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #take a shot every time i mention his lips (the prettiest softest pinkest lips in the world) 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 #or when i describe him as broad 💗💗💗💗💗💗 #also listen we all have to agree to suspend our disbelief for the next 2000 words. reader is a perfectly capable waitress *and* chef #and shift buddies don't exist in this universe. neither does cctv 😎😈 #corey will never go hungry on my watch and that is a bona fide anna promise #cunningmyers #<< arguably. if you want to interpret it that way #maybe that's where corey has to run off to after your break room tryst. back to michael like always. #if anyone wants to know where i think michael is at the end?? ask box is always open babyyyyyy

[writing-good-vibes]

💌 COREY'S LOVE LETTERS 💌

a very special valentine's episode of the corey and roger show:

💝another lonely valentines day💝 *

love letters between the only couple that matters [corey x reader]:

🍓strawberry drizzle🍓 *

🛒grocery store meet-cute🛒

🕯silk and wax🕯 *

🧸teddy bear🧸

💔jealousy💔

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #happy valentine's day besties 💗💌💘 #on this day of all days i bring you some offerings 🙌 we're all in this together with out best boy #* indicates smut but all fics have individualised warnings were applicable

[writing-good-vibes]

Hiii, so, for the Valentine's Day drabbles! Could you pretty please write the number 8 (Teddy Bear) from the fluffy prompts with Corey x Reader? That would be amazing! And it can be whatever you come up with, I'll be happy either way. Thank you so much for doing this and take all the time you need; even if it's past V-Day! You always come first, please remember that. Take care! <3 <3 <3

ahhh thank you for requesting !! 🥰 and for being sooo sweet, i really appreciate it !! happy valentine's day 💗 i hope you enjoy reading, because i really, really enjoyed writing this one !! no WARNINGS, only post accident!corey x gn!reader and fluff 💗

🧸 very cute divider by @/plutism 🧸

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

Three whole years. That's how long you and Corey had been together. Three years but every time he held your hand in his you felt those sparks , every hug made you melt into the soft, safe, serene embrace of his big arms, and every kiss, tender and tentative, felt just like the first.

You remembered the first Valentine's day you and Corey had spent together. In the weeks leading up to it, you'd catch Corey looking at the Valentine's display; candy in heart-shaped boxes, bouquets of somehow permanently wilting roses, teddy bears with plush hearts clutched in their paws proclaiming I love you!

He'd blush if he caught you watching him, and would hurry up to the counter to let you ring up his pre-dinner snacks. He was cute. Opening the M&M's, he offers the bag to you, pouring you a handful to eat while you waited for your shift to end.

When the day finally arrived, you exchanged cards, half excited and half embarrassed. You went on break and sat outside on the curb with Corey, fingers intertwined and sharing one of the novelty heart-shaped lollipops you'd pilfered from the display. Smiling, you licked over the same spot Corey just had.

The next year, Corey had to work in the morning but clocked out at lunch, and you caught the Valentine's matinee at the movies.

He still smelt vaguely of car grease, you can see the spots of it that will never fully wash out of his henley, but when he holds your hand his fingers are scrubbed spotlessly pink.

It was quiet in the theatre, exactly what you expected for a weekday afternoon and perfect for Corey who hating being perceived in public, and the two of you sat at the back of the theatre sharing a bucket of popcorn and a bag of Hershey's Kisses as the dust motes, caught in the light of the projector, float around you.

Watching Corey is just as good as watching any movie. You can see the way his eyes track the movement of screen, that way you can tell exactly when he'll reach for more popcorn, and how he bites his lip in concentration.

Joy paints your cheeks as your lips meet Corey's in the dim darkness.

This year though, even though you were expecting another beautifully laidback date, Corey told you that he'd begged his step-dad to let him have the whole day off work this year, without telling his Momma, and that he had made plans for you guys.

Plans?

"We don't have to do anything big," you assured him, ringing up today's selection of treats; chocolate milk, a slim jim and some skittles. "I just like spending time with you."

"I know," he promised. "All I ever want is to spend time with you, but I want to treat you too." He rips open the skittles and pours some out into your hand.

On Valentine's morning, you open your door and find yourself face to face with the fluffiest brown fur. Corey stands with a teddy bear in his hands, and in the teddy's hands a velvety red heart proclaims, "I love you!"

You didn't recognise it as one you sold at the gas station, although it was similar. Had he gone somewhere else to buy it for you? The thought gets to you more than you might expect, thinking about Corey wandering the aisles of the Walmart, or the Dollar General, or even venturing to the mall in the next town over. Corey hated going anywhere.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Corey says, handing you the teddy.

"Oh, Corey! He's so cute! Happy Valentine's Day," you pull him into a hug before you can even take the bear from him.

Corey throws one strong arm around you, you can feel his broad hand half-cover the expanse of your back through your shirt. Warm and safe.

When you part, you look down at the teddy again. Holding it beneath its armpits, you bring it to your face, nuzzling the chestnut-brown fur of its face. "Does he have a name?" you ask.

"He's for you, I think you're supposed to pick his name." Corey hasn't stopped blushing, even when you take his big hand in yours and lead him into your apartment. He settles on your couch, ready to wait while you finish getting ready.

"Hmm," you consider your options. The bear looks straight out of a story book with wide glass eyes and a felt snout, his fur really is chestnut-brown and swirls into little rosebud curls. "His name is Corey."

Boy-Corey's eyes are as wide and bright as Bear-Corey's when you look at him. "Are you sure? You don't have to --."

Corey's arms circle your waist when you sit in his lap, his legs spreading just slightly to cradle your weight, "You're the only person I want to cuddle, now I have something almost as cuddly as the real thing for when you're not here." Bear-Corey is nestled between the two of you, as if to prove your point.

One corner of Corey's lips quirk upwards, then the other, as a grin splits his face. Pleased, proud, he squeezes you tight, hiding his smile against your chest. You indulge him, petting at his hair and over his broad shoulders while he breaths you in, humming happily.

God, how badly you want to hold Corey like this forever, where you know he's safe, and loved, and you don't have to think about anything but the pinkness of his cheeks and the softness of his lips.

"So," you finally say, softly, reluctant to disturb this most perfect moment, but mindful of Corey having mentioned plans. "What romance awaits us for the rest of the day?"

on the topic of fluffy romance, you should also read:

first of many by blake (@/slutforstabbings). a little bit angsty, but watch corey and reader be obliviously in love.

amusement park date by toxic (@/toxicanonymity). toxic is a woman of many talents; she can write fluff just as well as she writes smut.

#corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #did i use this as an excuse to write the fluffiest sweetest lovecore relationship possible ?? yes i did. #holding hands supremacy. giggly romance. sharing candy and afternoon movies #but also cuteness aggression 😳 #i hope you enjoyed reading !! 💗💗💗💗

[writing-good-vibes]

don't know if you're cool with combining two prompts so if not, feel free to ignore this one or just do one of them. i kinda like the candle wax and black silk steamy prompts together 🤭

thank you for the request anon !! 💌 it's funny, i've actually done this prompt combo before for a different character (no one go looking for that one though lol), so i should of known these two would get paired again 😈 i hope you enjoy reading, and happy valentine's day !! 💗

WARNINGS for post michael!corey x gn!reader, smut, wax play, hints of pain kink, and vague suggestions of non-sexual pain.

🩸 very cool divider by @/hitobaby 🩸

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

It took you a while to notice Corey's fascination with fire but once you did notice, you couldn't stop noticing.

He'd build bonfires in your scrubby backyard, tossing in garden waste and stoking the flames, bringing you out to sit with him in a lawn chair while you basked in the heat. He had a lighter for his cigarettes, and he'd flick the spark wheel while he smoked, the light igniting his eyes before going out and leaving them dark again. Even though he had his lighter, he always used matches at home, sitting on your porch to light a smoke and letting the flame burn down to his fingers before he snuffed it out. And then there were the candles. You didn't have too many candles around the house but you'd light them while you ate dinner, or watched a movie with all the other lights turned off. You noticed when Corey got restless, he'd poke at the candle wick, dipping his fingertips in the melted wax and peeling the wax casts off so he can do it again. At the end of the night you'd pull yourself out of Corey's arms and chuckle at the pile of hatched wax eggshells.

"It feels good," Corey would shrug, when you asked why he did it, when you were soothing his red fingertips with lotion.

Pressing a kiss to each digit, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he smirks, eyes darting from your pretty lips against his rough fingers, to your own eyes looking up at him. "I like when it hurts."

Corey lies in your bed, looking up at you from under his unfairly long eyelashes, shamelessly staring at your chest, your pretty nipples framed so demurely by your untied robe. Ignoring his ogling, you light the candle in your hand -- a thick red candle specially bought from the dirty store -- with Corey's own lighter.

Beneath you, Corey grows hard and hot, heat radiating through his underwear to ignite your own longing.

His hands creep up your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles against the black silk robe that flows over your hips, as you toss the lighter onto the rumpled bedsheets.

You tut quietly, using your now-free hand to move Corey's up towards the headboard. He grabs the headboard of his own volition. Good boy, you think, he can just lie there and take it.

"You ready, baby?"

"Yeah," he breaths, and you don't miss the way he smirks like things are all coming up Corey, or how his fingers tighten their grip in anticipation.

You drip a thin line of wax from one nipple to the other. A surprised breath leaves Corey's lips, but they quickly lift back into that satisfied smirk.

You drip another line down his chest, forming a stark red cross on his torso. He looks so fucking beautiful, spread out for you and marked with whatever you want him to bear. You move the candle over him, like a ritual, like you're cleansing the air around you,

It drips over his already-rosy nipples and makes him hiss, it traces the deep blue veins in his arms and makes him close his eyes, it runs down the V of his hips, pooling against your own thighs where you're straddling him and makes him buck up into you.

The wax hardens quickly on his milky, freckled skin, each drop turning into blood-red pearls that decorate him all over, drenching every inch of him just as he deserves.

With your hand on his cock, stroking slowly to draw it out, Corey looks decadent. Dripping red, a boy king bejewelled, head thrown back in a low, pleased moan.

[with thanks to @/slutforstabbings for providing the fuel for the pyromaniac!corey fire lol]

#ask #corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #it took some time but the way i was kinda feeling this by the end i cant lie 👀😳 #i want corey covered in red. blood. wax. whatever. #thank you for requesting and happy valentines day !!

[writing-good-vibes]

For the valentines one shot would it be possible to have a combination of meet cute and replacement ?

hey thanks so much for the request !! i did another fic with the replacement prompts which you can read [here] if you like !! but i hope you enjoy this one too !!

WARNING for corey x gn!reader and joan being The Worst™, but there's also a lot of awkward fluff heehee.

💘 very cute divider by @/saradika-graphics 💘

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

This wasn't the first time a customer had yelled at you over something beyond your control and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Likely not even the last time today, and with that in mind you simply tried to weather this particular storm.

"Why didn't you mark it clearly? Are you just trying to trick your customers, now? Trick more money out of my pocket?"

"Ma'am," you try again. "I really am sorry for the confusion, but this item just isn't included in the promotion. I can void it from your bill, if you don't want it?"

This suggestion doesn't work, and the woman in front of you reiterates the same spiel of how you, the cashier, were clearly trying to con money directly from her pocket by not clearly indicated which cans were included in the 3-for-the-price-of-2 promotion.

While you waited your turn so you could assure her that, although it wasn't anything to do with you, you'd shoulder the blame and "Please, I can take it off your bill, or you can switch this can for one of the included items?", you notice the young man stood behind your enraged customer.

He's looking down at his shoes, shoulders hunched, but the embarrassed flush is still obvious on his soft cheeks.

He glances up occasionally, eyes darting around at everything in his vicinity; his mom (or who you presume to be his mother), the other customers who are either irritated by the hold up or amused by the scene playing out in front of them, and at you. His eyes stop on you for a moment too long, tracing your features quickly, before they snap back down to his sneakers.

You almost miss your cue to continue your placating attempts because your mind has wandered at the mere sight of this guy. You wonder if he flushes like that, all pink and bashful, about other things. Things more fun than his mother chewing out a minimum wage employee. You feel the heat start to rise beneath your own skin.

After way longer than you hoped, the woman finally concedes and sends the young man, her son, with strict instructions to go and get a new can from the promotion stand. He gets back in record time, giving you a tight smile as he hands you the can of peach slices for you to scan.

His mom complains the whole time.

You watch while the young man packs their grocery bags, broad hands enveloping each item as he organises everything methodically, like he's about to be fired from a job he doesn't have.

Finally the transaction is complete and your Angry Customer snatches the receipt from your hand and leaves with a thunderous rattle of the carts wheels.

Breathing deeply, you try to centre yourself. When you look up you see the young guy still stood at your checkout. Something about him makes you smile.

"Hey," he says quietly, wringing his hands. "I'm really, really sorry about her."

"It's okay," you assure him. "Won't be the first or the last time I deal with a situation like that." A shrug, as you try to maintain an air of nonchalance, while you rearrange some of of the junk -- pens, discarded price tickets, a Canadian quarter you'd found in the cash draw -- around your register.

"No, really, I mean it. You did a great job, she shouldn't have given you a hard time."

You're touched by his concern, even more touched when you look back up at him and his eyes are wet. "I'm okay, honestly. Thank you though, you're sweet. Was that your mom?"

"Yeah, she --," he hesitates, then just sort of gestures.

"Ah," you nod.

For a moment you both say nothing. Corey wrings his hands again restlessly. Under the halogen glow of the grocery store lights, you notice a silver signet ring glinting on his pinky finger.

"Corey? What are you doing? Get back here!" His mom is blocking half the exit door with her shopping cart, looking at him expectantly.

He flinches at his name. "I'm Corey," he - Corey - says, as though it weren't now obvious to everyone in the store. He steps out of the way of the checkout, allowing the next person in line to move forward as you start scanning their groceries.

You give him your name in return and then, "I'll see you here again?"

"Yeah, I mean probably. I uh, I really have to go. Um, bye -- I mean, see you!" he replies over his shoulder as he hurries off back to his mother.

You watch him leave, watch as he holds onto the shopping cart with one hand while his mother pushes it out the door and they cross the parking lot together. His mother is giving him an earful.

#corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #i did kinda play fast and loose with the idea of Replacement in this one but i already had the meet cute idea -- #-- so tried to work it as best i could #and sometimes a loose interpretation makes these drabbles more interesting 😊 #everyone go thank blake for co-workshopping the cashier/customer meet cute with me lol

[writing-good-vibes]

For Valentine's Day, number 1 under angsty prompts. The Replacement. A little bit of jealous ex!Corey maybe...

ahh thank you for your req !!

WARNINGS for (past) corey x gn!reader, jealousy, mildly stalkerish behaviour, dark post accident!corey, mentions of joan being The Worst and mild implications of violence.

💔 very cute divider by @/firefly-graphics 💔

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

Corey didn't like being jealous. Being jealous made his stomach ache, a horrible sickly feeling deep down in his gut that wouldn't go away, made worse by his tossing and turning at night while he tried to sleep. Being jealous made his fingers hurt, and he'd clench them into fists, hard enough for his blunt nails to leave red crescents in his palms, to try and ease the pressure in his sore knuckles. Being jealous made his eyes water and his chest tight and it made him want to scream, sat in his bed alone at night, watching the radio tower blink tauntingly through his window.

But Corey couldn't help it, Corey was jealous.

Maybe it was his own fault -- it was definitely his own fault -- that you didn't want him anymore, that you got out the first chance you had, that you chose to dodge the bullet that is Corey 'Kid Killer' Cunningham.

And he can't really blame you because he knows that you were getting bored with his reluctance to go anywhere, and with all his nervous habits he still hadn't been able to shake.

He knows it's because the looks got too much for you. Because the mutterings behind your back were starting to take their tole. Because the soda thrown at him from a car window as you walked down the street was only a taste of what was to come.

He really only had himself to blame, and yet he couldn't make himself let go of you so easily. Especially not now he'd seen his replacement.

It's difficult not to compare himself. Corey's been monitoring his placement in every league possible since middle school; popularity, academics, looks. He'd skated along in the middle of the pack popularity-wise, which suited him just fine, and he was never quite top of the class but he was close enough to keep his GPA up, and well... he wasn't winning any prizes compared to some of the guys at school, but he'd lived with it.

But next to his Replacement? Oh, Corey never stood a chance.

And Corey doesn't want to do this. Of course he doesn't. He sees you from across the street, holding his hand. He sees walk you around the dollar store while he pushes the cart. He sees you take him back to your place. And he follows you back to his sometimes too.

Momma's upset with him when he's late for dinner.

It's funny how much he still misses you, even when he sees you all the time. You smile and your smile is like sunshine. You look and your eyes are sharp and clever and deep enough to drown in. Your voice, god he could listen to you forever and ever and never get bored.

He closes his eyes and thinks about it, reconfigures all these sightings onto himself. You smile at him, you look at him, you talk to him, not his replacement

He's cold, and his stomach aches, and his fingers hurt, and his chest is tight when you open your door. He doesn't remember looking through the kitchen draw, or leaving home, or when his cheeks got so wet.

"Corey? Is everything okay?"

Momma always told him no one else would ever love him, and that's Corey down to the bone: always wanting something he can't have.

on the topic of jealousy, you should also read [warnings apply]:

clean again by blake (@/slutforstabbings). after corey survives the events of ends he travels south and, against his better judgement, falls in love with the reader. corey's jealous streak is strong in this story, but it comes up most directly in chapter 7.

rock bottom by toxic (@/toxicanonymity). corey can't decide if he wants to do the reader or michael, so he does both. and even though he gets the best of both worlds, he's still somehow jealous of both of his partners.

#corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #this could never be me because i could never break up with corey #never ever no matter what he did #*except* maybe in a role play situation so he can get all riled up and beat up a guy i'm leading on and then rock my world. #like the toxic couple we are #and then i comfort him with the sweetest softest fluffiest aftercare to promise him i would never break up with him irl #sorry yeah anyway i hope you enjoyed 🤗💗

[writing-good-vibes]

well... of course i have to ask. Where is Michael at the end of Strawberry Drizzle? And is it dead in a ditch? lol

😈 i'm sooooo glad you asked !! i don't think i've posted about this before, but you know i often ponder about how corey and michael end up. what could possibly tear them apart? there are so many possibilities -- none of which are definitive -- but here's what I think brought corey back to reader in the end.

michael is dead -- perhaps not in a ditch lol, but in a cheap motel room, or a seedy house they're squatting -- and corey's definitely the one who killed him.

they're fighting, worse than ever before and exactly like it always is. michael's hands are around his neck, in a vice grip that isn't getting looser. but the thought of dying isn't so appealing anymore, and corey has a knife in his jacket, or he knocks michael off his feet, or he gets a good enough grip on that heavy glass ash tray next to the bed. he doesn't stop -- stabbing, hitting, bludgeoning -- and there's blood all over his hands and in his mouth and he can taste michael and he tastes just like any other man.

he doesn't kill michael to be with you, not exactly. he kills michael because if he didn't, michael would kill him. that's the way it was always going to be. that desire for control that drives corey finally turns on michael, turns on his master and gives corey a thrill he'll never get again in his life. corey will prod and poke at the bruises on his neck for weeks, to keep them purple and tender for longer. his last gift from michael.

he's reached his peak and with nothing left, he finds his way home to you, all his hope is pinned on you waiting for him. even when he comes back to you, michael isn't really gone though. no, michael lives in a dark corner of corey's head, along with momma. the only way corey's ever getting away from them for good is when he dies too. but at least he has you.

i really debated over which ending would work for strawberry drizzle, but i love the idea of corey coming back to you all battered and bruised and you just not knowing -- maybe never knowing -- what's happened to him, but happy he's with you at last.

i mean, what can you really piece together about his life? when you first meet him he's with another man (who looks like one mean motherfucker, as @/toastysalt once described him to me lol) and corey's life seems to revolve around him to some degree, and he's always covered in bruises, he's been strangled and his knuckles are split, he's skittish about staying in one place for too long and while you never find an ID amongst his modest belongings, you find a knife instead.

in a way, it's kind of similar to clean again (unintentionally and in a non-plagiaristic way lol) you don't know what's happened to him -- a bad relationship? a runaway who's been drifting ever since? career criminality to survive? -- but what matters is that he chose you over all of it.

#ask #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #corey cunningham x reader #thank you so much for asking !! i was dying to give the background thoughts i had #even though i wanted it ambiguous in the actual story #maybe i like it better not knowing what happened. because i don't think he'd ever tell his waitress what happened -- #-- she is his way out. she doesn't need to know what he did before. #strawberry drizzle is the unofficial ending of the cunningmyers road trip #but canonically there is no ending (yet). or there is. they live. they die. they're an urban legend. #something something ethel cain said ''you always told me i could only leave you once we're both dead''

[writing-good-vibes]

another lonely valentine's day

💗 happy valentine's day !! 💗 what better way to celebrate than to make our favourite babygirl suffer? this takes place in an au where the accident never happened, and corey is still working towards his college dreams by mowing lawns, having affairs and babysitting.

WARNING for corey cunningham x roger allen relationship, age difference, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, smut (non-penetrative and oral sex), angst from a guy who is upset that his married boyfriend doesn't love him, some mildly stalkerish behaviour, and some arguable hurt/comfort. 4.5K word count.

🎀 very cute dividers by @/gigittamic 🎀

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

"Corey?"

Corey sighs and checks the time. It had only been ten minutes since he put Jeremy to bed.

"Corey?!" Jeremy calls again, louder this time, his voice high and lifting at the end of his name. It grates on Corey's nerves.

"What is it now, Jeremy?"

"I'm thirsty!"

"You've just had a glass of milk."

"I want another one!"

They had a deal -- since Jeremy had gotten in so much trouble for his silly prank last Halloween and Corey had very generously done some self-serving damage control -- that Corey would let Jeremy do whatever he wanted (within some reason, as negotiable on the night, but usually involving too much energy for Corey's liking), and stay up as late as he wanted after he went to bed, in exchange for leaving Corey alone for the rest of the night. And if he didn't, Corey would tell Mr Allen just how much of a little shit Jeremy had been for him. It was a system that worked, even if it meant telling a couple of white lies about the evening's activities.

Jeremy was always a brat, it must have been coded directly into his DNA, but he'd been extra irritating before going to bed tonight. He tended to talk Corey's ear off anyway, asking personal questions that Corey would always lie in response to whether he strictly speaking needed to or not, and tonight he had extra ammunition.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Why not? It's because you're so ugly, isn't it."

"No, I just don't have one. I could if I wanted to."

"No you couldn't. Girls don't like boys who are ugly and poor. That's why you're bossing me around on Valentine's Day."

The back of Corey's neck itched. Sure, that's why he was spending his Valentine's Day babysitting the brattiest kid he'd ever met. Because no one wants to go out with him. Not because Jeremy's dad says "Jump," and Corey asks "How high?"

He shuts Jeremy up by letting him watch a playthrough on youtube of some horror videogame that one of Corey's friends back in high school would talk about nonstop. Turns out the game is way less scary when some hunk just talks over it, and although some of the music starts to freak him out a little, Corey surprises himself when he laughs along with Jeremy at most of the scares, even at the rabbit.

After traipsing back upstairs with another glass of milk, warm this time, Corey leaves Jeremy with a warning not to bother him again. Our deal, remember?

"What are you doing on Valentine's day?"

"Nothing," Corey replies, much too quickly. He can hear Mr Allen stifle a chuckle on the other end of the phone. Corey's cheeks burn, "Um, I mean, I don't have any plans, yet." Yet. As if they're lining up round the block to take Corey out and he just hasn't decided who's worth his time. "Why?"

"Well, Theresa and I were wondering if you'd be able to babysit Jeremy for a few hours?"

Corey bites his lips so hard he can taste blood. He soothes it with his tongue, "Sure, no problem." He kicks himself later for being such a sucker.

Mrs Allen is flustered when he arrives, putting the final touches of lipstick and perfume on while she explains the usual ground rules. Corey knows the drill. She looks beautiful, with her hair loose and curly around her shoulders and red flowers on her dress. He tries to imagine his own momma getting dressed up for a date, but he struggles to remember Momma and Ronald ever going anywhere without him. They hadn't even had a honeymoon.

Corey hovers awkwardly, trying to keep out of the way as Mrs Allen buzzes around, from the mirror to the coat stand by the door. While she puts her coat on, Corey's eyes wander as Mr Allen comes downstairs in a pressed suit. He waves at the older man, who gives him a wink that dangerously toes the line of 'friendly', before he disappears towards the kitchen.

"Oh!" Mrs Allen starts, before lowering her voice. "There's a box of chocolates in the kitchen for you, Corey. Roger put them on top of the fridge so Jeremy wouldn't see them; a little treat for you after he goes to bed."

Corey checks the time again. He hasn't heard a peep from Jeremy for a while, which is a good sign.

But the TV isn't holding his attention tonight like it normally does, and even though the Allens always tell him he can use their Netflix, he just can't settle on a movie.

Instead he scrolls through Roger's profile for a while, looking at his watch list and what he's been currently watching, what's been recommended to him and his most popular categories. Corey makes mental notes of where their tastes are similar and where they differ, thinks of how he can subtly integrate all of this into a conversation, to show just how interesting he is, how compatible they are.

His rumbling stomach puts an end to his media-stalking for now. Momma had made meatloaf for dinner, as grainy and bland as always, and Corey hadn't been able to stomach much of it. Not with the butterflies fluttering in his gut as he watched the clock, desperate to get out of the house a soon as possible tonight.

He lets a movie start playing, some 90's thriller than everyone in his American Lit. class used to rave about, before pulling himself off the couch and wandering into the kitchen.

The Allens' fridge is always fully stocked. Fruit and vegetables in the crisper, health foods that Corey's never even heard of before, branded candy and juice and condiments fill the door, cuts of meat that they probably actually knew how to cook instead of turning them to rubber or relying on boxes of lean cuisine. They even have an ice maker. There's a couple of bottles of Heineken -- because Roger only drinks Heineken in the house -- at the very front. It feels like a trick, Corey takes one anyway.

On top of the fridge, amongst juice boxes and tin that could be cookies but Corey guesses might be their sewing kit, is a red, heart-shaped box of chocolates. Just like Mrs Allen promised. Corey holds it in his hands, rubs his thumb against the satiny pink ribbon that wraps around it.

In middle school, Corey had gotten a Valentine's candygram one year. He walked into homeroom and found the pink paper heart and a cherry flavoured dumdum sat conspicuously on his desk.

There was a chorus of hushed giggles from behind him. Over his shoulder he sees Kelly and her friends, whispering. Whispering made Corey nervous. Then, Kelly waves at him shyly, a knowing smile on her face. He waved back, face burning.

He ate the lollipop over lunch, and folded the pink paper heart and put it in his pocket, carried it around with him all week. Sometimes he'd take it out to look at it, reading the message over and over and over again -- Be my Valentine?

Momma found the heart when she collected his laundry at the end of the week, emptying out his pockets onto the kitchen table, picking up the pink paper heart with her probing fingers.

Corey didn't hear the end of it for weeks.

There's a gift tag pre-attached at the bow on his Valentine's chocolates and Corey flips it open, expecting a list of the candies that are inside, but that isn't it. It's a message, handwritten in black biro in neat print-capitals. The words start to swim in Corey's vision, merging into an inky pool until he pushes his glasses up to wipe at his eyes, trying to hide his tears from an invisible audience. He isn't fooling anyone, because his lip starts wobbling instead.

He brings the candy back into the living room with him, along with his beer and sits criss-crossed on the couch, then rips the ribbon off in one go.

Corey sinks half the box before he can stop himself.

The rest he tries to savour, rolling each chocolate in his mouth, letting them melt on his tongue until he can figure out the flavoured centre while he watches his movie. The truffles are his favourites, then the pralines, followed by caramels, vanilla cream and pecan clusters, then finally the strawberry ones come last.

Between eating, he drinks his beer like a palate cleanser, finishing it only to go get the other bottle from the fridge. Two beers down, Corey can feel the buzz under his skin, in his tear-pink cheeks, and the relief of tension leaving his unsettled self.

If he takes the candy box home, Momma would ask too many questions that he didn't want to answer -- that he didn't even want to think about -- so he throws the empty tray in the trash can in the Allens' kitchen and chews a stick of bubblegum to cover the alcohol on his breath. It wasn't fool proof, but it was the most he could do.

Upstairs, Corey listens for movement from Jeremy's room. The hallway is dark, lit only by the lamps downstairs glowing up through the spiral of the staircase. Corey circles the warm light, never quite letting it catch him, as he dips into Jeremey's room to turn his TV off, then continues on to the master bedroom.

It's dark in there too, as Corey stands in the doorway. The bed is made neatly, sheets tucked cleanly under the mattress but rumpled in places where someone had sat down to pull on a stocking or tie a shoelace. He looks around familiarly, at the contemporary beige art on the walls and at the framed family pictures on the dresser, goes through the jackets and dresses that line the closet, and the messy draws full of almost designer sweaters and workout clothes and underwear. Mrs Allen's expensive lotion sits on the nightstand, next to where Corey always discards his glasses.

Laying in their bed, on Mr Allen's side, Corey looks up into the darkness. His cheeks are wet and getting wetter, and he rolls onto his front, muffles his sniffling in Mr Allen's pillow and breathing deeply the faint, shouldn't-be-comforting scent of the older man's cologne. Dark and woody, but classic in a way that compliments the rich floral perfume Corey always smells on Mrs Allen's pillow.

Part of him hopes Roger will know, hopes he'll feel the dampness there on his pillow while he tries to sleep, hopes he'll catch the taste of salt, and know exactly what he'd driven Corey to.

It's long-past midnight by the time Mr and Mrs Allen get home.

Corey hovers awkwardly by the door while Mrs Allen kicks out of her heels, hangs her coat on the stand, her conversation slower now as she thanks him again for babysitting. Corey preferred her like this, when she no longer had to worry about making their 7:30 reservation, or whether Jeremy was ready for bed before they left. When she isn't so tense, it made it a lot harder for Corey to interpret her tension as something else, something worse.

She counts his money out for him, but as he zips his coat up and prepares to cycle back home in the cold, Mr Allen stops him.

"Hold on, Corey, I'll give you a ride." The first words he'd spoken directly to Corey all night.

"Oh, no," Corey insists, hesitating anyway. "It's okay, really. I don't want to --"

"It's no trouble. We wouldn't want you out alone at this time. Unless you've got a secret black belt you haven't mentioned?"

Corey laughs, his real boyish laugh that Mr Allen likes so much.

Mrs Allen leans up, whispers something in her husbands ear, a perfectly French-manicured hand patting his chest once. Corey averts his eyes.

Then, Corey and Mr Allen are stood outside in the biting February air.

"Did you enjoy your night?" Corey asks as they pull out of the driveway. He rubs his cold hands together in his lap.

Roger turns the heater on high. "We did, thanks."

"What was the restaurant like?" He doesn't normally ask questions, doesn't normally like to know the answers, but he's feeling just a little vindictive tonight. Curious, too.

Roger catches his eye through the rear-view mirror. He smirks. "It was nice. We've been wanting to try it out for a while, actually. We don't go out as much as we should anymore."

"I just watched a movie," Corey says with a shrug, like it's no big deal. Like it's how he was going to be spending his Valentine's day anyway. "One that my friends at college always recommend, but I never get time to watch movies. Momma -- my mom -- she's always so picky about movies." Corey can hear himself start to ramble, clutching at the straws of interest. "And Jeremy was okay tonight," he lies, then changes his mind. "Well, he said I don't have a girlfriend because I'm ugly. But he didn't get up after he went to bed."

Roger sighs, "Ignore him, you know what he's like. Theresa coddles him, but he's a little terror sometimes, same as any other boy. And besides, you know that's not true -- you're not ugly." His hand leaves the wheel and lands on Corey's thigh.

The younger man hums, suppresses how utterly pleased he feels at being told that. You're not ugly, and god if Corey won't be thinking about that for who-knows how long. He doesn't say anything when Roger takes a right turn, heading for the long route back to Corey's side of town.

A stupid, sappy old love song comes on the radio. Corey reaches out to change the channel, settling on WURG, where Willy the Kid is hosting the Anti-Valentines show till late. Heartbroken love songs for all those unlucky enough to be without action tonight.

"You liked the chocolates?" Roger says. It ends in a question mark, but Corey hears a period.

"Yeah, I ate the whole box." He did like them. They were perfect and thoughtful and he's so very, very grateful because he shouldn't expect anything at all.

They pull into the empty lot of the Dollar General and Roger turns the car off, letting the sudden silence -- the stillness of the night -- settle over them. A distant streetlight casts a sickly orange light into the car, the light and shadows chiselling Roger's features deeper, more stern. Corey chews his lip until he tastes blood.

Still, it's Corey's hands that wander first. Because he's been so lonely, waiting all night long for Roger's attention. Looking after Roger's son and drinking Roger's beer and eating Roger's cheap Valentine's present, while Roger was at an expensive restaurant, eating his $80 steak, with his wife who deserves so much better. Corey doesn't though.

And Roger, not for the first time, thinks What the fuck am I doing? when his lips meet Corey's through the darkness. The younger man tastes of bubblegum and beer, but beneath that he can taste those damn chocolates. The taste suits him; sweet and boyish, a little bit cheap.

Any lingering thoughts of Theresa, of how it shouldn't take more than half an hour to drive to Corey's house and back, of how she's waiting for him with a promise -- whispered in his ear as he picked his car keys up off the the table by the door -- are quickly replaced with thoughts of them getting caught, of one of Haddonfield's finest driving by and seeing them, of a sharp tap on the window that makes Corey look up, mouth open and eyes wide and looking every bit the pretty boy he is, of talking their way out of a night in the cells for public indecency because This isn't what it looks like Officer, I swear!

And then Corey's pulling away, twisting himself around in the passenger seat so he can lean down, and Roger can't really make himself think of anything else but the way Corey is so obliging. Undoing Roger's belt, his fly, Corey pulls the older man's boxers down low enough to free his cock, slapping heavy against his toned stomach; Corey presses a wet, pouty kiss to his tip. "I missed you."

"You did?"

Corey nods, wrapping his hand around Roger's length, his fingertips just about touching. "So fucking much."

Another kiss, kittenish licks, Corey's soft hand stroking him slowly, working him like Roger isn't already rock hard for him. Roger closes his eyes, lets himself enjoy Corey's ministrations, learnt precisely by what Roger -- and Roger alone -- likes. They shouldn't be taking their time, however Roger is downright incapable of stopping Corey's hand as it smears his own precum down his shaft, slicking the younger man's movements, but not enough to take away the hint of hot and heavy friction that keeps Roger on the edge.

"I'll make it up to you, hm?" Roger manages, and Corey finally goes down on him, mouth wet and warm and always welcoming, as if to say, Go ahead.

With a sharp inhale, Roger starts, "I'll take you out somewhere. Somewhere nice. I know a restaurant that you'll love, where they do the best desserts you've ever had in your life. You'd like that, right?"

Corey hums in agreement; the vibration makes Roger throb even harder, pulsing against the soft roof of his mouth.

Roger always sounds so sure of his words, so assertive in his thoughts. It makes Corey believe him all the more, makes him want to nod and agree to whatever it is Roger tells him he thinks. Like how he always says Corey was such a tease, all those weekends he'd take his shirt off to mow the lawn, skin glistening with sweat right where Roger could see him. And how Corey had known exactly what he was doing with his wide-eyed virgin routine, as though Roger could have ever said no to him. And that Corey's so easy, so eager, so desperate. That Corey will always say yes.

"Or we could go to a bar. Shoot some pool, have some beers, catch the game. We could have a boys night." He grabs Corey's hair, applying a pressure that is more a suggestion -- more, deeper, please -- than a command.

"And then back to the hotel. Somewhere we can get room service, of course, I know you love that. And I'll take such good care of you. You know that, don't you, baby?"

Roger's getting close and he knows it, especially when Corey swallows, his throat tight and hot and clenching around Roger's cock and he's almost --

He pulls Corey off him, a thin trail of saliva dripping from his plush lip to Roger's spit-shiny head, and watches as the younger man wipes the rest of the drool from his chin with the back of his hand.

"I think you feel guilty," Corey says, voice level and surprisingly measured. There's no elaboration on what Roger should be feeling guilty about, just Corey's wide eyes and swollen lips, and Roger's left to fill in the blank space that Corey leaves behind.

Guilty about making me babysit. Guilty about driving me home. Guilty about doing this with me and then going home to sleep with your wife too.

The list goes on and on and on, and Roger tightens his grip in Corey's hair while he thinks, feeling the smooth, waxy strands twisted between his fingers. Corey will fuss over it in the rear-view mirror on the way home, combing his own fingers through those locks, back into his neat side-part, and Roger will watch him for too long, wishing he could see Corey's hair in it's full glory, not just sex-mused but his natural, bouncing cherub curls, more often.

Roger's hand is still in Corey's hair but he doesn't move, just waits to be told what to do.

"Get in the back."

It's only marginally less cramped in the back seat and darker still, the warm orange glow of the streetlight even fainter as Roger pulls Corey into his lap, lets him burrow into his neck while Roger slips a hand between his legs, palms the growing bulge over rough denim. Corey keens into it eagerly, legs twitching as he tries to keep himself from clamping his thighs around Roger's hand and humping it.

When his whines get louder, a strong hand grabs the back of Corey's knee, moving him to straddle Roger's trim hips, makes sure he's settled before teasing the zipper of Corey's jeans down, once again feeling that hard swell in his underwear.

There's a growing damp patch on the white cotton, sticking it to the leaking pink head of Corey's cock. Roger thumbs the wetness, smearing it through the fabric over Corey's burning skin, and Corey doesn't want to wait. He desperately pulls at the elastic of his briefs, pulls them down and hisses with relief when his dick springs free, resting against the pudge on his lower stomach, leaving a streak of precum on his auburnish happy trail.

Roger clasps one large hand around the both of them and Corey moans like it hurts; he grips tight, squeezing just right to press at the sensitive spot beneath his tip every time Corey's length slides against his.

Corey bucks in Roger's grasp, enough that Roger doesn't even have to stroke them anymore, just holds them still and grinds up against Corey's needy frotting. The developing rhythm is less co-ordinated than Corey can usually manage when he's on top, but the newness of the sensation, the way he can never quiet repeat the same motion or hit the same spot twice is maddening.

With all their clothes still on though, it's almost like it was back then, back when the most they did was dry hump on the couch while a football game played forgotten in the background. And it's not fair, Corey thinks. This is it? This is all he gets?

Roger once told him, "More is just never enough for you, is it, baby?", and although Corey had been kind of preoccupied at the time, the thought had burrowed it's way into his mind, repeated on a loop in Roger's low voice while Corey twiddled his thumbs in class the next day. Momma always told him something similar, when she'd decide he was being ungrateful over something or nothing -- it was always nothing -- that she didn't know what more Corey could want. A roof over his head, food on the table, his mother's love, always. Did he not already have enough? What more could Corey want? Boxed chocolates, empty promises and messy back-seat fumblings.

Roger is proven right. It's Valentine's day and Corey wants more.

"That's it, good boy. Feels good doesn't it?"

As Roger's hand slips further down the back of Corey's jeans, beneath his underwear, Corey catches his wrist, slowing the movement of his hips but not pausing, and tries to direct Roger's fingers closer to where he wants them.

Roger pulls back, resumes simply palming Corey's peachy ass. "Not tonight," he says firmly, and Corey makes a dissatisfied noise against the crisp white cotton of Roger's shirt.

"Please?"

Roger chuckles, "No, Corey." Still firm, but letting Corey down gently. "I know you want to play, but we can't. Not tonight."

"But I really want to, really badly," Corey pleads, scattering kisses up Roger's neck. It's not often Corey has to do the convincing. Rutting harder to prove his point, leaning back so Roger can see that playful little smile on his lips that always get him going, "And it's Valenti --"

"Corey," and it's a warning this time, given in a tone that Corey's never heard Roger use on him before. It's a tone he'd heard him use with Jeremy, though.

Corey shuts his mouth instantly, which is what he's always done best, and tries to ignore how his cheeks burn. The way his skin itches makes him want to scream.

After being told off, he can't bring himself to look back at Roger's disappointed face, so Corey looks down at their cocks instead, both wet with spit and precum, which is somehow less awkward. The spark in his gut rekindles slightly at the sight of Roger's dick, smaller than his by less than a half inch but big enough to knock the breath out of him, rubbing against his own.

Roger's hand has resumed stroking them together -- quickly, efficiently, like he's doing them both a favour.

A loud squeak breaks through the near-silence when Corey reaches out to brace himself against the window, his hand slipping in the condensation made up mostly of his own panting breaths. Another time, perhaps, it would have made him laugh, and his breathy laugh would have made Roger laugh and then --

Roger comes hard in his hand because he really can't let his shirt get dirty, and Corey follows with a shuddering groan, a half-word that could have been anything -- Fuck, Roger, Sorry -- warbles out with it.

"It's okay," Roger answers. "You're okay."

Corey licks Roger's hand clean, sucking the mess from his fingers. Tongue working between each digit till they're soaking wet. Tentative, playful nips at fingertips, biting just barely at his knuckles, never hard enough to leave a mark. No evidence gets left behind.

Feeling each ridge of Corey's teeth, Roger remembers the look on Corey's face from earlier, how his cheeks burned and he shrunk in on himself, making himself small and docile. If Corey bit down hard right now, sinking straight to the bone, then Roger would probably deserve it.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Corey whispers, lips brushing Roger's wet fingertips. Even in the quiet of the car, Corey's voice is smaller than it deserves to be. His big, brown eyes are glazy when they meet Roger's cold blues.

Roger stays quiet, feeling the warmth of Corey's heavy breath between them. In, out, in, out. He holds Corey's flushed face in his wet hand, strokes his thumb softly against his cheek, feels the barely-there stubble under his palm, watches Corey's eyes flutter shut, his lip twitch with the hint of a smile, his brow crease, fat teardrops well under his lashes until they spill down his cheeks.

"Let's get you home, hm?"

Mr Allen drops him off right outside his house -- "You're coming to do the gardening tomorrow, right?" -- and watches as Corey climbs out of the car and up the front porch steps. Joan lurks at the window, the curtains twitching closed once Corey gets to the door.

With one hand on the door handle, Corey turns to wave. Mr Allen is mostly shadowed in the driver's seat, but Corey half-smiles at him anyway, still looking even as Momma pulls him into the house by his scruff for being home so late.

As Corey lies in his bed, he stares up at the darkness of the ceiling. Or maybe his eyes are just closed because his fingers, slippery with the lotion from his nightstand, are shoved down his underwear. The gift tag from his chocolates -- For my Good Boy, ❤ R -- burns a hole beneath his pillow.

#corey cunningham x roger allen #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗 #corey cunningham #i am a sweet tooth corey truther #corey baby that married man doesnt love you !!!!!!! #and they're such a cliche 🙄 fooling around with the babysitter ?? derivative #but i will never give corey a break #and thats a bona fide anna promise 😎 #canon divergence my beloved !! they need more time together to make each other worse and ruin their lives even harder #some bonuses for the dedicated readers who also read my tags: #the game playthrough corey and jeremy watch is for f/naf #corey defo had a f/naf stan friend at school who would explain all the lore as it happened. like early days f/naf #corey watched his friend go through the trenches of the 1 - 4 timeline #the 90s movie that corey watches is the tal/ented mr rip/ley #the chocolates are russell stover. i added the pink bow though because 🎀aesthetic🎀 #you know that gif of jude law in Wilde 1997 ?? yeah that one. #cunningallen