#he took his mom's surname

[franeridan]

doodling ace and suddenly having a lil mental breakdown over him, daily occurrences and all that

[eclipsecrowned]

you ever have that one recurring motif in your writing you didn't think was a personal trope until you really sit and think about it --

[sleeplessdreamer14]

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊

fandom: my hero academia

relationship: tenya iida x reader

summary: you left your jacket in iida’s room.

contains: mutual pining, unresolved romantic tension, fluff, opposites attract, thrifted clothes, like two lines of dialogue

a/n: @thecutestgrotto divider credit goes to

Study sessions hadn’t always been a thing between you and Iida, not until after moving into the dorms. You just lived too far apart to meet up every week like you did now, every Friday to be exact.

Iida had offered to tutor you earlier in the school year, but you always turned him down, wanting to at least try and figure things out on your own. But after you began to live in the same building, you finally accepted his offer and worked out a schedule for the two of you to meet up in the afternoon and go over any material either of you had trouble with.

Eventually, those study sessions began to evolve into hang outs with studying sprinkled in, switching between his room and yours every week. Despite you two having very different tastes in room decor, it look little time for you to grow comfortable in each other’s environments. You quickly learned his organization system and he gradually learned to just leave your clutter be… mostly.

This week’s study meeting was held in Iida’s dorm room, and when you had first walked through the door, you were sporting your iconic letterman jacket which you had gotten from a thrift shop not too long ago. It had become routine for you and your mom to stop by the thrift store when you would spend her days off work together.

Anyway, it wasn’t until about an hour after you had left to start turning in for the night that Iida realized you had left your jacket behind, in a small bundle on the floor near the foot of his bed. He was surprised that it took him this long to notice, considering he had actually watched you walk- or more rush out the door after you realized how late it had gotten. You had taken it off in the middle of studying since the fabric retained heat and you were getting a little warmer than you would have preferred, so he supposed that you must have been so eager to go shower and get to sleep at a somewhat decent hour that you simply forgot.

Iida’s initial idea to stop by your dorm room to give it back to you, but it was already pretty late and he knew that you tended to lock your door at night. Though he supposed he could simply text you, but you were probably already asleep, or at least drifting off, so he didn’t want to disturb you. It had been a long week and you needed the rest.

So he decided that he would simply return it to you tomorrow morning when he saw you again. And it definitely wasn’t because over the past few weeks, the more time that Tenya spent with you, the more it felt as though your study sessions ended too early and he just wanted to hold onto the piece of you for as long as he could. Of course not.

And that’s why he was lying on his back in the dark, holding the piece of clothing to his chest while staring up and the ceiling with nothing but the low hum of the air conditioner and muffled outside noises to fill the silence.

If he were being honest, Iida loved this jacket. Because despite it being previously owned, it was so uniquely yours. He could still remember the day you returned to the dorms with a skip in your step as you showed off your new duds, talking about how lucky you were to find it right at the front of the shop and have it fit you just right. Coincidentally, it even had the first letter of your surname on the front. There were a lot of things that Tenya had grown to appreciate thanks to you.

Like your piercings. While Tenya previously found them impractical and even a bit unprofessional, he eventually grew to like how they looked on you, especially after you had invited him to go with you to get your most recent one.

And the rings you wore every day, two on your left and one on your right. Honestly, he kind of just liked your hands. Iida had briefly held your hand a couple times before, to help you stand up or when one of you was leading the other somewhere. He wished he could do that more.

Turning over on his side, Iida closed his eyes and lightly tightened his hold on your jacket as his heart drummed in his ears.

No. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, don’t you dare do it.

But he did. Tenya brought the jacket closer to his face and inhaled slowly. Yep, there it was; your natural scent with hints of your shampoo around the back of the collar. It was nice, comforting. Sometimes when he went to bed after your study sessions, he could find faint traces of your smell on his pillow or covers of you had been resting there while working.

Tenya wished he could have more than this. More of you, and for longer. But if this was all he could have, then he could be content with that.

The following morning, Iida folded up your jacket before going to return it to you. While part of him felt a little disappointed at first about having to give it back to you, that feeling was overpowered by the smile on your face when he did. You slipped your jacket on and tucked your hands into the pockets, thanking Iida.

“Don’t worry, it’s no trouble at all.” he replied, hoping that the blush in his face wasn’t too obvious. It really did look perfect on you.

As you went your separate ways, you gently rubbed your arms and took a deep breath in, your face flushing a subtle pink as you picked up faint traces of Tenya’s scent. Looking back over your shoulder in his direction, you chuckled softly as you stared at him as he engaged in conversation with some of your other classmates, blissfully unaware of that fact that-

“You totally left it in his room on purpose, didn’t you?” Mina whispered as she approached you, a Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she quirked an eyebrow at you. You said nothing, only rolling your eyes and lightly shoving her by the shoulder, earning a giggle. You knew that she could see the answer in your face.

Maybe you did, but he didn’t need to know that.

[aestherin]

KEEP MY HEART

goal 36: can i call?

NOTE: classes start tomorrow 😔💔

Your eyes drifted away from the movie both of you were watching when you felt your boyfriend shift.

"Kuni?"

"Oh sorry." He looked back upon hearing your voice. You just noticed that he was about to get something from his black bag. "Did I bother you?"

You shook your head profusely. "No, not at all! I was just wondering what you were—" You focused your eyes on his hands that were hidden inside the bag. "— up to?"

Scaramouche did not spare a single moment. As he took something out, your ears were enveloped by the sound of plastic material ruffling against each other.

He handed you what seemed like a folded piece of dark blue clothing packed inside a plastic sleeve.

"Is this for me?"

"Idiot. Why else would I give it to you?"

"I just didn't want to assume, okay?!"

"Can I open it now?"

He gave a nod of approval.

More ruffling of plastic can be heard as you started to take the clothing out. It was dri-fit, made from microfiber polyester — the common material used to make jerseys for the athletes that you know. Even your brother has jerseys like these.

Wait, a jersey?

"Oh my god, Kuni!"

Satisfied with your reaction, Scaramouche smirked. "That's not just a merch, too. It's one of my own official jerseys."

"What the heck?!" You yelped. You held the jersey up and turned it around. It indeed displayed his surname and player number at the back. You gripped the clothing even more tightly. "Are you sure I can have this?"

"Of course. My mom said so too."

"Really?"

"Mhm, she really likes you."

"Woah."

"Not more than I like you, though," he grinned.

You coughed and smacked his arm lightly. "Shut up."

"Okay okay, calm down." He raised both his hands up. "Ah. Also, she gave me tickets for you."

Your brows furrowed. "Tickets?"

"The soccer finals for this season. We're against your school, remember?"

"Huh?! That's coming up so soon, what?! Hold on?!"

"Yeah, stupid." He flicked your forehead lightly before comfortably leaning against the backrest, both his arms supporting his head.

Not gonna lie, he looked so attractive sitting like that.

Wait, no.

The finals is that soon?

Oh, God.

You told your brother you'd introduce your boyfriend to him after the game!

How many weeks from now is that? Wait, is it even a week or just days —

"So..." Your boyfriend's voice pulled you out from your spacing out session. "Who are you cheering for?" He smirked.

"Uh... can't I do for both? Hehe."

Scaramouche quickly took a look at his lockscreen. The huge white text at the top currently displayed '21:54'. Your brother hasn't arrived home yet.

"Kuni, it's getting late. Aren't you going to head home?" You asked him as you busied yourself with playing with Vivi on the rug.

Yeah, it's getting late and your brother still isn't home. How is he supposed to leave when you're going to be left home alone?

"What time is your brother supposed to get home?" He asked you.

"Venti and Xiao are drinking out with my brother. And, given Venti's alcohol tolerance, they might end late," you chuckled.

He sighed in return.

You gasped.

"Hold on, are you still not heading home because you're worried about me?"

Your boyfriend huffed and looked away. "Who told you that?"

"My instincts," you smiled. "Don't worry, okay? I'll be fine. Both me and my brother are used to being alone all the time since we also sometimes sleep at our friends' houses."

"You should start heading home now while it's not that late yet. Your mother might also be worried now."

"Are you sure you'll be fine?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Okay. I'll text you when I get home."

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

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TAGLIST I (closed)

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[evielmostdefinitely]

a hazy shade of winter |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: wedding nuptials and coriolanus' upcoming inauguration, leads to press.

my first work lol <3 reader's surname is "duke" for the series. i picture the duke family being a rothschild similar type if that makes sense???

contains: possessive snow, nothing too graphic, he's manipulative and a little dark. established relationship. mentions of corio's mom. alludes to smut but none.

Coriolanus stared back at his own reflection, fastening the buttons to his shirt. A nicer fabric, Tigris still selected it but did not have to mend it together like before. No, now the Snow’s were back in power, still climbing that ladder of socialites and success- thanks to you. 

A small rapping on the door pulled his attention. “Just a moment.” Corio huffed, looking at the clock. Flickerman’s producer said nine sharp, he still had twenty minutes. 

The rapping didn’t stop, following again, heavier this time. Corio’s spine straightened, icy with fear. His mind raced with possibilities- a rebel outside the door, here to kill him; or perhaps it was the guards, they’d found the guns he threw in the river years ago and we're here for him too. 

Corio reached for his own weapon, slinking to the door, peeking under the crack. Two white heels. 

“Corio,” Your voice whispered, a hint of a giggle. “Let me in, Corio.” 

Coriolanus relaxed, setting the weapon down, tucked under his jacket. The door opened, you in your pristine white outfit, the sapphire fixture on your ring finger. “What are you doing?” Corio scanned the hall. “You’re supposed to be in your dressing room.” 

“Tigris finished with me.” You waved him off, slipping under his arm into his own dressing room. “She went to join my parents in the audience, and I wanted to see you.” You hum, eyes rolling down his frame. 

Corio scoffed lightly, shutting the door. “This is improper.” 

“I think they’ll forgive us, Corio.” You giggle. “We are married.” Your hand laid gently against his chest, smoothing out a crease on his collar, engagement ring sparkling even in the low light of the room. 

Corio’s hand found yours, admiring the ring himself. His mother’s ring turned yours, one of the few items he had left of hers- that they hadn’t lost or sold to stay afloat. He added the halo of diamonds. After all, he was marrying into the Duke family, he needed it to be flashy- to be worthy. 

“We’re not married yet, my love.” Corio muttered, thumb swiping over the ring. “Still two more sleeps.” 

“And a press conference,” You sighed, leaning into his soft touch. “And a press tour.” 

It had been your father’s idea. Coriolanus was to be President come the new term, and since marrying into Panem’s wealthiest, the press tour to each District seemed fitting. The communication was less and less now, Corio wanted to keep it that way, but have them still feel involved. Your father loved the idea. 

“Mmm, but a solo press tour.” Corio hummed, nose brushing against yours gently. “Just us for weeks, days on the train. By ourselves.” His voice rapeseed, tone dropping to that dark octave that left you squirming, tummy flipping with excitement. 

“We won’t really be alone.” You pouted, lip jutting in a petulant sort of sulk. It made Corio’s lip twitch. “There will be the peacekeepers and guards and Tigris and-” 

“-But we’ll have a whole carriage to ourselves. A private one. I’ve made sure of it.” Coriolanus nodded, the pad of his thumb brushing over your lip. “Just for us. A honeymoon before we come back.” 

You smiled softly, hands raking up the soft fabric of his shirt, careful not to bunch or wrinkle the fabric- you knew how much he hated that. Corio’s hands found your waist, pulling you into him, lips slotting over yours. He always took the lead, and you’d let him, his domineering personality never settling even in moments of intimacy. 

Two sharp knocks pulled the two of you away, Coriolanus pausing rigidly. “Come in,” You called, your hand moving respectfully to his arm, smoothing out your skirt. 

“Ah, the love birds.” Lucky Flickerman grinned. “See, Juno, I told you they’d be together, and it looks like they’re decent.” 

Corio’s face swelled with heat, mouth settling in a fine, thin line. Once he was sworn into oath, he’d have his tongue cut out for that vulgar comment. Your hand squeezed his bicep lightly, soothingly. 

“So, I wanted to give you the run down before we are live on the air to all of Panem.” Lucky grinned, you knew he was smug at his rising fame. “President Snow and the First Lady… Do you want me to address you as Snow or Duke?” 

“Snow.” Corio hissed before you could respond. His hand was firm on your waist, pulling you possessively into him. “She is a Snow, now.” 

Lucky blinked, awkwardly cutting his eyes to you. “Right. So President and First Lady Snow, we’ll talk about the wedding- the dress, the ring, the proposal, the details, the guest list. Really lean into that, ok? Get the viewers excited for the district press tour after.” 

You nodded, Lucky’s droning instructions a blur to you. Your eyes caught sight of your and Coriolanus in the mirror. How tall he stood next to you, proud and boasted- powerful. He always had his chin held high, looking down his nose at others. You were just glad he had lessened the way he’d glare down at you, traded it in for a softer side you weren’t sure you’d ever see. 

His hand stayed on the small of your back, respectfully, but holding that same ownership, leading you through the small studio. “You look beautiful.” Corio whispered, pushing a loose strand of hair back into place, tucking it behind your ear. 

You blushed under his praise, looking down at your white kitten heels. “Don’t do that.” Corio frowned, hand pressing into the middle of your spine. “Stand up, darling. Don’t hide from them. Let them know.” 

You followed him out, hand in hand, waving to the studio audience under blinding lights. Since the success of the Hunger Games, the donors- your family included- had poured in money to have the studio revamped. Something nice, more enticing. Your father and mother sat next to Tigris. Your fathers eyes were narrowed, watchful in nearly a predatory sense, a warning to the both of you. 

“Mr. and Mr. Snow,” Lucky grinned, a toothy smile that dazzled under the lights. “Or so it will be soon, yes? The wedding is…” 

“In two days.” Coriolanus nodded, shoulders squared, eyes sparkling, his hand rested on your knee. 

“Marvelous, just marvelous. And what a beautiful couple they are, aren’t they?” Lucky turned to the audience, nodding at their applause. 

You felt hot, skin boiling under the harsh lights, under your father and Corio’s even harsher stares. The pressure to not falter, not even for a moment, was making you dizzy. Do not stutter, sit up straight, smile. 

“And don’t forget, President Snow and his First Lady will be making their way to each of the Districts out there before the Inauguration and of course, before the fifteenth Hunger Games.” Lucky called exaggeratedly, clapping with his cards with the audience. “Don’t forget to join us for the reapings, it’s only a month away, folks. And as always, Panem today, Panem tomorrow, and Panem forever.” 

A pause and it was done. The lights went up, producers nodding, pulling out screens and wires. You looked to Coriolanus, but his attention was elsewhere. 

“That was amazing.” Tigris greeted you with a warm smile. “You did not have to mention me as your designer. I told you to say the company-” 

“-The company didn’t design my dress, you did.” You nodded, squeezing her arm affectionately. “And I’m not letting that bitter, miserable woman get the credit that you deserved, Tigris.” 

Tigris beamed, hugging you briefly, before your father made his slow approach, your mother on his arm. He took slow, calculated steps, looking nearly bored, unimpressed. It made Corio’s heart race- he wanted to mimic it, perfect it to have the same reaction. 

“My girl,” Your father gave a half smile, lips curling in nearly a snarl. “You did wonderful.” 

“Thank you,” You nodded politely. “I was afraid I spoke too much.” 

“Nonsense,” Your mother waved you off lightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You did marvelous.” Her eyes cut over to Coriolanus. “You as well, dear.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Duke.” Corio nodded, hands clasped behind his back respectfully. 

“Are you happy, boy?” Your father looked at Corio, eyes beady and sharpened. “Excited for the wedding? The inauguration?” It was no secret your father and his pull were behind the election, Corio knew that. 

“Of course,” Corio nodded, his hand finding yours gently, squeezing it. “I’m overjoyed, Mr. Duke. Moreso for the wedding, of course, but the inauguration as well. It will be hard to replace President Ravinstill but-” 

Your father lifted his hand. “Save it, boy. This isn’t a political rally, you’ve already won.” He scoffed, shaking his head. You didn’t miss the way Coriolauns stiffened, his grip tightening on your hand. “As long as you keep my daughter happy, then you have my support.”

“Thank you, sir.” Corio forced out a smile through clenched teeth. 

“The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow. At the Trinket Estate Gardens, dear.” Your mother nodded at you, like you’d forget. 

“I’ll see you then.” You hugged her briefly. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course, darling girl.” Your father hugged you, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “I wouldn’t miss it.” 

He shook Corio’s hand firmly, a shake and a head nod before they were both whisked off, chatting to his other friends who showed. Corio wished he would have introduced him to a few, helped him build a rapport that way. There would be time, he reminded himself. 

“Tigris,” You held Corio’s arm, craning around him towards his cousin on his other arm. “The white rose was a lovely touch.” You smiled, looking down at your corsage. 

“Oh, that was Coriolanus’ idea.” Tigris hummed, looking at the blonde next to her. “He wanted you to have that.” 

You beamed, looking up at your fiance. “You wanted me to have it?” 

“I thought it was a nice touch.” Corio hummed, glancing down at you. “Thought you would enjoy it.” 

“I do,” You mutter, lifting his hand to yours, lips brushing across his knuckles. Normally, he’d scold you for doing it in public. He was against any signs of PDA, a sign of weakness, he said. But he allowed it, even blushing from underneath his stiff collar. 

“Save the I do’s for tomorrow.” Tigris grinned playfully at you. “What are you doing on your last night as a Duke? Going to District Two?” 

Coriolanus glared at her, jaw set firmly. You shook your head lightly. “Packing.” You sighed. “We leave from the reception straight to the train.” 

“Oh, I can help you-” 

“-That’s alright.” You shake your head politely. “It’s just a few things. Sleepwear, toiletries- minimal things. But thank you.” 

Tigris nodded back, pulling from Coriolanus gently. “I’ll wait for you in the car?” 

“Go ahead without us.” Corio nodded. “We have to speak to a few sponsors after.” 

Tigris nodded, waving goodbye to the both of you politely. You stepped into Corio’s dressing room, smoothing out your skirt. “We have to speak to sponsors?” You hummed, reaching for your zipper. “I thought you already did that?” 

“I did.” Corio’s tone was chilling, clicking the lock to the door behind you. You stilled, eyes catching his gaze through the mirror. 

Coriolanus stepped towards you, slow, calculated, with heavy footsteps. He grinned, satisfied, at how you shivered. His hands moved yours, unzipping your dress slowly. You stayed still, watching him for any sign of what was to come. You knew he’d never hurt you, purposefully, never risk what would happen if he laid a hand on you. Still, Corio was unpredictable- you hated the way it excited you. 

“I just wanted a moment alone with my wife.” Corio’s breath was hot on the shell of your ear, shuddering under his touch when he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, exposing you. Bruising love bites on your chest from the night before. You wondered if his back still bore your long scratches from where you’d clawed and raked at his skin. 

“‘M not your wife yet, Corio.” You met his gaze, rounded eyes that had his cock twitching. “Still another two sleeps.” You repeated his words from earlier, the tiniest grin on your lips. 

“How do you want to spend your last night as a Duke, my love?” Corio’s lips ghosted over the skin of your cheek, hands gripping your waist. 

“With you.” You whispered, leaning back against him. “I want to spend it with you, Coriolanus.” 

Corio grinned, salacious and satisfied, fingers splaying over your jaw, holding you while he kissed you, slowly, passionately. Your pristine dress was on the floor, his hands in your hair, legs tangled around his waist while he melted you with every hot kiss.

[timdrakesbussy]

Some of my™ Stardew Valley HCs

TW: mention of miscarriages

Emily listens to all kinds of music but despite not looking like it, she mainly listens to heavy metal. It's one of the thing that brought her and Shane's early friendship together. And because of that, Haley shares a bit of fondness to the genre that she enjoys Sam's band (but don't tell him. this will mess with her rep).

Sam is pretty educated when it comes to literature, and English was always his favorite subject when he was in school. He's the main songwriter of his band and while Sebastian could also write, Sam manages to be witty and clever with his lyrics. Other than storytelling through song, he loves his double and triple entendres. Suffice to say, he could get along pretty well with Elliott and it's one of the reason why Penny loves hanging out with him.

Ever since she was a child, Maru thinks that Sebastian is really cool and she wants to be like him one way or another. Of course, she still wants to be herself but Sebastian is just so damn cool. During her time at school, she made herself learn how to ride a motorcycle using a friend's bike because she knew Sebastian would never lend her his.

Elliott was from an esteemed family from a foreign land (just Stardew's equivalent of Europe tbh) and was a licensed lawyer until he stopped to be a writer. Needless to say, his family are not happy by this sudden decision. Not that he needs their opinion on the matter, he was pushing thirty when he made this decision.

Harvey was an ER doctor in Zuzu City until the incident™. He knew that with his line of job, he can't save everyone. However, he can't help but feel guilty and terrible afterwards. Which is why he has routine check-ups for the villagers, and if they can't visit him, then he will visit them. You cannot escape him because he will find you (affectionate).

Both Haley and Alex believed that at one point, they actually liked each other romantically. But when they had their first kiss together, they realized that they weren't meant to be. They have this deep platonic connection that even Emily doesn't really understand, but she's happy that her baby sister have someone she can rely on and trust for all her life.

Robin takes pride in her name even if her parents weren't supportive over her work at first. She have Sebastian share her last name, and when she married Demetrius, she hyphenated their surnames instead of just taking his.

Demetrius and Sebastian were close when he was a child. Sebastian was an overly curious and precocious boy and Demetrius was happy that he could share something with his stepson, their interest in biology. Although Sebastian was squeamish and even almost cried when he dissected a frog, he managed to calm him down. And even after their mutual parting as Sebastian grew older, he's the only one who knows what Demetrius' favorite animal is: moonlight jellies.

Jodi and Kent were teenagers when they had Sam. Jodi came from a highly conservative and religious family so they forced them to marry after Jodi gave them the news that she was pregnant. As they were teens, Kent took any odd jobs he could get in the city, from a corner-store clerk to a garbage man. Until he got offered into joining the military.

Pam was a trucker before she became a bus driver. In fact, she met Penny's dad in the business. But in her childhood, she was in multiple beauty pageants and even into her adulthood, she knows how to hairdo. She helped Penny with her hair since she was a child and hope that she could still do Penny's hair in her future wedding, whenever that is.

Alex's mom had multiple miscarriages before she have him, and that was into her ten years of marriage. She was beyond ecstatic with his birth that she immediately called her aging parents who also shared her happiness, they then invited her to the Valley a few days after Alex was born so they could celebrate in the Mullners' house. Lewis heard about the news and asked if they wanted to celebrate in the Saloon in which Evelyn denied because Clara wanted a small celebration with just her family.

Abigail is the only marriageable candidate to be born in the Valley. Sebastian moved in not long after Maru was born so he was close to her as he was the only child her age at that time. Penny moved in when she was seven with her parents until her dad left when she was ten. Haley moved in when she was ten years old while Sam moved in a year after. Alex often visited his grandparents but he officially moved in after Clara's death in his pre-teens. The rest moved in as adults.

Similarly to Alex, Shane only ever visited and stayed for a while in the Valley until he needed to take care of Jas. He wasn't close with his parents and they never tried to be anyways, Marnie is always the mother figure he has. So other than Marnie and Jas, the only people he considered as his family was Jas' parents. Her father, whom he met and befriended in college (as he was his roommate, before they mutually dropped out) and her mother whom he wasn't very close to at first until they both find comradery in bullying (affectionate) Jas' father.

[lowkeyrobin]

Trevor Spengler meeting a ghost his age that is stuck as a ghost because they doesn’t remember their surname or how they died or where they used to live? Like all the ‘important info’ from their memories is gone? Headcanons or one shot? Maybe he was called to “evict” them from a residence and took them home to try to help them?

oh em gee YESSS YESYESYES I love the gbfandom cause yall r so creative ; also this sounds very familiar to frozen empire LMAO ; dw melody kinda slayed ; phoebe is definitely gay idc ; reader knows how they died but not much else, but dw it's for the plot. it's alright let me go by summerdrive is literally the final part of this lol ; also this is super long compared to my other works. I think its good though lol

TREVOR SPENGLER ; lost soul

summary ; youre a lost ghost with no way around the new way of life you'd found yourself in, and trevor is intrigued by you, and decides to try and help you out

warnings ; language, talk about car crashes/death due to car accidents

disclaimers ; set post-frozen empire, me not knowing wtf mannhattan looks like. there's a hilly kind of area near lincoln park bc I said so

word count ; 2.4k

masterlist

The day progressed as usual for Trevor. Wake up, eat, chill out, wait for someone to call, go bust ghosts, come home, eat, sleep and then repeat it all again. Currently, stage five was in progress.

He sits behind Gary in the driver's seat, Phoebe at his side, and his mom in clear view in the front passenger seat. There was no speeding or heavy fight scene, just a calm drive out to a house just outside the main city.

Someone had called in a ghost, I mean, more like a haunting in Trevor's eyes. Nothing was being destroyed, but a very, very apparent ghost had spent the past week sobbing in the attic and banging on the walls.

As he lays eyes on them, he's mesmerized. Their aura is a light blue, contrasting the dark green, brown, and black hues surrounding the attic. They were like a match in the dark. He was attracted to them like a moth to a flame.

He stands on one side of the attic entrance, them on the other. He had to basically turn around to see them on the opposite side of the attic.

He awkwardly and shyly waves, seeing them look back at him, their face contorted to one of discomfort and shock. Tears drip down their cheeks and down onto their neck, scratches and bruises covering their opaque arms, legs and face. A light flickering movement trails down their arms and onto their shoulders and neck, resembling fire.

"Who are you?" They ask, a harsh tone in their voice. Their hands are balled into fists, hanging at their sides.

"Uh, my name's Trevor" He says, showing his empty hands for you, to get some sense that he wasn't here to hurt you. "I'm a Ghostbuster, we got a call that you've been banging walls and stuff..."

They look at him up and down, still thinking this Trevor guy wasn't very trustworthy.

"I just wanna help, okay? What does it take to get you somewhere safer and away from this house?" He asks.

They shrug, unable to hold eye contact. "I don't know why I'm here. I don't know how I'm supposed to move on, I just wanna see my dad again"

Trevor's face quickly morphs into one of solem, feeling the same way as you right now. "I can try and help you move on" He suggests, "Do you know how you... died?"

"Car accident" You answer.

His eyes slightly widened for a moment before answering. "Would you like to come with me? So we can help you move on? We have a lab not to far away, we can try and help you find your way to continue on"

Phoebe, who'd been listening in from downstairs, having been holding the ladder before, speaks up. "We can help you break the fabric and space in time!"

They slightly jump back a bit, not having known that Trevor had guests.

"That's my sister!" He quickly explains, shooting a glare down the ladder towards her. "It's okay, we aren't here to hurt you."

They step forward a bit, the two separated by the hole in the attic floor. They peek down at Phoebe, who gives them a little wave and smile. They look back up at Trevor, who gives them a reassuring yet unsure look, silently urging them to come with him.

"Fine. But not to be experimented on. I just want to see my dad again, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's okay!"

👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Forty-four days that the lonely ghost had been staying at a lab where the somberly walked around, trying to remember anything other than their death. What were they meant to do?

They and Trevor had grown close, though.

He'd been working with them one-on-one nearly everyday, trying to figure out who they were, when they died, where they died. They'd grown accustomed to this talk, having it not make them grow sad or angry anymore. They became numb to it, they just wanted to move on.

Trevor made their time here worth it though. He understood them more than anyone else. They wouldn't even work with Lars or Lucky if he wasn't around. Lars would scold them and reinform that if they didn't cooperate that it would only take longer, but they didn't mind at this point. They'd like to stay and hang out with Trevor some more.

The same ripped jeans and sweatshirt they wore when they passed never grew any more deteriorated than it already was, strings and rips never mending themselves. They were still comfortable though, physically and mentally. That last day they spent with their father, they didn't know much about it, but their insides grew warm when they thought about or tried to remember it.

Hours and hours of work was rewarded with Trevor taking them out on a walk through the city and showing them the sights. They enjoyed it quite a lot, and didn't mind any stares or looks, just enjoying the time they were able to spend with the boy.

On one of these walks, Trevor brought up some good news. "I think we found your case, Y/n"

They look over at him, an eyebrow raised.

"We found the newspaper caption of the day after you died, it all matches up." He explains, pulling out his phone to show you a picture. "Car flips over gaurd rail near Lincoln Park, one dead, one in critical condition"

They nod, looking back up at Trevor. "I'm guessing I'm the one who died?"

He nods. "In the article it says your name, and your dad's" He hands the phone over to them, pointing the location as they zoom in.

"Y/n L/n" They whisper. "L/n"

He slows down the pace, seeing the look of pain in their eyes.

"What about my dad? Did he die too?"

He nervously shrugs, not having a definitive answer. They nod, handing the phone back.

"That's a great lead though, we can find out where he is. And maybe that can help us get you into the next realm, or whatever it is" Trevor speaks with reassurance. "I will get you there, I swear that on my life, okay?"

The two stand in front of each other on the empty sidewalk, surrounded by trees and cars passing by. He looks up at them, truth behind his dark eyes.

They chew at the inside of their cheek with a nod, wishing they could just hug him right now.

"Can we go visit where...." They speak softly, trying to ask a bit of a heavy question. That question should've been heavy for them, not him of all people.

He nods with a little smile, planning to go after they went out to eat, or, he did. Ghosts of their kind thankfully didn't need food, just being floating spirits trying to find their escape.

👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The dusk had turned to night, the sun having set not long ago, the streets lit up by lights and the moon. The walk towards the crash site was silent while Y/n looked over the newspaper pictures a few times.

2021. That wasn't that long ago, yet it seemed like an eternity.

They approach the dented gaurd rail, right where the car must've flipped. Trevor hangs back, putting his phone back in his pocket after they gave it back. They look down the hill, seeing scraps of metal and tire rubber still laying at the bottom.

Their heart sank as they saw it.

Pieces of the scrap were clearly melted or burned, same with a few trees around the area, the bark charred black from whatever fire must've occurred. That had to have explained the fire on their arms, though they never remembered a fire. They must've died on impact.

Trev stands a few feet away, keeping quiet as he sees them just stare into nothing. Maybe they were recollecting memories or maybe their death or anything else in their life was coming back to them. He didn't want to disturb.

They look at the gaurd rail, sunken down to the ground. Some blood splatters still painted the backside, a little pool of blood staining the concrete.

They, with a smooth pace, walk back to Trevor, holding back tears.

"I want to find my dad. I want to know if he lived or not" They speak, pointing down at the blood. "Please, Trevor. I can't wait around any longer."

He nods. He nearly opens his arms for a hug but stops himself, remembering that he couldn't make physical contact with him.

"I'll come down to the lab tomorrow morning and we'll get to work, okay?"

"Okay"

👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The sounds of clicks and keyboard taps echo through the lab. Trevor sits in front of the computer, typing all sorts of variations of their father's name and the city, date, etc into the Google search bar. Y/n stands behind him, watching with caution.

Thank God for True People Search.

F/n L/n, Age 55 - Lives in Manhattan, NY (917)-123-4567.

"Holy shit" The two whisper in unison. They both lightly smile, quickly getting back to the mission at hand.

Trevor clicks on the website, instantly greeted by a picture of Y/n's father. Underneath was his full name, age, date of birth, phone number, and city and state of current residence. Below was more info, like his current address, past and current phone numbers, email addresses, possible relatives, etcetera.

The second person below the possible relatives was a familiar name and age. Y/n L/n, age 17.

"Holy shit, that's you" Trevor states, moving the mouse towards the name. "He's- He's not dead"

They're silent now, staring down at the computer screen.

"What the fuck? I spent all these years thinking he was dead!" They say, slowly backing away from the computer and Trevor, hands on their head as they try and not freak out. "What the hell?"

Trevor quickly stands up, proposing an idea. "What if we call him, and get him to come here and see you?"

They're quiet for a moment.

"I'm scared"

"I'll be right here"

Silence.

"I think this is what will make you be able to move on, Y/n"

They're quiet again, then they nod slowly, taking a little deep breath.

👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★👻🕸️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Y/n sits in the chair Trevor was sitting in before, leg bouncing like crazy due to nerves. The curly haired boy, who thankfully grew out his hair some, was speaking words of reassurance to them. It was already four in the afternoon, the days passing on and blending into each other for poor Y/n.

They couldn't even remember how many days ago it was that The Possessor scared the shit out of them with a chair.

Finally, there's a knock on the door, which Trevoe quickly walks over to answer. They felt like they were going to vomit, if they even could.

"Y/n?"

They quickly look up, hearing the familiar voice calling their name. They'd never felt or heard something so familiar that it instantly warmed up their heart.

Their father stands in the doorway, Trevor in front of him as he walks toward them.

The man walks with a limp, carrying his 200 pound body down the hallway. A bushy beard covered the bottom half of his face, grey hairs peaking out between it. He wore a baseball cap, hiding whatever grey hairs he had up there as well.

Y/n quickly stands up, laying eyes on their father after all this time. They felt their whole core begin to burn as they saw him again.

"Dad?"

He smiles, opening his arms. "Y/n"

They quickly run to him, then almost through him, forgetting they were a ghost. They wrap their arms around him, knowing the couldn't make physical contact. He does the same, arms stiffly heald around each other.

"I missed you so much" They cry, looking up at him. "I thought you died"

The two pull their arms away from each other. Trevor watches a few feet away with a smile.

The older man smiles somberly, "I almost did, Y/n/n"

"Are you okay?" They quickly ask, looking at him up and down.

He sighs and shrugs, "I don't think there's been a day where I've been okay without you"

The burning only became worse, nearly hurting them. They didn't know if it was good or bad but you wanted to enjoy this.

"I love you, Dad"

"I love you too. I'm sorry I failed you" He speaks, tears falling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry for everything"

"It's okay" They lightly smile with a chuckle, the action performed by their surprise, shock and happiness of the situation. "I'm okay. Trevor has been helping me try to find you"

He looks back at Trevor who gives him a warm smile and nod, then back to them. They were beginning the process to fade away. Tiny, microscopic pieces of them began drifting away like leaves against the wind. They look down at themselves, feeling the fading and numbing sensation.

Their father nods, seeing the look of 'I need to speak to Trevor' and 'I love you' mixed in their eyes.

They quickly walk over to Trevor, wrapping their arms around him, still stiffly holding them over his shoulders.

"Thank you, so much. I can't thank you enough, Trev"

He smiles, wrapping his arms around them. "Thank you for trusting me, Y/n/n"

They can feel their body trembling, feeling themselves fade into nothing. They hear and feel Trevor crying a bit, trying to hide it.

"Hey, it's alright, I'll be okay" They chuckle, seeing the boy wipe his tears away as they're no longer halfway-hugging.

"I know" He nods, "Have fun moving on"

They lightly smile, and look back at their father. They hold onto whatever memories they had with both him and Trevor, waving goodbye to both of them as they fade into the oxygen around them.

Y/n's father wipes his tears, looking at Trevor now that they're completely gone, for good this time.

"Thank you for bringing me back to my child. Even if it was only for a moment. I can't find the words to express how much I thank you for that"

Trevor nods, "It's okay. Thank you for bringing such a kind soul into the world, Mr. L/n"

"You can call me F/n, son"

[intothedysphoria]

Billy’s therapist probably didn’t mean to be patronising but he very much came off that way. Something about being in a wheelchair now made people think he was simple.

It was CIA appointed or whoever the assholes who’d dragged him into hospital were. The therapist felt like he should have been a part of the Men In Black and Billy half expected that he was going to get his memory erased.

Instead, after Billy signed several NDA’s about the time he was possessed by a fucked up alien thing, he was told to draw. So he drew. He drew his mom bathed in the California sun, Max trailing a muddy skateboard around the house. Heather when she was still alive. Neil covered in bulbous sores, just because. He didn’t draw Steve, even if he wanted to. He wasn’t going to get his boyfriend into more shit than he already was.

The man pursed his lips then asked Billy if he knew why he was there. A sardonic answer almost danced on his tongue until he remembered these guys probably had Max. He shook his head no instead.

“We’re moving you out of Hawkins Billy” came the crisp response. For Billy’s own safety, of course. No cover up here.

They were not moving him back to California, even after Billy threatened to stab a guard. California would be too obvious of a move.

They were dumping him in yet another shithole but this one was in Texas. To live with his maternal grandfather, who Billy hadn’t met since he was three years old.

He didn’t get to say goodbye to anyone. All he had were Max and Steve’s house numbers balled up in his fist as he boarded the plane.

His vague memories of “grandpa Patrick” were of a gruff, surprisingly fit old man who scared the shit out of Neil. Memory did not disappoint.

Patrick had served 32 years in the Air Force before working as low level management on an oil rig and retiring soon after. He was a piece of work when it came to bending house rules but it came from a place of genuine caution not the desire of instilling fear.

Since the past months had destroyed any hope of going to college, Patrick signed him up for wheelchair basketball. Under the surname O’Connor, not Hargrove.

Phone usage was limited from 5pm until 6pm every day, because Patrick was perhaps overly concerned about bills and was also convinced that all phones were bugged. Billy tried to call Max and Steve every day. And every day either Susan or Mrs Harrington picked up. It was driving Billy up the fucking wall. What was the point of having a boyfriend or sister if you weren’t allowed to call them?

Billy’s aunt Marie had noticed that he was becoming steadily more despondent by the day, so she gently suggested writing a letter. As long as he didn’t use his old name and wrote with his left hand he should be fine.

Max’s letter took about 10 minutes. They knew each other so well all Billy really needed to establish was that she was safe, she was coping and she wasn’t getting too much shit at school. Billy already knew how she’d be feeling in this situation.

Steve’s letter took much longer. Trying to judge how your boyfriend of a little under a year would react to you suddenly reappearing in his life was a little more complicated. Especially when you had to drop in hints as to who you actually were.

Billy struggled through emphasising that he loved Steve, leaving him had been hell and he’d met several actual cowboys since the move. After that he really just had to wait.

Steve sent him back a letter with tiny butterflies drawn on the front. He was always doodling and on their first date Billy had been told his eyes reminded Steve of butterflies. It was a difference from all his past dates who’d told him they looked like the sea.

It was a long letter for Steve. He was dyslexic and despised writing, would constantly need to be bribed with affection to finish a book report but Steve sent practically a novel. He was bored and lonely in Hawkins, had a job in a video rental space and was working his way up to going to college. There were several paragraphs asking about the rules of wheelchair basketball followed by several more asking if he’d bought a cowboy hat.

He loved Billy more than he could explain and hoped he could come back soon.

Billy felt asleep with the letter tucked into his pocket and resolved to find Steve again.

One day.

For @shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 and also @oopsiedaisiesbaby for giving me the idea of Texan Billy

[thedensworld]

Naming Is Fun | K.Mg

Pairing: husband!Mingyu x reader

Genre: fluff

Words count: 450

Summary: Mingyu knows that you are his laugh button, but he can't believe your suggestion over the baby name.

"How about 'Bapi'?"

"Kimbap."

Mingyu let out an exasperated groan, clearly accustomed to your antics. He'd heard countless suggestions, and you couldn't help but chuckle at his exaggerated reactions. It had already been almost a thousand suggestions, a number he playfully exaggerated. But he had indeed heard them all: Kimchi, Kimchijim, Kimchiguk, Kimchi Bokkeum, Kimtteok, Kimmari, Gimhae-si, and everything else that started with Kim.

It all began when Mingyu, in a rare bout of confidence, claimed that his surname could make any name sound beautiful. As his loving wife, you couldn't resist the temptation to playfully challenge his assertion.

"For a person with a word like 'seaweed' as their surname, you're certainly very confident," you quipped.

"What does it feel like to have 'seaweed' as your surname?" you asked, trying to stifle your laughter. This question led you to start listing possible names for your future child.

"How about 'Chijeon'? 'Kimchijeon'..."

"Or 'Kimguk'... We'll make them seaweed soup every day, because every day would be their birthday." Your excitement about giving the baby a name with the most random words you could think of brought a smile to Mingyu's face, even though he playfully claimed to dislike them.

"Imagine naming them Bap, 'Bap! Kimbap, come here.' They won't live their life in peace." Mingyu chuckled as he played out a scenario in his head of his future children trying hard to navigate life with a name given by their mom.

"But 'Bapi' is a cute nickname. We haven't had a nickname for them." Your hand went to your growing tummy, feeling several kicks from inside your belly, assuming it was their response to the nickname you'd given them.

Mingyu let out a soft chuckle when he saw a line of little feet on your stomach. "You like your nickname, Bapi?" Mingyu asked. His hand reached your belly before he planted a few kisses on it.

After kissing your belly, Mingyu cupped your cheeks and planted a kiss on your lips. "Stop throwing out silly names! We'll have a serious discussion later about it," he stated and planted another kiss on your forehead before enveloping your body with his arms.

"What's important now is your health. As long as you're healthy, the baby will be healthy."

"Happy mother, happy baby. I'm happy naming them 'Po'," you said, suddenly mentioning 'Po' as Gimpo, a city where the international airport was hosted.

Mingyu couldn't help but chuckle. "Gimpo... I can't believe you would think about Gimpo," he said, pinching your cheek.

When you were about to mention another name, Mingyu immediately planted a kiss on your lips, stopping any names from escaping your mouth.

*

"Kimbap?! You're kidding, hyung. You want to make another Boo Seungkwan?" Chan stifled his laugh as soon as he gained a scowl from none other than the Boo Seungkwan himself when he heard his name mentioned.

Mingyu chuckled while he painted the wall blue, "nah, just a nickname. I already have a name in mind, but I want it to be a surprise. My wife is too lazy to discuss a name with me," he explained to the two younger boys who were currently helping him with the nursery.

"Just don't name him Bap," Seungkwan muttered while painting the other side of the wall with white paint.

"Bap is cute." Your voice was heard as you entered the room with drinks and snacks on a plate. Mingyu smiled, releasing his hands from the gloves as he approached you and took the drinks and snacks.

"Bap likes his nickname," Mingyu said to Seungkwan, handing him the snacks. Seungkwan rolled his eyes, "he was indoctrinated even before he was born," he sighed, gaining a laugh from Chan.

"Why not Mari?" Chan asked you and Mingyu. You raised your palm to give him a high five while Mingyu sighed.

"Right? But it was for a girl though... Since he'll be a boy, Bap it is," you said, your hand going to your belly and rubbing it with love.

Seungkwan laughed, "Kim Mari..." He stifled his laughter when he realized what Chan had initiated earlier.

Mingyu playfully hit Seungkwan's arm with his gloves, "shut up," he said. "You have a worse surname."

[hastyprovocateur]

Coaches Don't Play

(Coach! Abby x Soccer mom! Reader)

Summary- reader is a single mom determined to keep her act right for the sake of her son, but when his new, crushingly gorgeous coach enters the frame, she might have to ask herself some hard questions.

Word count- 12k

Cw- fluff, sexual content (ripping clothes, tribbing), mature themes (guilt, separation, divorce, single-parent struggles, mentions of domestic violence, sexual harassment, puritanism, homophobia, all-boys Christian school)

Reader desc- reader is a mom and has a name+surname, named son/ is not heavy on physical description)

Pickup at Noon

“The person you're calling is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone." Still radio silence on the coach’s end. You clicked your phone shut, tossing it into your lap as you white-knuckled the steering wheel. The light took an eternity to turn green. The school office line was already busy. A school zone sign stuck out like an accusatory finger as you drove out finally. The minimal outline of the mother and child, hand-in-hand, appeared to mock you; what with your relationship with your only son on the rocks.

How did I forget… how did I forget… you chanted under your breath as a by-passer yelled at you for cutting him before. It was elevator music at this point. Whether it’ll compound with the verbal lashing at the office from Bill, your boss, making after-school pickup an n circle of hell, you’d find out at night. When the day crushed your temples; threatened to split your skull open like a clam. It was all this, going on grave-ward.

You pulled into the school parking in your messy Civic. The passenger seat sat piled with manilas, cigarette boxes, and empty coffee to-go’s. A wrapped sub sandwich remained half-eaten from a couple mornings back. Running breakfast situation. You shoved whatever you could in the glove box, throwing the rest in the back before grabbing your handbag. Your panty hose shifted as you got out the car. Itchy seam on soft skin.

Throwing a frustrated glance around the parking lot, you adjusted yourself, lint-picking your pencil skirt for insurance. Tilting the cracked side-view mirror up, you wiped the lipstick overlining the bow of your lip, scraped the smudge of mascara below an eye, smoothed a loose lock down the side of your face.

Zion City had a spare handful of private elementary schools offering football, your son’s sport of choice. His father’s, more like. Things used to be different. There was a 5-year plan. House with a picket fence. In sickness and health. Us and ours. A silver lining.

Now you looked at pieces of it on the floor, asking if there was anything at all. Yes, he was protective… he loved you. He wanted all of you. And he did until there was very little of you left. It started with slamming doors, screaming at night. A slap. It can’t be true. You’d pray like a stuck record, beg to wake up with your eyes open. But you didn’t until one morning as you faced a mirror. Gash in cheek. Staring down blood in the sink.

The preppy, Saints-associated, all-boys private school was very much for European wonder. Pointed arches, ribbed vault ceilings, and glass stained windows supplying the hefty tuition fee. Fielding the entire cost of your son’s education tempted you every day to transfer him. You wanted to pick up the shambles, cut losses, and move across state. But your heart couldn’t bear to crush him with more changes than you’d already dealt him.

He needed his friends, the old house, neighbors they’d grown with. The skewed swing you put together one day in the spring. Besides… the school fields were immaculate in all their green splendor. You had to admit as you ran across the side of the building, down to the back. Heels clicking on concrete, you arrived a perfect mess at the stairs leading into the third block. “I’m so sorry I got late… I had this work… thing” words go amiss from your tongue as you see your son sitting with a blonde stranger, watching her flip a quarter.

He laughed, the dimples sinking into his chubby cheeks after Lord knew how long. She had him enthralled, her tall frame lay sprawled back on the stairs, elbows propping her up as she smoothly danced the coin over her fingers, hiding it in her palm. Her conversation came easy, long ponytail punctuating her animated facial expressions. You shifted on your heels, legs squirming ever so slightly.

“Dylan, honey…” you called out, hand outstretched, waving to get his attention. She noticed you first, beaming brightly at you in the late noon sun, straightening up with respectful poise. Pocketing the quarter. You noticed her broad shoulders, filling out her inky jacket all too well. “Think your mom’s here, bud” she slapped her thighs veiled in sweatpants, yellow whistle jostling in the middle of her chest. His face fell at the mention of you, betraying your already broken heart, but you concealed it.

“Hey, churro pop!” You tried to greet him, but he acted like you hadn't, numbly getting to his feet, putting his backpack on. All traces of joy from seconds ago were now dissolved. The young woman gauged the switch in energy, eyes flitting between mother and son. “I’m Anderson… the new Coach” she interjected, cordially extending a hand. It dwarfed yours, calloused fingers shrouding your hand before giving it a firm shake.

It made your dainty gold wristwatch tinkle from the motion. You stared up at her blue eyes, the spattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, high cheekbones. Youth spelled evident on her plump, pink lips. You felt a hitch in your throat as you ran a conscious hand up your blouse, closing the topmost button you’d carelessly left open all day. Your brain wracked.

“Oh” it clicked “That’s why Coach Carlson wasn’t... picking up… I tried to get through” You ran out of breath immediately. Strain hid below your tongue, sat like weight on your chest. Deflating you. You lowered your eyes, letting your exhaustion have its moment. “Yeah, it’s been a couple weeks” the young coach informed you, idly punching her open palm with the other fist “He moved to St George. To his daughter's”

Dylan bristled before you even spoke. “Baby, you never told me” You brought it up gently, except it landed like an axe. Maybe he did? You thought as his eyes deadened; face overcast with a shadow. He shook his head, storming towards the car, leaving you stranded with the new coach. You watched his little figure turn the corner and remember the skip in his step when he first started school. Head bobbing and his backpack swinging behind him.

The accusatory fingers returned. They weren’t in your face, but they filled your skull, fighting out your chest.

“He’s… mad at me” you muttered

“He’s just 9”

You gravely turned to the young woman “I missed his game.” “No, you didn’t” she shook her head, assuring sincerely “It was just practice round. Interschool got postponed by 2 weeks.” That simmered a quickly flooding guilt inside you, defusing something about to blow up. You exhaled in relief, spluttering as you wrung your hands “I promise I-I never miss his big matches. Rarely weekend practice. I do reach school on time. Just when, sometimes I rush in from work. I always leave a message for Carlson, then call Dylan from the office to make sure he’s-”

“Hey” Anderson’s eyes softened as she touched your arm, dragging the back of her knuckles down to your elbow “It’s okay” she assured you. Your shoulders dropped at the physical contact, melting the pent-up tension stiffening them like resin. You glanced at her hand and back up at her, brows scrunching above your doe eyes. A sudden proximity, forlorn depths in your gaze. Anderson dropped her hand upon realising, pocketing it as you rubbed your arms consciously. “I don’t mind staying back for a bit… Mrs Hendricks” her voice trickled slow. Deep.

“Angela” you managed a small smile, adjusting the handle on your purse as you shift your weight on one heel, part of your conscious focused on your son. “I’m…” “Divorced?” the new coach affirmed, seemingly aware of the family dynamics. “Separated. In the process of… divorce” you gave a brusque nod, pause weighing the air. With pretenses aside, you brought up your biggest concern “Is he okay?”. The coach drew a long breath, calm despite the choppy domestic matter she faced “Dylan’s our star goalie. A straight A student” she shrugged, smiling to comfort “He’s just struggling the way any child would.” “It’s… not just that” your whisper carried dead weight, grief.

“Mrs-” Anderson raised a finger to her lips to correct herself “Angela, I might be too young to understand marriage and children but I do see that you’re a great mom. I’m sure you’re trying your best.” You pursed your lip, lest you burst out into tears. Her voice touched a part too deep and wounded. You managed a grateful nod, pressing the back of your hand to your throat to push the lump down “I should… get back” you turned to leave, ankles struggling to hold up in your heels.

“Hey” she called after you, jogging to catch up and placing an innocuous hand on your back, causing a shift so mild, you barely felt it. “Why don’t you save my number?” she suggested, a touch of pink in her cheeks “I can keep you posted about important dates. For pickup or if you’d like to talk about Dylan.” “Oh” you blinked nervously, fumbling for your phone “sure’ you handed it out, flipping it open for her.

Anderson pored over the screen with focus as she fed her number in, handing it back “Put that in as Abigail. No! Just Abby.” “Abby” you echoed as you save the contact, hanging back ever so slightly to let your arm touch graze against hers. It felt like you were milking the moment, having felt nothing all this while only to come to feel something so strong. “Also” the coach bowed her head close, passing on a secret “I could be wrong but I think I accidentally unhooked your bra just now.” You swiftly averted your eyes, feeling up your back and realizing that the ends had indeed, come apart, leaving your breasts unsupported.

“Fuck” you cursed softly. Though Abby bit her lip apologetically, she barely masked the satisfaction. “I’ll… fix it later” you felt blood rush to your face, beating a hasty retreat. “Take care, Angie!” Abby called after you. A hand in pocket, other throwing the whistle around her neck triumphantly.

Later that evening

You double-checked the latch on your bedroom door, standing before your vanity mirror in your lace gown. It had been ages since it meant anything at all. To adorn yourself in the sheer silk and be slowly unraveled. It had been ages since you’d been touched tenderly, explored, and laid open like pages of a book, fingers running along every line. All that remained was a wretched mass left behind from a loveless marriage. You gulped as you pushed the strap down to expose your breasts.

They’d lost their former perkiness, sitting heavy and low. Milky blue veins and pale stretch marks ran around them like cracks of thunder. You cupped them gently, trying to remember what it felt like with your eyes closed. In sudden colorful musing, you imagined them being replaced by the young coach’s rough, warm hands. Running up your ribs and cupping you. The size of them perfect for her large palms. Tracing them gently as your nipples edged into her touch.

The stairs creaked as Dylan headed down to the kitchen, and you snapped out of it. You pressed the heel of your hand to your reddened face, and the mirror reflected your shame as you threw a robe over the gown, securing the cord tight.

Dinner across the four-seater was gravely somber. You served yourself a scarce portion of the pasta salad after doling heaps for Dylan, watching him spoon some into his mouth before moving to have some yourself. “Good?” you asked softly as he dug in with more spoonfuls, and he shrugged “It’s how it always is.” You fought the immediate woe upon seeing his disinterest. It was a losing battle. “Must be always good, then” you laughed a hollow laugh. Only for him to exhale, followed by an equally nonchalant “whatever.”

Painstaking silence ensued, and you struggled to push each morsel down your throat. A sip of water lubricated your words. “Your new coach is quite cute” you remarked after doing the mental gymnastics to bring up something he liked. “Yeah… she’s cool” Dylan responded after a while. “She said your interschool is in a couple weeks” you scratched the cheap synthetic tablecloth “Are you nervous?”.

“Don’t act like you know soccer” he snapped. Your jaw dropped with a sharp exhale, and you tried to cover it with a nervous laugh “What?” you grazed your chest “I… know soccer. I take you to all your games, we practiced when you were a baby, I was cheering on you when you won last season!”. He turned sour “Not like dad used to do” “Well, he’s not here now, is he!” you snapped back, regretting the moment it left your lips.

He stared at you, steeling his gaze as his soul turned away from you. He quietly got up, abandoning the half-eaten plate of food before leaving the room. “Dylan!” you call after him “Honey! I didn’t-”. It didn’t seem to matter. You couldn’t bring his father back for him, and he’d never let you forget that that he left. You could move wherever and so would the sinkhole he left in the house. One no amount of love can fill. You bit your tongue to distract yourself from the welling tears in your eyes, pushing your plate away.

Bedtime

Before bed, you checked your phone. It was chalked with the usual messages. Work, network service company info, local businesses, and scammers trying their luck. You’d long stopped receiving follow-up messages from fellow moms. Friends had faded in the process of tearing apart from your husband. He’d been the life of the party, rousing gatherings and infusing them with slapstick jokes. Always the funny guy. Which made you the shadowy outcast, the bad cop, the one to blame when things went awry.

Hence, why Abby’s message made your chest stiffen slightly. Butterflies tickled your ribs as you looked it over and over. She’d just sent herself a “<3” from your phone, perhaps making sure she saved your number as well. It doesn’t mean anything; you told yourself. As you moved to shut your phone, it burst into the sparkly digital ringtone you’d set ages ago. “Abby” it read on the caller id.

You clicked accept in a daze, realizing with the static-y blare of air on the other end that she was genuinely talking to you. “Hey, Angie!” her voice hit better than bourbon, running down your spine. “Good evening, coach…” you reply in wisps of words, breath irregular “Sorry… Abby”

“Is now a bad time? I know it’s late…”

“No, it’s alright”

“Cool” she bought a deep pause, seeming unsure of what to say next “… I just wanted to ask if… you and Dylan are doing okay.” You bit your lip, well-versed with standard answers “Yeah! He ate his dinner. Took care of his laundry. He’s doing his homework before bed” you counted off your imaginary fingers, hoping it was convincing enough.

“And you?” Abby furthered, taking you by surprise.

“Me?”

“What about you? How’re you?”

“I’m…” you fiddled with the hem of your nightie, fingering a hole in the lace “okay.” “Angie” Abby uttered, the faint sound of a TV in the back, match commentary in progression. You heard her suck air into her lungs for courage “You can talk to me, you know.” You pressed your thighs close, the tenor in her voice more penetrative to the senses than anything. It was scary how eager she had you over a phone call, fighting thoughts of how you’d be if she was close.

“There’s nothing to say. I really am… okay” you assured her despite the ever-present urge to unburden your whole heart “I’m sorry if I had you worry” you laughed for effect.

Abby chuckled in reply, clicking her tongue. Tough crowd, you heard her mutter under her breath. She cleared her throat “Can I see you in my office? Tomorrow?” she asked. You pressed a hand to your warm forehead, feeling yourself flush “Y-yeah… I suppose I can” you stammered nervously, to which Abby promised “Don’t worry, I just want to help.”

Next Day at the school office

You consciously bounced a knee in your cold chair, watching a handful of parents milling around the main office. You wondered what they’d been called in for. Failing calc? Smoking on campus? Jerking off into the teacher’s pigeonhole? You knew for a fact that some of them deserved it. The leather strap of your shoe dug in your ankle, compelling you to adjust the little gold buckle. A pair of white sneakers came to a halt near you, familiar ones. You peered up at the new coach. She smiled down at you, holding a hand out for you to hold. Her eyes inconspicuously flit towards your cleavage, and you blushed, sliding a hand up your chest. “Need help with that?” she asked softly, kneeling by your undone heel strap.

“No… it’s okay” you discouraged her but she gently moved your hand aside, feeding the leather into the buckle and securing it. “I’m quite handy with silly kid’s shoes, I’ll have you know” she tilted her head; hand wrapped around the underside of your shoe. “Women’s heels too?” you chuckled, shrouding the shiver from the way her hand grazed your ankle, how she knelt before you. Abby shrugged, smiling “New notch on my belt.” You headed through to the sports department. The trainer’s office was located on the opposite side of the building facing the field. “Like they didn’t know where it was going to be” Abby joked as she held the office door open for you, the metal plate outside still reading “Carlson.”

You looked at the partly disordered space, a fresh box of trophies and certificates in one, everything smelt like rubber. There stood a photo frame boasting of a grainy photo of a little girl with a braid, hoisted on the shoulders of a man. Dad and daughter. “They don’t pay me much, if you’re wondering” Abby joked, and you turned to her, smiling “They make me pay a lot.” “Well, thanks to you… I don’t have to share” she boasted, shaking her head.

The photograph lingered at your periphery, but you let the questions go for the meantime. “Thank you for meeting with me…” you said, a tone more serious, as she pulled a chair away from her desk for you, watching you settle down in it. “Me?” Abby frowned, leaning back against the side of the table, not too far from you “I should be thanking you. I know your work can be hard to get away from”

“It’s okay. I do need to get more involved. I barely attend PTA meetings” You confessed, eliciting a concerned nod of acknowledgment from Abby, “Those… are quite the spectacle”

“Parents can be passionate” you shrugged

“There was a petition to make the campus segway friendly”

“I… wasn’t part of that” you stifled a laugh

“Lucky you” Abby crossed her arms, her slight movements drawing your eye to her zipper glinting halfway down her chest, urging you to drag it all the way down. See what’s hiding beneath. You shook your head, placing your palms face down on your lap “Hey… I… really hope Dylan isn’t misbehaving or giving you a hard time”

Keeping it to the point there, Angie.

“Not at all!” coach denied swiftly, making you wonder what the issue was “He’s giving his all to practice and school. Which is why I was concerned… he seems stressed.”

“Oh…” your gaze fell to your lap as Abby craned her neck low, inquisitive. “Has he said something at home? Anything about the upcoming competition?”.

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt, stretching the pause out till it hurt your chest “Soccer season was always w-when… his dad would be home the most. At all his matches. They’d go on little hikes, drives, eat at his favorite diner, he’d buy him anything he asked for” you stretched your lips in a twisted smile “The house would be full.” Abby knit her brows, inching close to gently touch your shoulder as you fought the urge to start bawling. “He just misses his dad” her warm fingers slid down your back, almost breaking the dam holding it all back “a-and I don’t know what to do.”

Abby wordlessly pulled you against her front, your hands shakily wrapping around her waist as you steadied your breath. A tear still squeezed through, quickly bleeding into her jacket. “It’s okay” Abby rubbed your back, lightly combing your hair “You weren’t supposed to be doing it alone. It's not fair.”

You clutched your fingers deeper into her back, cinching at her shape through the loose athletic wear. Her fingers tickled the back of your neck, compelling you to pull away, peering up at her face. With your sweet lips rosied and wide eyes misty. Abby’s breath visibly hitched, chest falling still as she brought her hand towards your face, resting a thumb on your cheek, brushing your bottom lip. “No” you uttered breathlessly, curling into the chair.

Abby flew back into her desk, fingers digging into the wooden edge, visibly shaken as she drew jagged breaths. You covered your face in shame, breath hot against your palms “I’m so sorry.” “No, please” Abby brushed the air “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” “I’m sorry I…” you compose yourself, chin pinned to your shoulder “I can’t. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression and I don’t know why I just did that-”

“Hey, hey” Abby gathered your shaking hands as your guts twisted into knots “Hey… Nothing happened…” she asserted; blue eyes wide with her words firm “Nothing happened.”

You screwed your eyes close as you felt her hands shield yours, the weight of the emotion crushing your senses. “Yeah…” you collected yourself “you’re right” you consciously slip your hands out of her grip, clutching the arms of your chair “Nothing happened.”

Abby stared at the ground, idly punching her palm and letting the clock ticking on the wall swallow the whole incident. You strengthened your resolve, nodding “I’ll try and make things right with Dylan… I was planning on attending his weekend practice, anyway” you shrugged “I can fit in some stuff.”

“Sounds good” Abby remarked “don’t worry too much. I’ll do what I can from my side” she added. You raised your wrist to glance at the dial on your wristwatch. The metallic tinkle drew the young coach’s attention “Yeah… I need to head out to the field for PE class as well.”

You rose out of the chair, shuffling towards the door and reaching for the door knob, trying to maneuver it open. Abby came up behind, putting her hand over yours around the knob and holding it. Her breath ran warm down your neck. “By the way” a baited second passed “Coach Carlson didn’t move to his daughter’s.”

“What?” you whispered, clutching your purse as you turned to look at her. Abby licked her bottom lip, chuckle scratchy “They caught him with the guy who tends to the fields” she leaned closer “Utility closet down the corridor. Kicked him out the same day. Hired me three days later. Grateful as I was… I wonder” Abby steeled her eyes, hesitant yet bold as she grazed your wrist “If he regretted it…”

Morning of weekend practice

The car door shielded you from glances of the general passerby, soccer moms mostly. Also, from the cigarette between your fingers, cherry glowing bright as you sucked the smoke deep into your chest. The back of your throat tasted like cinnamon. You dug your fingers into your neck, lightly swinging as you sat on your haunches, delicately balanced on your high heels.

You’d battled for that half-day, leaving the temp in blaze amid ignored voice messages. You were determined to stay through weekend practice. An early drive home would be nice so you could spend some time together. Make a stop at the diner Dylan liked, ward off the bad luck with greasy food.

The inseam of your panty hose began irritating your skin again. “Cheap… fucking… shit” you forced a hand up your skirt, trying to relieve the itch.

“Hey, Angie” you heard from the sky above and nearly toppled to the side, throwing your elbow up to defend yourself from the unknown. “Coach!” you looked up to find Abby standing behind the door with her crossed arms propped on the window, smirking down at you. You quickly hid the hand holding the cigarette, moving to crush it under the point of your heel.

“No, save it…” Abby rounded the open car door, sliding down the side of the car to join you on the ground, big frame folding onto itself “Unless now’s a bad time” she whispered, holding two fingers out.

You released a chuckle, passing your cigarette to her, back of your fingers grazing hers in doing so “It’s never a bad time to sit and do nothing” you shrugged with a simple smile. “That’s the dream, isn’t it?” she watched your face keenly as she took a drag, blue smoke pouring from her lips. “I can’t imagine someone as healthy as you smoking” you mused and she raised a brow, staring at the ground “I usually don’t”

“Don’t let me ruin you”

“Too late”

You quietly plucked the cigarette from her fingers, your scarlet painted nails lightly scraping her hand. Her eyes connected with yours beyond a mere look. Deep and curious. “Why not the bleachers?” she inquired, and you bit your lip, flicking loose ash “I was hiding, I guess” you confessed.

“Me too” Abby chimed in exhaustion, casting a furtive glance back at the field. A flurry of moms monopolized the bleachers with folding tables decked out with food stuff for their beloved sons as they took a break from practice. Helicoptering and rallying what with the competition round the corner.

“You first” she shuddered in the shoulders before turning back to face you. “Let’s just say… a single mom on the verge of divorce doesn’t fare well in these shindigs.” “I can imagine” Abby raised a brow, and you nodded slowly “They’re always praying that he comes back. So my family can be whole. The way God intended."

Abby let the words linger, the bitterness in it evident, the false comfort. “Well…” she bit back a smile “I hope he falls off the edge of Earth.” That brought some warmth to your soul, eliciting a surprisingly loud laugh from your mouth "Not you being a flat-earther."

"I'm not" Abby's smile faded and you laughed harder "Flat-earther" you repeated for emphasis.

"That's not funny" Abby protested with dead eyes and you lost it. You bumped into her arm for buttress as you teeter once again, feeling the smooth ripple of her bicep beneath the sleeve of her jacket. It gave you another unwanted flash of how her bare arms would feel like as they wrap around your breasts. You squeezed your eyes shut “Why are you hiding?” you redirected your focus quickly.

“Well,” Abby reached back to smooth her ponytail “It’s a lot of pressure to begin with. The Dean is really keen on bringing the trophy this season even though I just joined and it doesn’t help that Carlson left most of the team is disorder. Plus… the moms can be…” she dragged out the silence, and you piqued with curiosity “Spit it out.”

“I know they mean well…” she fiddled with the cigarette, thumbing the ruby print left by your lipstick “But they can be really touchy.” You knit your brows with empathy “Tell me about it. I once got told off for a chicken casserole I cooked wrong. “No…” Abby blushed; legs splayed open as her knee poked into your thigh “Touchy as in… they touch me… a lot.”

You dropped your jaw, scandalized “What?”

“Yeah” she scrunched her nose in embarrassment “They call me round the clock, telling me to take their sons off the bench, asking about what to feed them, talking about troubles at home. They stand too close…” she shook her head. You widened your eyes, nail tips digging into your bottom lip. “Put their hands all over” Abby whispered, holding the cigarette out at your stunned face.

You shook yourself out of it, drawing the dregs from the dying cigarette before you finally managed a thought “That sounds like hell" you blew a raspberry "It's like they've never seen a buff woman”

“You think I’m buff?” Abby watched you fumble with words as you crushed the cigarette on the tarmac, dusting idle ash from your leather heels “I’m just stating the obvious.” Her blue eyes mellowed, scoping your evident blush. Seeking you out. For more.

“Tell me what you think” she leaned close.

“I thought you don’t like moms talking at you”

“Other moms, no”

“Well,” you shrugged lightly, scraping together your feelings “… We were raised on verses, tender mercies, and blind faith. Many bought into it. I did. I thought it would work for me the way it did for them. But now I look at how my life turned out, and then I look at you. You’re about the age I was when I got married, by yourself, doing what you like, the way you want… makes me question everything” you gathered your knees, resting your chin on top.

Abby playfully nudged her shoulders into yours, “You make me question everything too” she whispered “I used to think people who marry and have kids are insane. After my dad... I didn't want to take care of anyone for a long time. And it was good. Being free... having no one depend on me all the time. Though the empty house hurt sometimes” she gripped her bicep, considering deeply “But I see you with Dylan... and wonder what I'm missing out on”

“You’re not missing out on marriage” you tutted, biting the inside of your cheek

“Not even with the right person?” Abby tilted her face at you, curious pout catching you off-guard.

“Maybe... it's hard to believe”

“Just because something didn't work out once doesn't mean it never will.”

You blinked, switching your gaze to the vast field, breeze blowing loose curls across your cheek. You wondered for an inane second if she saw your heart leaping up in your chest. Unable to contain the spike of hope she gave you. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me” you confessed.

“What?” Abby’s voice pitched “I don’t believe that.”

“I’m being serious!”

“You're a gorgeous woman. People should be telling you sweet things all the time”

“You think I'm gorgeous?”

“You don't?”

“Dunno” you shrug “Hard to tell when everyone is mad at me.”

“Not everyone”

You gulped, feeling Abby’s unwavering support setting fire to a part of you, reviving more bits and pieces of you against your will. Hope wasn’t a good thing to have in this tandem. The breeze swept your hair again as you turned to face her with some words of discouragement, catching your eye. “Ow” you winced softly, hand fluttering up to push them back, struggling as your eye burned a little.

“Hold on” Abby loosely wound her fingers into the feisty lock. “There” she smiled, tucking them securely behind your ear. Your brows peaked in that same old dance, like you were staring at the sun but it was just your son’s painstakingly gorgeous soccer coach

“Abby” you mumbled thinly as the warmth of her fingertips made you limp, cheek burying into her palm. She ran a thumb over to smooth a stray strand, grazing the raised bump on your cheekbone.

“Fuck” she uttered softly, eyes darkening as she switched between the scar and your eyes filled with fear. She knew before you said a word. “Angie…” her nostrils flared, lips pursing to contain her tongue. “No” you reach for her hand, holding it against your cheek as if to beg “Let me forget.”

Abby inched forward, gingerly leaning in to eclipse your faces. She hesitated, waiting for you to pull back but when you didn’t, she gently kissed your cheek, soft lips lingering over your skin. Her cool, smoky breath tickled you and you flinched, pulling back to peer into her blue eyes.

“Coach!” a distressed call erupted from somewhere in the distance and Abby jerked back. It was code soccer mom. Abby shot up, dusting her sweatpants as she sauntered over to the frazzled mother looking for her, briefly turning back to smile at you. “We need another table for the hors d'oeuvre, the extra broke and the boys-” she continued to explain as Abby soothed her “Let’s find another table for the hors d'oeuvre, Debra.”

She headed back to the field as you sat hidden behind your car door, stubborn smile pasted on your lips.

Towards the end of practice

“9, forward, forward, faster!” Abby yelled, wildly gesticulating to make it more coherent to the boys “4, free yourself! Goalie, watch the forward! Remember what I showed you!” She looked sexy when riled, golden muscles beaming in the sun, flexing through her fitted dri-fit tee after her jacket came off her back and sat tied around her lean hips. She was quick on her heels, eyes flitting over every single player. Sharp, barking instructions as her ponytail bounced behind her.

The mothers seemed to collectively sigh with every aggressive instruction. You fanned yourself with an expired Target voucher, wondering if they were imagining all the stuff they never got to hear in the bedroom.

As Dylan deflected another shot with a jump split, Abby sustained her whistle, signaling the end of the match as the boys slowed down to a canter in place. They bumped into each other, chirping about their respective goals amid rowdy back slaps and cheers. Soon they began looking around for their moms. You watched Dylan dully plod from the netted goal, unstrapping his protective gloves. “That’s my big guard!” you squealed, unable to help yourself.

Abby looked back, smirking lightly as the other moms shot unpleasant looks at you. You pursed your lips nervously, hunching down in your seat so you became less visible. Dylan acknowledged you with a quick nod, his face lighting up the second he saw his coach with a fist extended towards him. He bumped her back, laughing as she ruffled his head before hoisting him on top of her shoulders. Dylan beamed as Abby brought him over on her back as the other players rushed out with them. All running to their mothers.

Dylan seemed all too comfortable on there, hands gripping Abby’s shoulders as the mothers swarmed her, voicing various concerns as each grabbed her own flesh of the womb. Abby swung her head between the crowd, trying to hear everyone out. You remain seated in your plastic chair, watching the spectacle as it unfolded. Their voices soon became one united cacophony, the boys padded at her sides while the mothers clutched at her arms, shoulders, spouting question after question about every miniscule detail about the competition. The coral and bubblegum manicures dug into her arms and you bit your lip, mind wandering to forbidden places. A pang of jealousy perhaps. Because the way you touched her would be so much more dangerous than when they did.

Half an hour passed and the young coach had found no respite, they badgered her over the devilled egg halfway into her mouth. An attack no amount of soccer training could have prepared her to defend. You hadn’t taken too deep a breath either, swilling a glass of warm lemonade as two women interrogated you about your husband’s whereabouts, puzzled how you managed the bills alone, took care of the house and tuition fees. Bet nobody was asking your ex such questions. His friends are probably badgering him to sleep around again. You told some half-truths, intercepting a stray Dylan trying to shimmy past you as you braced to slither away from the gathering. The second they turned, you chanced upon glorious getaway, only that… Abby appeared so sapped and cute, trying her best to be attentive.

“Coach Anderson!” you called out to her over the din on the bleachers. She snapped up, attentive as a canine to your voice as you beckoned her. She excused herself from the hound, jogging up to where you were standing.

“Hey” you pulled her close, watching the moms break out in urgent whispers “Don’t act like it but… I was taking Dylan to his favourite diner and I was wondering if you’d like to join.” Dylan peered up at your faces, about to emote in excitement before you clapped a hand around his mouth, feeling him argue with your fingers. “Did you turn water into wine in your last life?” Abby asked gravely, quickly slipping a hand up your back as she ushered you out of the enclosure.

“A thankyou would suffice” you chuckled at her pallid stone-face

“It most certainly would not” Abby hissed

At the diner

You felt the bile rise in your throat as you nudged at the vinegary lettuce on your plate. Abby noticed, picking some off and munching on it. Meanwhile, Dylan had ketchupped both his hands, shoving his side of bacon and hash browns into his mouth.

“You alright?” Abby asked as you lightly rubbed your temple. “Did you really have to sit in the same booth as me?” you asked under your breath as Abby lifted a brow, corner of her lip twitching “Am I too close?” she shifted in place, spread thighs nudging into your crossed legs. “Don’t play…” you warned her with a stern glance “I’m doing this for my son.” “Coaches don’t play, Angela” she stole another chunk of lettuce from your plate, chewing with a smug grin.

Dylan had been talking nonstop about new goalkeeping techniques he had perfected at practice. Obviously, he was elated at the prospect of hanging out with his favourite person, more so now that she was sitting across him. It smarted a bit to watch it not be you but you just wanted to see him happy. Even if you weren’t the reason.

“Who taught you soccer?” he piped excitedly and you turned to Abby, watching her face fall ever so slightly despite the big smile. “I had the greatest coach” she simply said “the best ever.” “Will he come see us play??” Dylan hopped excitedly in his seat and Abby chuckled “Of course, he’d love to.”

You contemplated heavily before inching your hand to the side to comfort Abby under the table with a gentle hand over her knee. She kept her composure, quickly sliding her hand over yours. The callouses on her palm felt scratchy on the back of your knuckles, dwarfing your hand. You wondered if she lifted. Of course, she did. You weren’t the avid gym goer but you could pick those who were out of a lineup.

“Mom” Dylan gestured to the bathroom and you nodded, watching him slide out of the seater and bound down the diner, leaving the two of you alone. “Was it your dad?” you asked gently and Abby frowned, nodding.

“There was… this photo… on your desk”

“Right”

“I didn’t mean to pry”

“You didn’t pry” Abby managed a small smile “It’s me… I still don’t know how to talk about him” her voice broke despite the forced steadiness. You began to draw your hand back, feeling it linger on her knee for too long and Abby snatched it back, placing it right back on her knee. You threw a cautious glance around the diner, worried if you might have undue company. Perhaps a pair of eyes from the locale. You turned to her, welcoming her into embrace.

Abby gladly fell into you, arms catching on your shirt in a hurry to wrap them around you. “It’s alright…” you cradled her head, lips pressing into her hair head as she nestled into the crook of your neck. Abby tightened her grip on you, causing you to exhale sharply as you clung to her back. Her chest rose and fell shallow, breath quickened with her eyes closed. “Abby” you warn her as she slid her hand up your spine “I need this” she begged.

“We’re in public” you whispered only for her to groan back “You suggest we do this privately?” “No!”

Her warmth began seeping through the layers of clothes between you, getting to you and making an all too comfortable home at the back of your head. It was a hard thought to unthink, an even harder act to undo. Your eyes rolled back in your skull, fingers weakly pushing her arms down from your waist. Footsteps come bounding back from the distance and you barely tore yourself apart as Dylan hopped back in his side of the sofa. You self-consciously sorted your hair mussed on one side as Abby fought the flush in her face.

“Coach, you’re still eating” he laughed as Abby rubbed her neck nervously “Yeah bud, can’t get enough of it.”

“You’ve had enough” you weakly snapped at her, pulling your wallet out “Grab your bag, Dylan… we need to drop coach off at her house before we go home.”

That evening

You lightly knocked on the door, turning your ear against it. “Yeah, mom” Dylan acknowledged back and you cracked it open to find him hunched over his study desk. Upon a closer look, you found him scribbling defense formations on his notepad, tearing them out and scribbling more.

“Honey…” you stared at the papers “Come on… bed now” you rub his shoulder. He paused, hovering his pencil inches from the paper before dropping it. Trudging over to the bed, he plopped and laid down. “Good” you smiled, pulling his comforter over him. “You happy about today?” you sat yourself at the edge of the bed, patting him gently.

“Yeah” he said simply, rather numbly “Practice went well… I’m trying to perfect my technique.” You bit your lip, choosing your words carefully “Sweetie… you know you don’t have to be perfect, right?” you adjust the collar of his night suit “The only reason we put you in soccer was… so you’d have fun.”

“Hm” he stared vacantly at the wall, you words were already out his other ear. “I liked hanging out with coach today” he said out of nowhere and you turned your head to look at him. “I’m sure she feels the same” you smiled after some moments as he looked at you, a bit crestfallen “You won’t take her out of my life too… will you?” he asked.

“W-what?” you felt gut punched “I don’t… I mean, why would I…?” your voice broke while you fought to pull yourself together with a shaky hand in the air.

Dylan frowned; lips downturned “You didn’t seem too happy to hang out with her today… like how you were with dad” he clutched the comforter tighter “I think you’ll make her go away too.”

“Baby, I…” you wanted to speak but the ache of your heart breaking overwhelmed you, your chest hurting “I would never do that” you got up, making a hasty exit while your face was still dry. I would never you repeated to yourself as you shut your bedroom door behind you.

There wasn’t much you could do beside softly sobbing into your hands, hunched over as if wanting to disappear within yourself. Your cell phone erupted, the chippy caller tune distracting you. It was the coach.

“Hey, Angie” she said as you clicked accept, labored breathing into the receiver, realizing that you were in no position to speak yet “Hey…?” she repeated and you began to speak, words getting immediately swallowed by the lump in your throat. You slowly blew through your teeth, forcing yourself to act right.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Abby inquired with more urgency and you cleared your throat, finally catching your breath “Hey” you blurted “I’m okay… Dylan’s okay.” Abby paused, not knowing what to say “Are you sure?”

“Yeah... yeah” you breathed, nodding to yourself. Self soothing. “Are you okay??” you asked, realizing that you hadn’t checked on her or asked why she called.

“Yes! It's all good” Abby responded, her voice deeper… softer. “I know I’m calling late again but I wanted to…” she hesitated, making you clutch the phone tighter “I wanted to say sorry” she finally uttered “I realized I was being really pushy and I guess… I need to manage myself.”

You massaged your temples, mind wracked as Dylan’s words linger in your mind “It’s okay…” you exhale “I don’t mind you being a part of my son’s life… I’m seeing him act like himself after a long time.”

“And you?” Abby let the question hang in the air like a guillotine as you struggled to find answers.

“I’d like if we stay friends… for my son’s sake” you enunciated each word carefully lest the truth slip out “Nothing more”

“I see” Abby processed it, her tone dulling significantly “If that’s how you want it.”

“Please don’t take it the wrong way…” you trailed, fiddling with the lace trim on your robe “I'm in no place to reject you. You’re so young and energetic… you could find anyone your age. They'd be lucky to have you!”

“You’d think it would be easy but it's not” Abby confessed quietly, the static behind her voice hanging over the silence “The girls I’ve grown up with are all puritan and now teaching P.E at a Mormon private school. I can’t risk it…”

You gulped heavily, all too familiar with the situation “I get it” you replied shakily “My ex-husband’s fighting me for custody… telling family and friends that I’m this sleazy drunk throwing myself at strange men. I can’t seem to start over hard as I try.”

More silence ensued, punctuated by Abby’s frustrated sigh “We can start over”

“Abby…”

“I want you”

“No!” you discouraged her sternly, holding back all the feelings you didn’t trust. “You’ll find a girl. Younger, wiser… braver” you said cautiously, not wanting to entangle her in your fucked up world “I just know it.”

“And you?” she asked, calling your bluff.

“I’ll… be doing what I do" you laughed bleakly “I barely have to time to think between court visits, office, pickup, weekend practice and making casserole the right way” declaring hesitantly: “I’ll be fine.”

“Just say it, Angie…” Abby urged through gritted teeth “Tell me to fuck off so I’ll actually listen” she cursed in exasperation, anger thinly masking the despondency.

“Fuck off…” you replied firmly as you heard her draw a weighted breath, like she could burst out in a flutter of honest words but instead the line went dead.

I want you too… you mumbled to the nothingness.

At office

Abby’s words from last night haunted you, like a shadowy devil on your shoulder as you sat at your work desk. With how much time you’d spend in the same spot, doing the same things, you wondered if you’d truly forgotten about moving on. Because when she brought it up… it sounded alien. Absurd.

This life was all you'd known but what would things even look like outside of this. You could imagine Abby doting on Dylan, fussing over his games, engrossing him with coin tricks. You pictured them sharing a meal at the table, laughing. Like a family. You even fantasized about pleasing her when alone, crying and writhing in her arms… trusting her… loving her.

“Shh!” the sound punctured your thoughts and you turned around to catch your colleagues gossiping. They quickly hid their faces.

Just like that, you were back.

“Hello, this is Angie from Accounting. How can I help you?” you took a call, pinning the receiver to your ear with a shoulder, fingers flying over the keyboard as you sorted the invoices. “Bill?” you craned your neck to look outside your cubicle “He’s preoccupied, I believe” you lied, watching him stuff oatmeal cookies in his face in the breakroom. “Sure, I’ll pass it on to him" you clicked the telephone back, rearranging the reports on your desk as Bill strode up, brushing crumbs off his beard.

“It’s Nessie, she said you didn’t re about their company ad sizing in classified” you explained, and he rolled his eyes “How many times have I told her…

“Just talk to her”

“No, you talk to her”

“I’m just an accountant”

“Angela… please”

“God” you grimaced, staring at the growing pile of paperwork on your desk, tabs of spreadsheets open on your computer “Fine, but just this once.” “Cool” Bill dismissed it immediately. Your cell phone rang in the middle of work, it was from the school nurse’s office.

A shot of ice ran up your back, stiffening your body “Mrs. Hendricks? mother of Dylan Hendricks of 4C?” the nurse barked down the phone. “This is her” you replied shakily. “Your son hyperventilated and lost consciousness during soccer practice. The coach has handled the situation but we’re mandated to inform you.” “What?” you sobbed into the phone as the nurse cleared her throat “Ma’am… don’t pani-” you shut your phone as you swung your purse up your shoulder, getting up to leave.

You bumped into Bill on your way out.

“Hendricks” he grabbed your arm “Where are you off to? It’s not pick up yet.”

“Dylan fainted during practice; I need to get him right now” you tried to push past him but he forced you back, blocking your way in the hall

“He just fainted. You have bigger tasks at hand here. Is this how you’re planning on working here?” he hissed.

“Bill, you’re hurting me” you tried to pull your arm back as he looked around in annoyance from any attention you might be drawing.

“You’ve exhausted your monthly leaves and I just assigned you some important work even though we all know how you…” he snarled, unable to say it.

“Mighty kind of you” you spat back “To assign me work you’re supposed to do in the first place. Maybe you'd have more time if you weren't gossiping about me in office all the time.” Unnerved, he just glared down at you as you steeled yourself.

“You’re either letting go of me right now… or I’m going to leave you a bloody mess. Unlike yours, my son needs me and I’m not letting your sorry ass get in my way” you thinned your lips in a scowl, baring teeth. That seemed to do the trick as Bill unhooked his hand from your arm.

You stepped on the pedal, weaving and rushing through familiar streets as best you could. Abby had tried your number several times since you rushed from office, leaving a message saying “Dylan’s okay. We’re at my house. Please, don’t worry.” How can I not?? you screeched around a car moving out of park as it nearly slammed into you.

Your baby boy had burned himself out, trying to do Lord knows what and you saw all the signs. You had tried getting to him but you failed each time. You're a failed wife. And now a failed mother. The accusatory screams echoed around in your head till they became one united blare, bursting at your temples. You parked up Abby’s drive-through, rushing out the car and up the front door, banging it down.

At Abby's home

Abby opened the latch, her eyes hollowed, and her ponytail loose. You pushed past her “Where is he?” you threw a glance around the staid living room, lace doily on the television and a leather sofa. Old fashioned like it was stuck in time. “Where is he??” you raised your voice in urgency. Trophies and certificates sat on special shelves, jersey’s framed on the wall in clear glass, a tin of pre-workout pile, dumbbells stood along the wall by size. MCAT prep books sat in a heavy stack on the table.

“Shh… he’s sleeping upstairs” Abby called after as you hurried up the stairs, opening the first room on the right to find him safely bundled in a baby blue blanket. His face peeked out from under it and he looked the most peaceful you’d ever seen him. You began to step inside but Abby held you back with a gentle arm around the waist “Please.”

Your face twisted with contempt, bounding back down the stairs and into the living room before turning around to face her “Why’d you bring him here?” you pointed upstairs in upset, voice terribly shaky. “Angie…” Abby tried to placate you, reaching for your outstretched arm “He couldn’t defend a goal and panicked really hard. He needed to breathe... he needed rest.”

“And you brought him here?” you pulled out of her reach to which Abby deadened her eyes “I took care of my dad till the day he died… I can trust myself to take care of him." “And me? I should trust you too?” you pitched your voice, watching her face fall. “Why are you doing this?” Abby asked, hurt and confused.

“What? Worrying about some stranger taking my son home??”

“I’m no stranger”

“Sorry, my bad. You’re basically Dylan’s dad now. I should just fall to my knees and worship you. Since you’re saving our broken fucking family! My fucking savior” you spat each word out with more vitriol than the last, eyes stinging painfully.

Abby seemed equally disturbed, slowly shaking her head as she blinked fast “Angie… I understand you’re in pain.”

“You understand my pain?” you chuckled, nearly choking from how badly your throat was trying to close “Y-you understand how my stomach hurts from all the knots? Or how much my s-son hates me? That my family wouldn’t take me back? Or how I’m not allowed at church anymore?” Abby lowered her eyes, lips pressed to hide their quiver as she let you unravel.

“Maybe you’ll understand how the other moms say I have std’s… how my colleagues hit on me saying I’m s-spoiled goods, or maybe how my in-laws tear me apart at every court visit” you practically lunged at her, grabbing the front of her t-shirt, “Do you understand that all I wanted was to be LOVED and I BROKE my bones trying to love him in hopes he’d love me back… and HE NEVER DID.” Tears squeezed out your eyes, pouring down your cheeks.

Abby enveloped you in her arms as you broke down entirely, body going limp from the relief of spitting out all the agony coiled deep inside you. Unburdened. At long last. You screwed your eyes shut painfully as you felt her tighten her grip around your waist, hand cradling the back of your head, stroking gently.

You felt her chest rise irregularly; her breath jagged from your words. The front of her t-shirt turned dark from your bleeding mascara. You relaxed your fingers over her chest, peering up at her forlorn face. “Are you mad at me?” Abby asked softly and you shook your head, tears dripping down your cheek “No… I’m scared” you sobbed and she brought her hand to your cheek, pressing a thumb to your lips.

“We’re safe… it’s just us” Abby whispered close to your forehead, the blue in her eyes growing deeper with all the love she had for you. You tensed, raising your lips to meet hers. You pecked her ever so gently. A tender apology. Abby’s hands ached from sheer restraint, tugging you back in for a deeper kiss. You tilted your face, whimpering as she forced your lips open with her tongue. Soft and wet as it slipped deep. Past the hesitation of doing wrong, you gave in entirely. Your hands dragged up her chest, hooking around her neck as you kissed her back, leaving her lips red with lipstick smears to match the flush on her cheeks. Before long, Abby had hoisted you on her hips, hands cupping your butt as you nuzzled into her neck. Your heels clattered to the floor. The scent of her sweat made you squirm around her even more.

You fell back on the couch. Her on top, pinning you down. You dropped your gaze down her front and she chuckled ever so softly. Voice low. With a quick yank, she pulled her t-shirt off her chest, stretching them over her broad shoulders. You bit your lip, staring at the veins throbbing along her waist, the deep v-cut leading inside her shorts. Your lids grew heavy with passion, running your nails up her smooth abs and cupping her silky breasts.

“I wanted to do this the day I met you” Abby groaned, fingers fussing with your first few shirt buttons, ripping the rest off as you gasped from the shock. “God” she nestled into your ample cleavage, inhaling your perfume as she kissed the tops of your breasts.

You wound your fingers into her ponytail, throwing your head back as she lowered the lace cups covering you, rubbing your nipples. Making them more sensitive. “Abby…” you mumbled into her hair as she began to tug and suck on them. You gripped her bare back with a hand, slipping the other low to push her shorts down, exposing the elastic of her underwear… the sight of her happy trail and lean hips left you panting in place.

Her back muscles rippled below your fingers, nails digging into her soft skin. Abby tugged your shirt off, leaving it draped on the couch arm as she ran her tongue down to your navel, slowly pushing your skirt past your hips. “Let me take them of-” she desperately tore your pantyhose mid-sentence, eyes affixed on the milky patch staining the narrow strip of fabric covering your pussy.

“I’m sick” you whined, covering your face as Abby slipped a thumb inside your crotch, slowly rubbing along your sticky folds, dipping ever so slightly into your entrance. It oozed on her thumb. She smiled at the way you closed around her. Teasing you. “I’m sick too” she raised her soaked thumb to her lips, dragging it across her tongue “I think we’re just right for each other.”

She took your hands away from your face, pinning them above your head “I wanted to ruin you in my office that day” she confessed, stroking the lace trim of your bra, caressing you with your eyes. “I wanted to straddle you in the booth at that diner” you admitted breathily, digging your thighs into her sides as she chuckled.

Abby’s voice trickled beneath your skin as you pushed her shorts down, slipping a hand below to cup her groin, the other squeezing her butt. Her pussy was plump and warm. Dripping wet. You slid over her slippery lips, her swollen clit. You giggled, watching her lose composure as you rubbed a circle around it, feeling it throb even harder.

“I want to feel it” you bucked your hips eagerly, back arched as she snuck out of her shorts and underwear. You hungrily stared at what the happy trail had been leading down to, offset by her massive, perfectly built thighs. You fell limp, legs open for her use as she pulled your panties aside, drawing out wet strings from your sopping pussy. You cried out softly as she ripped them at the seams, leaving you exposed. Dragging you forward, she raised your leg up on her shoulder, edging herself into you.

The skin on skin made you delirious, throbbing and snaking as she pulled you even closer. She held you in place with her hand on your ankle. Unable to inch away from where you eclipsed, rubbing and griding earnestly, the sounds getting louder. Wetter. You gripped her forearm, nails raking her skin, feeling the steady rhythm of your hips rocking, her abs dully slapping your inner thigh.

You bit your tongue lest you screamed from the pleasure. Sex had always been such a chore to you that you’d began associating it with work. But the friction of your folds and how perfectly you fit together made you rethink everything. Made you float. Made you wonder if you could ever stop once you started. The way her body pressed into yours at all the right places. How her muscles flexed and rippled against you. How needy her face looked; lips swollen and her eyes watery.

"Fuck” you cursed softly; hips raised to meet hers as the pressure on your clit made you shake uncontrollably. You reached below to place a palm on her hip, thumb pressing onto her clit. “Angie…” Abby’s hips grew more demanding, grinding down harder, squirting until you were sticky. Your breasts bounced pathetically as you fucked senseless, eyes rolling back into your head, lashes fluttering.

Your climax came hard and slow, bursting into an involuntary spasm which you let overwhelm you, quivering and squirting in place. She followed suit, holding you firm as she came, chasing it with more strong thrusts onto you, eliciting incoherent sounds of pleasure from your lips. Abby groaned, a sound rooted deep in her belly, chest rising and falling deeper. She collapsed on top of you, heaving.

You were already burning, but something about the weighted heat healed you. Let you know for sure that you weren’t alone. That you were being touched, heard, paid attention to. You couldn't be close enough to her, if only you could nestle inside her. Abby slipped her arms underneath you, head resting on your chest as you both cooled down. The ceiling felt blurry for the longest time, yellow lit from the standing lamp in the corner.

Her voice seemed to fix the ringing in your ear “I can hear your heart” Abby mumbled, the movement of her lips tickling your breast. “I can feel yours” you smiled, tracing down her shoulder blades. Abby wriggled up, level with you as she simply gazed down. “What?” you asked gently, looking into both her eyes, dilated with love.

“Promise me you won’t regret this…” she whispered, idle hand on your cheek. Wrought with innocent longing despite all the lust. “Promise me… you won’t regret us” she kissed the corner of your lips, wiping a loose eyelash. “M-mom!” Dylan shakily called from upstairs.

“Baby!” you shot up, frazzled as you look down. Ripped clothes leaving your tits sticking out, nethers exposed. Red-faced and desperate. Shame washed over you with the effect of cold water to the face, realizing how you’d been fucking around with your son’s soccer coach when you should’ve been paying attention to him. You shimmied your skirt down, grabbing your shirt from the couch and throwing it on.

Abby got herself in order too, straightening her t-shirt, slipping on her shorts “Hold on.” “No” you insisted, doing the buttons on your shirt that still remaining, tucking the shirt inside your skirt “You stay away.” You scrunched your face in regret, tucking your loose hair up as you hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Dylan sat up, looking disoriented and tired. “Sweetie” you sidle up on the bedside, pulling him into a hug “You’re, okay?”. He meekly nodded into your chest, mumbling a soft sorry. “It’s alright, baby…” you cuddle him “I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Abby hurried down behind you as made your way to the front door, holding Dylan in your arms. “Angie, wait” she tried to talk as she unlatched the front door, joining you down by the car “I’m really grateful for your help… but I need to take him home.” Abby helped open the door to the backseat, heartbroken as she watched you set Dylan down with the blanket curled on end to let him rest his head.

You shut the door turning to her “Abby, I…” you drop your words, uncomfortably crossing your arms as her face fell “You regret it” she affirmed with a quick nod of her head. “It’s not like that” you threw a glance back at Dylan, he was groggy again. “No, I get it" Abby looked defeated, deflating in exhale before she fetched a folded piece of paper from her pocket “Just wanted to give you this.” You took it quietly, biting your lip.

“She’s a child therapist… specializing in children of divorce” she stared at the road behind you, unable to meet your eyes. “Take care of him… Take care, Angie.” You caught skin from where you’d bit your lip. A sharp pain. “Thankyou” you stared at her just a second longer, reluctantly turning and getting into the driver’s seat. Abby didn’t stay back, no wave goodbye even as you kept looking in the sideview mirror. You didn’t deserve one.

Later at night

You lightly kicked open Dylan’s door, lugging in a big, steaming bowl on a wooden tray. “Big, chunky chicken noodles for my big boy” you sang, carefully setting it on his lap “Be careful, love.” Dylan smiled guiltily, accepting dinner. Too easily. “You didn’t have to, mom” he fiddled with the tray handle. “Who else will I do it for?” you shrugged, dipping the soup spoon in and bringing it to your lips to blow it cool.

“Open sesame” you fed him the first bite, raising your brows inquisitively. He gulped it down, nodding “It’s the best” he nodded “you’re the best.” You did a double take, shocked “Really?” you asked in disbelief. Dylan nodded, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. He paused, contemplating.

“Sorry, mom” he repeated what he said after he’d woken up at Abby’s home. “What for…?” your hand hovered midair, spoon caught between your fingers. “Coach… she talked me down when I panicked on the field today” he confessed and you lost focus, staring down at your lap. “She told me to think of you” Dylan went on “Said that you love me the most, that you’re always thinking of me… protecting me. That you're the strongest person she knows.”

Your face crumpled and you tried to hide them but the tears snuck past “I know things have changed in a way they weren’t supposed to… I haven’t done my best, baby” you tried to keep your voice level, coherent “I know your miss dad… a lot.”

“I do but I miss you more, mom” Dylan reached for your hand, “I was being mean with you because you’d changed… and I didn't know what to do.” “It’s okay, baby” you held his little hand back, turning your face to him as you smiled despite "Sometimes, we're mean when we don't understand our feelings." Dylan smiled sadly but it still felt like hope. Like all the frost had finally melted. Warm and full again. Safe and sound.

At bedtime

After doing the dishes, you headed back to your bedroom to change for the night. You slipped into satin, brushing your hair in the mirror. In the reflection, your phone sat heavy on the nightstand, like a dancing pointer. You tied your hair in a knot, walking up to it and picking it up before you could let a thought interrupt.

You called her, getting rejected immediately. The screen went red and you gulped painfully, knowing you’d fucked up. You decided to message her, punching in “Will wait for u at school reception at 8 tom… would like to talk” you sent it and thankfully it went through.

You stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen, feeling stupid after a while. A knock came at the door, and you slid your phone under the pillow. Dylan peeked inside, pillow in hand “Can I sleep here tonight?” he mumbled and you beamed, patting the side on the bed next to you.

You snuggled in, covering you both in your comforter like old times. The scent of his hair and the back of his neck took you in like an embrace, reminiscent of when it all felt so new. Cradling your new baby, the night you brought him home. Nothing had changed. The thought of the young couch sat at the back of your mind, and you stared at the wall. Thinking.

Next day at school

The concrete flooring amplified your anxious heel clicks, drawing dirty looks from the couple other parents sitting on the plastic seaters. You made a quick oops face, stilling yourself. The container on your lap was beginning to leave an imprint. The felt bag you’d brought along had fallen into your side again.

It had been 20 minutes past 8, and it was starting to look like you’d be running late for work again. Not that Bill was going to take it up with you. You zoned out on a blur before realizing it was the coach walking towards you. You nearly leapt out of your seat before remembering the contents of the Tupperware.

“I’m so happy you came” you smiled at her gladly, slowly getting to your feet. “How can I help you, Mrs. Hendricks” Abby remained stone-faced, oddly formal. “I was hoping to talk to you” you glanced at the container in your arms and the felt bag on the chair behind “… in your office.” Abby sighed, body angling away from you. With her hands in her pockets, she turned on her heels “Follow me.”

It made for a silent stroll across the poorly blueprinted building to the sports’ department. Abby walked several steps ahead, unlike last time. Her ponytail was limp, slump in her walk, keys jangled in her pocket. It reminded you of Dylan angry-marching whenever he was in a funk. Abby unlocked her office door, holding it open for you as you ambled inside.

While still amenable, she wasn’t as warm as before. Understandably so. You entered her office, aware you had to do better if you were going to halfway fix things. You set the stuff you’d brought on an available corner of her desk, reaching for the photo frame. You gently stroked the glass case, smiling at the tiny, grainy girl. White jersey clad. She had blonde pigtails, big grin on her face. The grass stains must’ve been hell to remove you chuckled to yourself.

Abby clicked the door shut, hands in pocket as she turned around, awkwardly pillared in the corner. “I talked to Dylan and we called the therapist whose number you gave me” you tried to initiate chat “She said she’d be glad to see him Sundays and… he’s willing to give her a try.” “That’s promising” Abby bit the inside of her mouth, cautiously approaching her desk.

“I got your blankie back!” you beamed, placing a hand on the carry bag “I wanted to wash it but it smelt so much like you, I didn’t have the heart to” you looked up at her “so I just lint rolled it.”

Abby wordlessly tugged at her blanket. Fuzzy from wear, spattered with stars and rockets from her childhood. You tapped the ridges of your wristwatch to drown the silence, dropping your gaze upon realizing you were losing focus on the bumpy bridge of her nose. “I made you some chicken noodle soup” you said softly, pushing the box into view “Not that canned stuff! This is my grandma’s recipe I made from scratch” you threw a glance around the office. “You have a hotcase? I can just leave it there… have it warm by lunch.”

“Angie, you didn’t have to” Abby finally uttered and your hand flew to your chin, covering your neck so she wouldn’t see you gulp painfully. “I’m sorry if I’m doing too much” you apologized softly, facing in the opposite direction from her. Abby sighed, “It’s not that. I’m not mad at you after… what happened. You don’t have to make it up to me” she whispered. “I understand if you don’t want to complicate things over a relationship. With how things are for you, it’s beyond understandable. Just… be honest” she dug a nail under the Tupperware lid, toying with the rubber.

“Okay” you stepped closer to her, steeling your voice with as much brazen as you had in you. Honest. “Last night was the most alive I’d ever felt” you confessed, feeling the immediate burn in your cheeks from confrontation but you soldiered on. Abby exhaled ever so slightly, like she’d constricted her chest too long.

You lightly pressed your arm against hers, feeling her shiver despite the jacket “I wasn’t expecting to… not this strongly at least… to develop feelings for someone” you felt yourself losing breath “I’ve been a wife and mom for so long, I forgot how it felt like to be a lover… to be loved.” Abby blew out her cheeks as she tried to look at you, blanching quick “Love’s not enough, is it?” her voice broke, sliding her hands over the edge of her desk, gripping it.

“It’s not… my marriage taught me that if nothing else” you shook your head “But what I felt with you… it wasn’t frivilous. It was pure and hopeful. It was beautiful. I didn’t know what to do with it so I abandoned it... I abandoned you. I shouldn't have.” you apologized earnestly. Abby’s breath grew labored as she visibly fought to compose herself.

“Hey” you gently pulled her before you by her sleeve, peering up into her eyes “I want this” you raised your hand, stroking her freckled cheek with the back of your fingers. Abby nuzzled into your touch, closing her eyes in relief. Lashes fluttering. Her hands returned to their familiar place on your waist as you cradled her neck, soothing the goosebumps on her skin.

“I want you” you mumbled into her chest as you felt her graze the small of your back, rubbing a soothing circle “And though I’m a single mom, with a 9-year-old. I work a boring desk job, have a messy Civic and an even messier ex. I don’t have much going for me-” “Stop that” Abby lightly scolded you. “But-” you kept your eyes low, tugging on her zipper, scraping the cool metal “Never put yourself down, you hear me?” Abby angled your chin up, pressing her forehead to yours.

“Yeah but…” you tried not to lose yourself entirely in her overtures, her lips pecking your nose, brow and cheek. She snuck across your cheekbone to your ear, tinkling your earring. “I need you to know what you’re getting into” you insisted. Abby whispered against your temple “What makes you think I don’t know?” as you weakly tried to discourage her, more for your own sake than hers “Abby…” you stifled a moan.

“And I’ll have you know…” she firmly propped you on her desk, hand curling around your bare thighs “I wouldn’t have it any other way”. She noticed something, looking down at your legs.

“I told them I hit myself with a cabinet door” you sheepishly explained, lifting your leg to show off the deep red handprint on your ankle. Abby smiled, folding her sleeve up to reveal the devilish nail scrapes on her arm “Haven’t been able to take my jacket off all day” she informed you gravely, sending a rosy blush over your cheeks.

“We’ll have to invest in quite the parka, then…” you pouted; eyes filled with faux guilt “because it will happen again” a sudden smug grin curled up on your lips. Abby’s jaw dropped, grabbing you as she vigorously nuzzled into your neck amid your giggles “Someone’s going to be explaining several curling rod incidents soon.”

To be continued (?)

[obligatoryjauneblog]

If Jaune was a son of

Leman

Nora: So if his last name is Russ why is yours Arc?

Jaune: He took mom's surname when they got married.

Ren: Rather unconventional.

Pyrrha: I think its sweet. Jaune Nikos Jr. has a nice ring to it.

Jaune: Anyway, here we are.

Ren: Jaune...

Jaune: Yeah?

Ren: This is a wolf's den...

Jaune: Ye. Hold on, I'll let him know we're here. *howls, summoning a massive fucking blonde giant of a man from the den*

Leman: Ah, Jaune, you're just in time. You're uncle Geri came for a visit.

*A wolf the size of a beowulf rushed out, pouncing on Jaune*

Ren: I.. i guess this explains why he didn't know what aura was... Or deodorant.

Nora: Please adopt me!

[ka0ila]

|Enemity

genre- angst, smut, mafia au, dark romance, enemies to lovers¿

pairing- mafia!straykids x mafia!reader

type- series

warnings- smut, degradation, death, murder, blood, childhood trauma, virginity, dark, mention of rape, guns.

m.list

tags- @hann1bee

A winter morning,

My parents were shot.

That look on his face, i can't forget.

Those suffering eyes, i can't forget.

Blood, all over.

my face,

my clothes,

the floor.

everywhere.

The tall, muscular expression-less man stepped inside, looked at my brother and i, bent down and grabbed my dad by his hair and made him look towards him,

"i told you,hazlurt, i did. i warned you, i did and now, you're gonna pay it with your own life and your poor little wife." a disgusting smirk displayed on his face. He started walking towards my mom, all of a sudden, two men came in, held me and my brother, grabbed our jaws, and made us look towards our parents. Lyrian was sobbing, badly. The muscular man, grabbed my mom by her hair, "poor little thing, gonna pay for your husband's mistake, yeah?" my mom winced and he slapped her.

"stop! Valzart, don't bring her into this, don't hurt her, i beg of you!" my dad screamed, with a little energy he had left.

"not so fast, you know what i wanted Hazlurt, but you and your fucking loyalty towards your pitty little job is gonna get you, and your family killed." he snapped back.

He took out a knife and placed it on my mom's collarbone, "hey, i'm gonna engrave my name on your skin, infront of your husband, isn't that so exciting?" he said chuckling, dad tried to get up, he just couldn't and then Valzart, the muscular man, placed the knife on my mom's collarbone, "Stop! please" Jeongin shouted crying. Valzart looked towards him, "oh hey, you pity little momma's boy, it's alright, i'm not hurting your momma, it's just something she paying for because of your daddy's actions" he said and a disgusting little smile displayed on his disgusting face.

'C'

'R'

'I'

'S'

'T'

‘O’

‘P’

‘H’

‘E’

‘R’

Bahng Christopher Chahn.

The leader of straykids.

The engraving looked deep, my mom was screaming, even i wanted to look away i couldn't because one of his men was grabbing my jaw and made my look at my mom struggling, when i tried to close my eyes, he slapped me. Jeongin passed out hearing my mom scream, and yelp in pain, it was too much.

I was just a 8 year old kid, too small and understand or to express emotions.

"poor little girl, wanna know what daddy did? your daddy tried to betray us, and him being this poor little spy, tried to leak something very important, that's wrong right? betraying, betraying is wrong right, little one?"

Suddenly, someone hit him from the behind with a wooden stick,

It was my brother, Jeongin,

he mouthed 'run'

i looked around,

everything was so slow,

everything was echoing,

blurry,

hazy,

Jeongin held my hand, and

we ran.

BangChan

I can never in my fucking life forget his filthy name.

A mafia, A well known filthy mafia.

Known to be 'heartless', 'cold', and definitely not merciful.

Killed more than half of the top mafia's including Ogumai Kamasaki.

nearly no one was able to dream surpass The Great Harlenlando Eziquas, but he did.

My biggest enemy since i was eight.

…

"you came, RaIz." (Y/N) Hazlurt said while sipping her imported wine. "you called, Hazlurt" Jorian replied back smirking, Lileth raised her left eyebrow and smirked as no one ever dares to call her by her surname. "daring, aren't ya?" (Y/N) said in a stern tone, leaving goosebumps on Jorian's body, "here for a good reason, my lady."

"very well." (Y/N) said as she kept her wine glass on the back marble table infront of the pool. "what made you call me here, my lady?" Jorian said as he moved his hand to grab his whiskey glass. "nothing special really, just for my own personal pleasure" (Y/N) gave him a stern look, and smirked. As she moved towards him, he moved when step back. Soon, he was pinned down by (Y/N), "what are you planning to do to me?" Jorian said with lustfull eyes.

"Kill you just like you killed my brother's girlfriend"

"you know she deserved it." Jorian said with a scared but stubborn tone, with a wish to live. "oh? well then, you deserve to die" she placed her pistol's pointer inside his mouth and shot him. Jeongin was in the pool, looking at the drama. He was satisfied with what happened, flipped his hair; spread his arms and fell back on his back inside the water.

…

with a bang, i submersed myself in the water, he deserved it, he deserved to die, he deserved to die because he killed and raped his own sister and my girlfriend, the only girl i've ever loved in my entire life. i've had so many girlfriends but all of them were only for my own pleasure, but i fell in love with Miuka.

"Jeongin?" I heard my sister call out my name. For some reason i just didn't want to answer."I.N?" If she ever gave anyone a nickname, it was me, if she ever cared about someone, it was me. So, not many know i'm her brother as it's 'danger' for me. If people get to know about it, i'll be all her enemy's target. So, we're 'cousins' in the eyes of people, 'cousins with enmity' it's for the best i guess.Jorian Ralz, a man who worked under Bang Chan. When i found Miuka's dead body in our room, i saw his initials on her neck. Ever killed body under him, had those initials engraved. Whether it's his men, or him. Even if his men kill someone for their on pleasure or need, they had to engrave his name on the dead body. It's creepy; having your name engraved on someone's dead body you don't even know of, but it did make people terror him."yeah?" i said looking up at her swimming towards the edge. "are you satisfied now?" she said while ruffling my hair with a smile. "mhm, thankyou" i said and gave her a quick smile. She nodded and walked inside. she takes a bath everytime she kills someone. The moment she left, the staff came in, cleaned up that place, picked up the body, and took it somewhere, i don't even know what they do of all these bodies. Now, let's get to the police.The police, government, or anyone doesn't talk about the mafia's especially, (Y/N) Hazlurt and Christopher. Everyone knows about their rivalry, people who tried to interfere are now, well, dead. 'Being an enemies to lovers fan, i'd like them to fall in love and fuck everyday all around the villa.' is what Miuka used to say. I never said anything, Bang Chan ruined my family.

…

"fuck" she moaned as i inserted my second finger inside her. I looked in her dark brown eyes. I was moving my fingers inside her just the way she liked it, by her tightness,

i knew she was a virgin. She was squirming under me and i fucking loved it. I loved how i was controlling the amount of pleasure she was receiving.

She was flushed, her face looked adorable and sexy at the same time. Her black hair strands on her face, her mouth wide open, Moaning my name everytime i hit her spot, her arched back, her shivering body,

i loved it.

"i'm gonna cum" she said with teary eyes and barely audible. I stopped moving my finger, "beg for it" i said with a cold rough tone with my two fingers still inside her,

stretching her out.

She looked flustered, i was definitely her first. "please" she said whining, "please, what? what do you want me to do?" i said looking at her, she failed to maintain an eye contact.

She threw her head back, shut her eyes, and begged, "Please sir, pump your long fingers inside me, hit my spot over and over again, finger me like it's the end of the fucking world, just please let me cum, fuck"

she said and let out a loud moan when i suddenly started moving my fingers in a fastened pace with letting her complete and inserted my third finger. 'sir' definitely caught me off gaurd.

Soon, she came all over my three fingers, i made her look at the mess she made and the condition of my room's bedsheet. I inserted my fingers inside her mouth and made her taste herself.

I started moving my fingers in and out, the sound of the gags, oh how much i loved them. She looked at me those teary eyes, gagging on my fingers. Oh, how much it turned me on. "Do you want me to fuck you?" i asked her looking deep in her eyes, "i'm not ready"

she said stuttering in between the gags, i nodded and took out my fingers and got up.  "im so sorry, but i'm just not ready" she started sobbing. why was she apologising for not being ready? i frowned and sat back down taking her into my embrace.

"why did you apologise for not wanting to have sex right now?" i asked her after i made her stop crying, "it just, it just ruins the mood, and it's such a big turn off for you, i fear it's gonna make you not want me.." she said while looking at me sitting in my lap, hugging me.

"i won't get mad at you for not being ready, lair. Keep that in mind, always. Don't push yourself into something you're not ready for." She gave me a heart warming smile and kissed me. “you know, never mind” with that she kissed me again, with lust.

i was taken back a bit, did she think i’d lose interest? did she feel forced? all these thoughts muffled as i started losing control. i flipped her over,

she groaned as i slapped her ass cheek, everything was happening so fast. i was about to grab a condom when she said “i’m on birth control”. I pulled down her soaked panties, and started unbuckling my belt. “such a whore, such a whore for me, say it” she was flustered.

“i’m your whore, only yours.”

“yeah that’s right, you’re my fucking whore, mine”

i aligned myself infront of her entrance, i started rubbing it with the tip of my cock. i heard her whine, oh how much i loved her crying and whining. “are you sure?” i asked her as i huffed. “yes, yes, yes sir, please sir, just enter” she said in adrenaline. i chuckled and started submerging myself inside of her tight little hole, my hole to ruin. i heard her groan in pain,

“it’ll be pleasurable, adjust, it’s okay” i couldn’t be rough on her first, even if i wanted to ruin her and see her cry, i couldn’t. i gave her time to adjust, pumping slowly in and out, she was crying, “you’re huge!” she cried, i chuckled. “speed up” she said, “okay.” i said. I started pulling in and out of her dripping glistening pussy, what a sight.

“mmh- fuck.” she cried as i fastened my pace, i just couldn’t hold back, i couldn’t, her cunt was just so addictive.

“fucking cunt, wants me to go faster and then fucking cries, such a fucking loser” she clenched around me, “oh? you love degradation? such a fucking slut, my slut” i said fastening my pace, i was losing it,

the way she clenched around me, it was fucking me up, it was making me lose my mind, it was just so fucking addictive, i couldn’t hold back, i just couldn’t.

“i’m gonna cum”

“not now”

“please”

“shut the fuck up slut, you cum when you’re told”

“pleas-”

i slapped her ass cheek before she could complete her sentence.

she was a whimpering mess, crying, begging, begging for me to allow her cum, oh how much i loved it.

“cum.”

…

Jeongin, my next assignment. He doesn’t know i’m an assassin, he doesn’t have to.

i’ve been assigned to bring him, dead or alive.

He’s important they say,

he fell in love with me, but did i?

did i fell for his godly beauty? did i fell for his charisma?

i’m unsure.

last time i fell in love was when i was 11.

first and last.

…

“cum” he said. i left out a cry and whine, of both pleasure and pain. i lost my virginity to my assignment, i’m good as dead now.

[mathitas]

Let's say Leo and the other Hephaestus kids found a way to have cellphones without the monsters tracking them.

How would the demigods' Instagrams look like?

(If you want me to headcanon other characters, just comment it! I can make a part 2)

Percy

Knowing this guy, he would probably repost some vines and a lot of 'I love my girlfriend' type of memes.

I think he'd post some stuff when he hangs out with the others, or when something funny happened.

He definitely posted a video he accidentally took of Grover falling, and I just know he posts it again once in a while.

I bet he posts a lot of Tyson, especially as he's grown up, and throughout his mom's pregnancy he dedicated a lot of pictures and stories to her.

And don't even let me start when Sally Jackson gives birth to his little sister and sends her pictures to Percy! He's so proud he posts every single photo of her, even if he's not there. I feel like he'd randomly post pictures of him with Sally holding a tray of blue food saying 'I love my mom'.

I just know this guy's profile is full of friends, family and love. And he has amazing highlights.

He def has a shared bio with Annabeth.

He doesn't post many pics of himself alone.

AND HE'S SO FAMOUS...

Annabeth

She doesn't post much, but when she does it's mainly book or smart quotes she relates to.

She probably shares some architecture she's really passionate about and I feel like she would post some pictures of herself, mainly the ones Percy takes.

Which aren't always good, definitely not.

Percy definitely saw her drooling as she was sleeping after a long quest, and took hundreds of pictures of it. He definitely never let her live this down.

Anyways, I feel like her stories are mainly reposts from Percy's and her friends' profiles.

Still, I just know her profile looks neat and clean, unlike Percy's.

Grover

I was thinking that Grover wouldn't have an Instagram profile, but then I realized something way funnier. He would have one, but an old man kind of profile.

He probably has a low quality picture of a lake as a post (which was published at least 5 years ago), follows his friends, has a bad smiling picture of himself as a profile picture and that's it. That's his profile. Pure old man. He's one with nature, don't judge him. He'd eat his phone if he was hungry enough.

Jason

Here he is, another old man. His profile wouldn't be like Gorver's, but way worse.

He'd be slightly more active... just... random? He probably doesn't even know what he's doing.

I just KNOW he accidentally posts pics of himself from time to time, looking like this and this. Piper usually warns him, and he deletes them. If he knows how to, that is.

Just saying, he never grew up with technology, so he's not really good at it.

He'd have some average quality posts. I think two, or five. Either two or five.

And they're really straight man core.

He'd definitely post himself holding a big ass fish he caught on a fishing trip with Percy and Leo.

I think the other posts are landscapes, maybe some pictures with friends.

He also posts stories, and somehow, some highlights.

They're messy and they don't make any sense tho.

Piper

Her Instagram is amazing. She posts regularly, not a crazy amount.

But she does post funny videos, almost daily.

She definitely has separate highlights with her best friends. I feel like she posts her and Leo being dumb a lot.

She definitely shares music on her profile and makes highlights about it. And she posts lyrics.

Her posts are mostly from trips and friends, they're not too many, but they're great.

She usually posts stories.

Also, her Instagram is probably famous. Leo definitely asked her to post him to get him a partner. She did a whole portfolio of him. It was unsuccessful (Leo, please, get with me).

Leo

SHITPOSTS EVERYWHERE.

His profile is based on humour, vines, memes, shitpost... you name it. His surname would also be something dumb like 'alldaladiesloveleo._". You get the feeling.

His profile picture would probably either be him with sunglasses, and a happy face or him dressed up as spider-man.

He definitely thinks he's spider-man.

I just can see him posting things like this or this. Just... yeah... Leo.

He doesn't have many pictures of himself, probably because he's insecure.

He has some, and it's either with his friends or from some great memories.

He probably thinks he looks weird in them, but he keeps them 'cause they were fun times.

I just know he looks the cutest in them.

AND I ALSO FEEL LIKE HE'D LOOK AWKWARD IN PICS.

Idk, he's either smiling really widely or holding his thumb up awkwardly.

Either way, he doesn't have many followers, unlike Piper, Percy and Annabeth.

Nico

Our third old man.

He wouldn't be that bad, tho, he'd know how to use it. Mainly because Will helps him.

However, he'd post Tumblr quotes. Like, the depressed and sassy ones.

And I'm not saying he does it seriously, there's definitely some irony in it... but I do feel like he kinda relates to all of them...

Idk, I can see him posting this or this.

AND IF HE HAD INSTAGRAM WHEN HE WAS AN ANGSTY KID?!?! THIS. THIS IS WHAT HE WOULD HAVE POSTED. Also this...

Let's just say we're lucky he got Instagram after he settled in Camp Halfblood.

His posts would be full of sarcasm. Everyone thinks he means every single one of his posts, but that just pushes him to post more.

He's having fun, and Will probably sent him the worst ones, telling him to post them. They definitely got some people worried.

He has a good amount of followers somehow, and he only reposts when he feels like it. He probably has a shared bio with Will, and an highlight dedicated to him.

Will

I think he would also post some funny videos, it's not common, but he does. He probably posts some animal videos that made him crack up. Like this one (I'm only putting it because I literally couldn't stop laughing because of it. It is my favorite video on the internet. And yes, my brain is rotting.)

Like I said, he has a shared bio with Nico, and he'd also have a dedicated highlight for him.

I feel like he posts some candid moments with Nico. And yes, I'm talking about taking a pic of your s/o eating and posting it. It's cringe but he loves it. Nico despises it.

He'd also post some friends and has some pictures of him and his siblings at the infirmary.

I feel like he'd have a good amount of followers, and he posts some pics of himself.

He's so pretty, and his pictures are blessings! Nico definitely stalks his profile just to look at them again and again. He probably has them saved too.

Frank

He's reposting the whole WWF page.

I feel like he'd also post some candid moments with Hazel, but definitely not cringy ones like Will.

He probably blocked Leo.

He has a few pictures of him posted, but you can't see him really well.

He posts about the stuff he's doing and archery and his page is pretty serious and interesting overall.

His profile pictures is unclear, but you can kind of see him in it.

He doesn't have many highlights, maybe one with Hazel.

He doesn't post often, but idk, he's just chilling in his instagram.

Hazel

She also comes from the past, so she's not good at technology. Frank helps her with almost everything on her profile.

After she learnt, she started posting videos of animals doing stuff, tagging Frank, saying it's him.

He pretends to be annoyed at first but he thinks it's really cute.

She doesn't have any highlights but she has some posts (Frank posted them for her).

Also, her profile picture is her and Frank smiling during a best friend hang out. It was before they got together.

Idk, to me they seem like the sweet couple that everyone admires. They're not too clingy, but they are a power couple. Their Instagrams, tho? They do look clingy.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Ao3 | 3.6k Words | Freelancer's POV

Gabriel Shaw raised his son in this fire house, in this office as Captain. And Asher’s dad was his lieutenant. And Milo’s dad was the beat cop who would divert his route to clear a scene when he heard the 10-19 was on a call. The house was fill of lineage, full of families of firefighters and their sons.

It was a lineage that you weren’t a part of.

_

Firefighter/EMT au. Darlin is still the black sheep. Quinn is still a problem. Sam is still a healer, of sorts. He still heals them, in a way.

TW: blood and injury, medical talk, burn out, passing out from exhaustion, generally dissatisfaction when receiving medical care, refusal of medical care

It was the winter after you flunked out of medical school and you were buttoning up the starched, navy EMT uniform shirt that you’d received a few hours before. Gavin thought that this was a good idea when you’d pitched it, but not for the reasons you’d brought up. You originally wanted to be an EMT as an appeal to your mother, who had, upon your withdrawal from school, languished that her youngest was as much of a disappointment as their older siblings. 

Your sister was a school teacher. Your brother was an artist. By ‘disappointment ,’ Mom meant ‘ not a doctor or lawyer .’

But you couldn’t stay in med school. You tried, you did. You took yourself as far as you could go. You pushed, pushed, tried so fucking hard. You didn’t sleep, skipped meals and social hour and ignored your phone when your friends called. And you were perfect. Straight A’s right up until the end. 

And then Damien found you on the floor of your kitchen at the end of finals week. You’d burned as long and as bright as you could, but by the end, all you were was burnt out. 

Your boys dragged you kicking and screaming to unenrollment. 

Two months later, Gavin insisted that you do something. Not for the money, that wasn’t an issue. What he’d already earned off of his OnlyFans could carry you two for the rest of your lives, let alone what he was yet to make. When you two got serious, Gavin made it clear that you didn’t have to work, that you could leave school and chase a passion, chase a dream. But all you had was medical textbooks and the hazy vision of being a surgeon of some type some day. You wanted to put that prefix in front of your name, hang up your diploma in the living room so everybody could see it. 

You didn’t know if you loved medicine. You thought that you probably just loved a job well done. 

Your hair was a mess. You smoothed it down in the little mirror affixed to the door of your locker. You caught sight of your surname embroidered in gold on the breast of your uniform shirt. Sam had gotten it done the day after your interview. Vincent said that he’d never seen Sam be so sure of something so fast. 

It was no use staring at your reflection. You’d always find something to tweak if you squinted hard enough. You shut your locker and made your way out of the bunk room. 

Station 10-19 was nice, very nice. A huge locker room, individual shower stalls, full sized beds with pressed white sheets. The kitchen had two ovens, a huge fridge, and the biggest pantry you’d ever seen. The firehouses you’d visited while getting certified were much smaller, much less impressive. All of this must have cost a fortune. 

“Shaw’s a master of budget balancing,” Vincent had told you that afternoon during your tour. “I swear, the dude spends hours sitting in his office crunching numbers. It’s honestly a little worrying.” 

You’d met David Shaw in your interview, but Sam Collins was your direct report. Shaw was a big dude, but after meeting a few of the other firefighters, you just started considering yourself scrawny. The whole firehouse was full of mutant giants.

Everybody was nice, but Vincent acted like he’d just gained a new best friend when he’d introduced himself that afternoon. He was a tall, slender man with bright gray eyes and a sharp smile. You recognized his last name, Solaire. His dad was the chief of surgery at Daliah General, the only level one trauma center in the area. It was your top pick for your residency. 

Solaire wasn’t a common name, but if Vincent was the son of a two time Harper-Avery winner, he didn’t show it. He moved with a cool confidence, and seemed to have that same confidence in you. He spoke to you like you knew what you were doing. Which, to be fair, you did. You just weren’t used to people treating you like it. 

“Don’t let Sam’s grumpy attitude fool you,” Vincent grinned as he led you towards the ambulance. “He’s a softy. A bit rough around the edges, but soft for sure.” 

You couldn’t imagine Sam Collins being soft, but you smiled and nodded anyway. Vincent showed you where everything was on the bus, and then reiterated the few things that you would likely actually use. The compression machine, the heart monitor, the AMBU bag. 

When the first code blared in your ears just as Vincent finished shoving everything back into their assigned cubbies. He grinned and patted you on the back, jumping up to the front and hopping on the radio as he revved the bus’s engine. 

Sam made his appearance a few seconds later, hopping into the bus and pointing you towards one of the two passenger seats in the back, strapping himself in. He nodded for you to do the same. 

It was quiet for a long time. Vincent called a few things into the radio before shouting back to Sam. 

“Single vic, third story apartment. Not sure the extent of the injuries. Landlord just found a blood trail.” 

“Let’s prep for a GSW and a laceration.” Sam replied. He grabbed for a few things within reach and threw them into his jump bag. “BleedStop’s over your head, Probie, grab me a few.” He held out his hand. It took you a second to realize he was talking to you. You jerked and reached up blindly, coming back with a few red and white packages. 

“Are these standard issue?” You asked softly, flipping one over in your hand. You heard Vincent laughing from up front. Sam grinned. 

“You were in medical school?” Sam asked after a few minutes. You nodded. “Internal medicine, peds…”

“Surgical.” You answered his unasked question. You ducked your head, looked away. Sam was quiet for a long moment. “I was four years into my residency when I called it quits.” He said. When you looked up, he was focused on the computer output, a pinch in his brow. You didn’t dare ask a question, break his concentration, but something in your chest eased. 

After roughly three minutes of sirens wailing and lights flashing, Vincent pulled up outside of a dilapidated, five story apartment building. This was the sort of street that you would refuse to let Gavin walk down alone, the sort of area you wanted Huxley next to you in. You shivered and kept close to Vincent as he loaded a jump bag on each of your shoulders. 

“It’ll be bloody.” Sam cracked his neck in anticipation. “Just keep your cool. You don’t gotta do much this time around, Probie. Watch the two of us closely and try to keep up.” You nodded sharply and followed him into the building. 

The landlord was waiting for you in the lobby (if this could be called a lobby). He was a short, round man with more bald spot than hair. He was tapping something out on his phone, the font blown up to such a big size you could read his message from this distance. You politely avoided looking at it, instead planting your gaze between his bushy eyebrows and trying to carry an air of confidence about you. 

“Finally,” he huffed, attaching his phone to the little plastic holster on his belt, “took you guys long enough. It’s upstairs, third floor.” He slammed a set of keys into Sam’s hand and turned on his heel, retreating through an office door. You heard the lock slide in place before any of you could say anything. 

“We’ve got the fastest response times in Dahlia.” Sam shouted after him, his face twisted up with annoyance. “Come on,” he turned towards the elevator and took a deep, calming breath. His rugged features somehow looked more handsome when pinched with frustration. The line between his eyebrows was present even as his face relaxed. 

The elevator doors opened to a pool of drying, congealing blood. Vincent whistled, shaking his head. 

“Dude,” he had the nerve to laugh, “these people really don’t like being alive. Whoever this is should have gone straight to the hospital.” The three of you piled in, stepping carefully around the blood. It resulted in you being awkwardly pressed against three separate walls. Vincent stretched to press the button for the third floor. 

“Look at where we are.” You waved your hand around the concerningly rickety elevator. “If they can only afford to live here, I’d bet they don’t have health insurance either.” 

Vincent’s face slackened in confusion, as though that thought had never occurred to him. 

“Dahlia Gen has a free clinic for that very reason.” Sam said. The elevator groaned and he caught the handrail nervously.

The blood trail continued when the doors opened, leading you straight to the vic’s apartment. The door was painted a sloppy brown color, the latest in a long line of landlord-specials. It was peeling around the corners, revealing white, beige, yellow, green…

Sam inspected the door for a few seconds before leaning into his radio. 

“Engine Two to Dispatch, confirm no PD?” He kept his voice low. His radio crackled as a voice called back. 

“Confirmed, Engine Two.” Dispatch replied. “Paramedics were the only ones called to the scene.” Sam sighed softly and scratched his head. 

“Cap?” Vincent asked. 

“Proceed with caution.” Sam replied. “You two stay behind me. We don’t make any moves until we see what we’re dealing with.” 

Sam stepped up to the door and knocked hard, three times, with the side of his fist. “DFD,” he shouted, “Paramedics, open up!”

There was no reply. 

“Hello!” Sam called again. “Paramedics!” 

Something shifted behind the door. You heard a curse, a stumble. Sam backed up and herded you and Vincent away from the door. 

It swung open wide. The apartment inside was dark and barren, like somebody had just moved in. A slumped figure was leaning against the doorway. You could see where the bloodtrail was coming from. Their hand was pressed firmly against their side. The steady drip of their blood against the floor made your stomach turn.

Were you really ready for this? Maybe medical school wasn’t so bad. 

“What?” They growled. Their shoulders were tensed and drawn up to their ears. 

“Jesus.” Sam breathed. He was stunned into silence for a moment, but only a moment. He jerked and then moved slow, indicating his movements boldly, so as not to surprise them. 

Even hunched over and bleeding, they cut an intimidating figure. Clad in a pair of ratty sweatpants and a muscle tee, you could see every inch of lean muscle and scar tissue that made them up. They were as tall as most of the firefighters in the 10-19. You thought they’d fit right in against Lieutenant Talbot’s frame, that they could hold their own in a fist fight against Captain Shaw. 

“You can leave.” They spat, their teeth lined with blood. They had something wild in their eyes, and you were concerned for a moment that they would lash out at Sam to get him away. He held strong, though, didn’t back down or look away. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re bleeding.” He pointed to their hand and cocked his head to the side. 

“This is private property.” They gritted out, close to a growl. 

“Private property owned by your landlord.” Sam nodded. “Who called us. You gonna bleed out on your feet or are you gonna let us in?” He put a hand out to steady them as they listed to the side. They jerked away from him. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” They snapped, curling in on themself. 

“Well, excuse me for trying to help you!” He held his hands up in surrender, telegraphing his movements even as he griped. “Keep barkin’ at me like that and I’ll let you bleed out.” 

“Yeah well, my bite’s much worse.” They managed. They had gone a bit green and, when Sam reached for them again, they didn’t protest. 

“Well, ain’t you just darlin’.” Sam drawled. His face had gone serious, his focus pulled to the blood dripping down their side and the leg of their pants. “Come on, let’s get you sat down before you fall out.” 

Sam started steering them towards the patch-covered couch that sat in the center of the room. The apartment was a studio, although even that felt like a generous description. It was, really, a dingy, gray box. A sink sat dry in one corner next to a mini fridge and a poor excuse for a counter space. There was no bed, just the dirty, brown couch that looked as though it had been pulled from off the curb. A large section of the lumpy middle cushion was darkened with blood. There was one window that you didn’t think even you could fit out of, let alone your hulking patient. A shadeless lamp sat on the floor in the corner opposite the sink, casting the room in stark, dramatic shadow. 

Sam deposited your patient on the couch, where they collapsed in a heap of muscle and blood. He snapped on a pair of white gloves and held a hand out to Vincent, who snagged a jump bag from your shoulder and supplied him with the gauze he was apparently reaching for. It would be difficult, you thought, to keep up with them at first. These two seemed to be so familiar, so connected that they didn’t have to talk to know what the other needed. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Sam asked, raising his voice to try and cut through the buzz that blood loss left in the ear. “And where you are?” 

“I’m fine,” your patient groaned, shoving at Sam as they tried to sit up again. 

“Hold still .” Sam used his forearms to press them back into their couch without contaminating his gloves. “You’re gonna tear your stomach right open if you don’t ease back.”

“You need to work on your bedside manner, Doctor.” The patient grinned. Their face had gone sheet white. 

“Well, good thing I’m not a doctor, Darlin’.” He replied. Actually, you thought, he was. If he had been in his residency, he would’ve had to have a medical degree. He was a doctor, license or not. 

You reached for the BleedStop you’d stashed in the bus just as Sam’s hand swung back again. When you clapped the pack down in his palm, he turned, surprised. Vincent bumped your shoulder with his, smiling broadly.

“This is gonna sting.” Sam informed them before dumping the BleedStop over the wound and packing it with gauze. They shouted, short and hard, as they clamped a hand down on Sam’s shoulder. Vincent jerked as though to pull them off, but Sam shook his head sharply. Vincent backed off. “Saline,” He said, holding his hand back to you. You dug through your bag quickly before finding a pint of it. Vincent supplied a large syringe. 

Watching Sam work on a patient was like watching an artist paint. He had an intense air of focus about him, and his whole face lit up when he bent over the wound. He watched with rapt attention as the bleeding slowed and clotted. After a few minutes, he pulled a syringe full of saline from the bag and rinsed out the BleedStop. 

It was a stab wound, surrounded by ugly, red and purple bruising. It looked as though someone had punched the blade into them. 

“Can I lift this up?” Sam asked, indicating their shredded and blood-blackened shirt. They nodded sharply once. You watched as their steely face crumbled a bit as Sam touched them. Their bottom lip trembled. “Hey,” Sam said softly, freezing until they met his eye, “it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He said it like it was true, like there was no doubt about it. 

In the end, despite the stab wound and the slash on their thigh and the obviously broken ribs and their split lip and their bloodied knuckles, they refused to go to the hospital. Sam spent fifteen odd minutes arguing with them. Honest-to-God arguing, shouting, cursing, lecturing. You thought that was probably against protocol, but he was right, so you weren’t going to snitch to Captain Shaw about it. The stab wound was concerning enough. The broken ribs were dangerous. One bone fragment, one twist of the skin to make it a compound fracture, one stutter of their lungs in just the wrong way. It could all prove deadly. They let Sam use suture glue on the stab wound and the cut, let him dab anesthetic against their knuckles, let him press a cold compact into their ribs. They didn’t let anybody else touch them. 

“There is a free clinic at Dahlia Gen.” Sam reiterated one last time as they hurried you out of the door. “If you start bleeding or have trouble breathing,” he patted around his uniform until he supplied a scrap of paper and pen from his breast pocket. He scrawled out a phone number and handed it over. Their fingers spread red across the crumpled, white paper. “Please call me.” 

The door shut hard in your faces. 

You made your way back through the blood stained halls. Sam turned the keys in to the landlord. You walked out into the crisp, winter air. 

“Are they all like that?” You asked as you took several deep breaths, free from the iron tang of blood that had permeated their apartment. 

“No.” Sam shook his head sharply. 

“It’s mostly drunk people.” Vincent assured you. 

“And kitchen knife incidents.” Sam chimed in. 

“And cardiac events.” Vincent nodded, hopping into the driver’s seat. You settled into the back of the ambulance with Sam and studied your hands. There was blood on the cuff of your uniform. Sam huffed and reached under his seat, pulling out a fresh uniform shirt. 

“Here, Probie.” He said. 

“Does it get easier?” You asked all of a sudden as you took the shirt from him. Sam smiled. 

“The blood?” He asked. “Yeah. Yeah, the blood gets easier. But not much else.” 

The two of them were right. Somewhere along your drive back to the 10-19, you got a call for a possible cardiac event that turned out to be an anxiety attack. You held the hyperventilating kid’s hand, walked them through breathing exercises you’d learned for Lasko while Sam assured their mom it was nothing to worry about. Straight from there, you got a call for an older woman, Mrs. Henrick, who claimed she fell and broke her hip. She was apparently a widow and a frequent caller. She just wanted Sam to put her kettle on and to ogle at Vincent for a while. He was impressively obliging, and matched her flirting one for one. It was a few more hours of just that; bouncing from call to call, emergency to emergency, but nothing quite like that first one. 

It was nearing dawn by the time Engine Two was finally cleared to return to the 10-19. You were just this side of exhausted, the adrenaline that kept you pushing through the night long worn off. Vincent walked you through the breakdown of the bus. Checking off the medical supplies one by one on your little inventory sheet was almost meditative. It lulled you towards the rest you knew was coming. You were on call for the next twelve hours, and then you’d be off for another twelve. You longed for that plush bunk room and the reprieve a few hours of rest would give you. 

Captain Shaw was in the kitchen when you and Vincent clambered in. He had looked so severe when you met him in your interview, clad in the navy button down of his daily uniform. He must have been getting on duty, because now he was wearing a tight, heather gray t-shirt with the Dahlia Fire Department logo emblazoned across his back. The shirt was stretched across his chest and arms, giving you a full view of his musculature. Sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting his dark features in warm, welcoming light. He was handsome. You couldn’t wait until you had an excuse to introduce him to Gavin. He’d have a field day with a man like David Shaw. 

“There can’t be that much blood in the human body,” he rumbled into his coffee cup. Sam laughed from his spot across the large, family style dining table that filled up most of the floor space in the room. There were pans out near the six burner stove; sausage, bacon, some weird looking strips of what must have been a vegetarian substitute. There was a plate stacked with pancakes, another stacked with waffles, and a bowl filled with sliced fruit. Two cartons of eggs were waiting, untouched, next to the stove. 

“You would be surprised how much a person can bleed and keep going if they have the will power.” Sam shrugged. He was flipping through a pile of paperwork, probably the releases from their calls tonight.

“Captain Shaw cooks every morning.” Vincent indicated towards the feast on the kitchen counter. “You should eat. Once morning shift gets in, it’ll be gone.” 

“And they refused transport to the hospital?” Shaw scoffed. 

“Yup.” Sam popped the ‘p’ in his mouth, shaking his head. He handed over a file from the top of his pile to Shaw, who flipped through their release form with only a bit of interest. 

His dark eyes flicked over the page once, and then widened. He sat up straighter, bending to get a better look at it. His eyes landed on the bottom of it, where your patient had printed their name next to their sloppy signature. 

Shaw’s coffee cup shattered in his hand, sending shards of ceramics and hot coffee all over him, the table, and the offending report.

[mxtxfanatic]

JC better be fucking glad that the whole "i was given a boon from BSSR b/c of my mom" thing was just a lie made up for the Golden Core transfer. that could have been the last fucking thing WWX has from his mother and he just has zero qualms about taking it. both he and his mother truly believe WWX owes them all that he has, including his life, his gratitude, and the memories of the parents he barely remembers.

JC screams "you're the reason my parents and sister are gone!". yeah? well your mom has been actively taking away and destroying the memory of WWX's parents and you just proved that you'd also do the same if given the opportunity.

an actual brother (blood or not) would show concern about what WWX was offering to sacrifice. JC did not, not even years later.

Jiang Cheng lives his life by what he believes others owe him, not what he actually owes others. Even when he knows he owes someone else, he will not repay it if he sees the debt as a "hardship."

Wei WuXian finally lost his temper, “Jiang Cheng! What- What do you think you’re talking about?! Take it back—don’t make me give you a thrashing! Don’t forget. Who was the one that helped us burn Uncle Jiang’s and Madam Yu’s corpses? Who returned to us the ashes that are in Lotus Pier right now? And who took us in when we were chased after by Wen Chao?!” Jiang Cheng, “I’m the one who fucking wants to give you a thrashing! Yes, they helped us before, but why in the world don’t you understand that right now any remnant of the Wen Sect is a target of criticism! No matter who they are, with a surname of Wen they have committed a most heinous crime! And those who protect the Wen are at risk of being condemned by everyone! All the people loathe the Wen-dogs so badly that the worse they die the better. Whoever protects them is against the entire world. Nobody would speak for them, and nobody would speak for you either!”

—Chapt. 73: Recklessness, exr

[Jiang Cheng] could manage to tolerate others, but definitely not Wen Ning, the Wen-dog who put his hand through Jin ZiXuan’s heart and ended both his sister’s happiness and her life. Just a look, and he felt the urge to kill him right there. How dare he step foot on the earth of Lotus Pier—he really was looking for his death!

—Chapt. 89: Loyalty, exr

With a shove, Jiang Cheng pushed aside the panicking Jin Ling who was supporting his side. Though he was already losing blood, blood still rushed to his head in his anger, making his face cycle through shades of white and red. He spat, “What gives you the right? Wei WuXian, what gives you the fucking right?” From behind Lan WangJI, Wei WuXian said stiffly, “What right?” Jiang Cheng replied, “How much has my family given for you? I’m his son. I’m the heir of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. But all those years, I was never enough next to you. Their love, their dedication, even their life! The lives of my father, mother, older sister, and even Jin ZiXuan! Because of you, all that’s left now is an orphaned Jin Ling!” ... “And then look what happened? You went to shelter some outsider, haha! From the Wen Sect, of all people. How many years did you eat their food and drink their water?! You betrayed us in an instant without any hesitation! What do you think my family is to you?! Endless good deeds, you’ve done them all, whilst every fuck-up was always because you had no choice! You ‘had no choice’! What difficulties can’t you explain?! What hardship must you hide?! Hardship?! You don’t tell me anything, you treat me like a moron!!! “How much do you owe my family? Shouldn’t I hate you?! Couldn’t I hate you?! What gives you the right to suddenly make me feel like I should be the one that’s sorry?! What gives you the right to make me feel like some fucking clown after all these years?! What the hell am I?! Do I only deserve to be blinded by your glory, by your light?! Shouldn’t I hate you?!”

—Chapt. 103: A Hatred for a Life Part 6, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, looked about ready to lose his mind on the spot. He said, “You? You?!” The force of the punch had been too powerful. Not only did it go right through Wen Ning’s chest, the shock of it also shattered part of his vocal chords. Unable to form a single word, he fell towards the ground. ... Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi went to the corner. Wen Ning was still half-collapsed onto Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling in an awkward position. Wei WuXian laid him flat on the ground. After studying the dark hole on his chest, he fretted, “Look at you......What should I use to fill this now?” Wen Ning asked, “Young Master, is it serious......?” Wei WuXian said, “It’s not serious. You don’t need the organs here anyways. But it looks bad.” Wen Ning replied, “It’s not like I asked to look good......” Jiang Cheng was silent.

—Chapts. 107-108: Concealment Parts 1 & 2, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

[billys-pretty-babe]

The Ceremony

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary : Six months after your engagement, it's finally time to marry Billy and well, his reaction isn't what you expected whatsoever.

Warnings : Swearing, illusions to smut at the end, one mention of Neil's abuse

Word count : 2,738

A/N : Part 2 to The Proposal

April 1986

The bridal suite was busy, people working around you to do your makeup, your hair already having been in its style since early in the morning. Max huffed and puffed as she fixed her dress. "Why'd I have to be the flower girl?" You glanced at her, "Because Billy wanted you to be." Her face softened, "Oh, never mind, I love the dress, even the itchiness." Everyone in the room laughed.

You looked down at the ring on your finger, different from what Billy proposed with back in October. He had upgraded it, taking more hours at the garage he worked at. Now, it was a two and a half carat princess cut diamond ring with smaller diamonds on the band. You stared at the silver band you had bought for him with a custom engraving of the wedding date along with both of your initials, except your surname was exchanged with an H.

"Ready for the dress," Susan asked from across the room. You were reluctant to let her come to the wedding, but Billy was insistent, she was the only 'mother' figure he had but you held a grudge against her for letting Neil beat his son. You took a deep breath and nodded. Max sat in your chair, picking up the ring box. "Can I look at this?" You nodded, "Just don't take it out of the box." She nodded, studying the ring in the box as Susan helped you with the dress and you looked in the three mirrors, one directly in front of you, and two to the sides of you.

She bent down and fixed the train of the dress as you looked at the dress, seeing the way it clung to you. The dress wasn't over the top, something nice and simple for the intimate ceremony. Max put the ring box down and your mom walked into the room, smiling as she saw you. Mac hugged her and your mom smiled and hugged her back, fixing a piece of her red hair.

"Where's dad?" She smiled, "With Billy." You nodded, "Is he okay?" Your mom nodded. "More than okay, he's ready to get out there." You laughed, twisting your ring. "Getting cold feet?" You shook your head, "What if I put his ring on the wrong finger or I accidentally say I don't, you know I stutter when I get nervous." Your mom rubbed your shoulder. "It'll be okay, I promise." You nodded, pressing a hand to your stomach to calm the butterflies.

"Are you pregnant?" Everyone's eyes moved to Max and Susan gently scolded her. "Maxine, that's not a question you ask." You softly laughed, "I'm just nervous." Max hummed, lips pursed, "So, no niece or nephew yet?" You shook your head, "Not for a while." She nodded, looking in one of the full body mirrors as she fixed her dress.

"He better know I love him if I'm wearing this." Everyone laughed at her and there was a knock on the large wooden door. Your father peaked his head in, "Bridesmaids and maid of honor, the men are ready." They all nodded and left, Max staying with you. You grabbed the white basket and filled it with petals. "Aren't they supposed to be fake?" You shrugged, "All of these came from flowers he's gotten me, that's why they're all different, he's never done repeat flowers." She nodded and you gently mixed them and handed her the basket.

"Hey Max." She hummed and looked at you, "You can keep some if you want." She nodded and picked out a few petals for herself, setting them on the vanity. Your dad peaked his head back inside, "Max, they're ready for you, honey." She nodded and quickly hugged you before leaving the room. You joined your dad and he hooked his elbow with yours.

"Ready?" You nodded, "Don't let me fall." He smiled, "Never." The large doors to the church, the only way Neil would attend, opened and everyone stood up. Your eyes snapped forward to Billy at the front, one of his childhood friends right behind him as his best man, patting his right shoulder. You walked with your dad, keeping at the same pace and the closer you got, you could see the tears on Billy's cheeks.

Your dad placed your hand in Billy's before taking his seat next to your mother. You stood before Billy, smiling at him. "Thought you weren't gonna cry?" He softly laughed, whispering back to you, "I have allergies, dust is in my eyes." You quietly laughed, holding his hand. The priest went through the opening of the wedding and Billy's friend jokingly yawned and he elbowed him, making you quietly laugh, the photographer catching the moment.

The priest looked at Billy before asking him a question. "William, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" Billy looked down at you, a soft smile on his lips, "I do." His old basketball friends cheered in the crowd and he looked over and laughed before looking at you.

The priest looked at you, before asking you the same question and with no hesitation, you answered, "I do." He gently squeezed your hand. "Thank God," he whispered to you and you bit back your laugh. "What? Did you think I was gonna be a runaway bride," you whispered and he shrugged, "Maybe." You both laughed. The priest had you both repeat after him, everyone cheering after each of you recited the few sentences of the pre-made vows.

The priest looked up, "May we have the rings?" Billy's aunt, guided a boy, no older than four, with the pillow with the rings. People in the crowd cooed and she lifted him up and you took Billy's band and he took your band. The boy looked at you, waving his tiny fingers as his mother took him away and Billy softly laughed.

The priest looked at Billy, instructing him to place the band on your finger. He slid your engagement ring off, placing the silver band on you before replacing the engagement ring. "Now repeat after me." He said the phrase as Billy repeated it. "I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love."

The priest looked at you once more, instructing you to place the ring on Billy. Your fingers shook gently and Billy softly talked to you, "It's okay baby, take your time." You slid the ring onto his finger, fixing it. You were instructed to repeat the same phrase as Billy. "I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love."

The priest shut the Bible he was holding. "I would ask you two to join hands but you've been holding hands this entire time." The room was filled with laughter from everyone, including the priest. He looked out before declaring, "By virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He looked at Billy before saying, "You may kiss the bride."

Billy smiled, "Apologies to your parents and grandparents," he whispered to you before moving his hands away from yours, using them to dip your body, right hand resting at the back of your hip, his left hand on your cheek as he leaned down and kissed you, your left hand coming up to brace his cheek as you kissed him back. "Jeez," you heard Max exclaim at the back of the church and Billy laughed against your lips, pulling away an inch or two, his blue eyes teary.

"I love you." You smiled, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb, "I love you too, B." He smiled, "Can I kiss you again?" You nodded and he kissed you once more, this kiss was less intense, filled with the same amount of love as the first but it was also shorter. He pulled you back up. "Ready, Missus Hargrove?" You smiled, "Always, Mister Hargrove." He smiled, walking down the aisle with you as everyone stood up, clapping for the two of you.

The reception was hours long, your second bouquet ending up in Max's hands, your garter remaining on, choosing to not put your parents in an uncomfortable position. The first dance was everything you thought it would be. The father-daughter, son-mother dance involved you and your father and Billy and your mother. Tommy chanted for the cake cutting, making everyone laugh as you and Billy made it to the large cake. "Holy shit." You laughed at him. Your mother gave you the knife and Billy placed His hand over yours. "How big of a piece are we cutting?" Billy shrugged, "Big enough that I won't crash later." You nodded and you both cut a big enough slice to feed each other a bite for the pictures and memories.

Instead of using a fork, he cut the small piece with his finger, making you laugh. "Open wide," you snickered, "I've heard that one before." He laughed before taking a piece between his index and his thumb, placing the piece on your tongue. The chocolate practically melted on your tongue, your teeth gently scraping the pads of his fingers and he visibly shivered at the feeling. "Cold," you jokingly questioned and he laughed. "Quite warm, actually. I think I need to take my clothes off." You laughed, gently pinching his side, "Hush, we'll get to that part later." He laughed and you grabbed the other piece of cake. "Open." He opened his mouth and you fed him the piece, wiping the icing from the corner of his lip.

Soon, it was time for the speeches, deciding to save them for the end of the night. Friends and family, besides Neil, gave speeches. Billy grabbed the mic, looking in his blazer as he grabbed a piece of notebook paper that you recognized came out of his journal from the garage. Max snuck over to you, giving you your paper and you quickly thanked her and she went back to her seat. He unfolded the paper and looked out.

"I'm young, I just turned nineteen last month." Tommy cheered and Billy laughed, making you smile. "We met in October 1984, when I arrived in Hawkins and it took me until January 1985 to ask her to be my girlfriend. We actually didn't have a lot in common at first but the more we were around each other, I saw pieces of her in me, and she was the same. I remember the exact night I kissed her, it was after a party, it was a drunken kiss but one to remember nonetheless. I knew I wanted to marry her early on, I had the ring picked out four months into dating and I received it the first week of August. We have a lot of growing to do but at least it will be together from here until our last days together decades from now." He turned to you, putting his paper down, "Thank you for loving me like I deserved, showing me it was okay to be vulnerable, showing me how to love you gently, how to care for you when you needed it most, and most of all, thank you for sticking by my side even through the times it felt like we were in Hell."

You smiled, lower lip quivering and he leaned down and kissed you softly, sweetly and you held his hair gently. "I love you," you murmured against his lips. "I love you more," he murmured back before sitting down and you grabbed the mic. "I remember the first day I saw Billy, it was the first day of school for him. He made this big entrance, the car actually caught my eye first." Everyone laughed and you smiled. "We were polar opposites, I was taught to stay away from the stuff he did but I felt so drawn to him almost instantly and I wasn't sure why. In November 1984, we had our first kiss after one of Tommy's infamous parties." Tommy cheered, "You're welcome!" Everyone laughed again. "Before Billy, there was no one else. He was and always will be my first love, my first everything. I'll admit, we're extremely young but I knew the night he kissed me that I never wanted a day to go where I didn't get to kiss him and so far, it hasn't happened."

You turned to Billy, a soft smile on your face. "My love," you addressed him, "Thank you for loving me like no one else ever will, for being gentle with me when I need it, for giving me the chance to love you, thank you for letting me be there during the hard times, and more importantly thank you for being you because if you would've had that hard ass persona that you had when we met in high school, I don't think we would be here right now. You showed me your true personality, you didn't show me Billy, you showed me who William was and for that, I'll be eternally grateful." You finished your speech and everyone clapped and you looked at Billy, his nostrils flaring, trying to keep himself from crying but nonetheless, two tiny tears fell directly onto his black pants.

Soon, it was nearing midnight and you leaned on Billy. "My feet hurt." He nodded, excusing himself from talking to Tommy's dad, taking your hand and escorting you to the bridal suite at the reception venue. You took your heels off, looking in the mirror at the two of you and Billy did the same, smile on his face. "Wanna leave? I bet they won't even know we're not here." You laughed, "Can we do that?" he pursed his lips, "It's our wedding, of course we can." You nodded. "Okay." You went to put your heels back on and Billy stopped you, picking you up bridal style, taking your heels in his other hand, making sure he had the keys to his Camaro and he left out of a side door and you laughed as you held onto his neck.

He placed you into the car, putting your heels on the floorboard, stealing a quick kiss from you before getting into the driver's side and he drove out of the parking lot. "So, what do you say we get back to the apartment and consummate this marriage?" You laughed, holding his right hand. "I was just about to pitch that idea." He laughed, bringing your hand up and kissing the knuckle of your ring finger.

It wasn't long before he was pulling into the apartment and he parked beside your car, carrying you up the cement stairs carefully as you held onto him, still laughing at him. "See, all those hours at the gym weren't pointless." You hummed, "You work on cars everyday too." He laughed, "Exactly." He unlocked the front door, carrying you over the threshold, shutting the door with his foot, dropping the keys to the ground as he beelined to the bedroom.

He set you down, leaving the room to lock the front door before coming back, blazer off, his shirt partially unbuttoned. He held your hips, looking at you in the full body mirror that was propped near the window. "This dress is pretty, but I do think it would look pretty on the floor too." You laughed, "You can take it off but be gentle, I wanna be able to wear it again when we renew our vows in a decade." He nodded, kissing your neck once before gently unzipping the back of the dress.

The thick shoulder straps fell to your arms as he stripped the dress off of you, leaving a white puddle of fabric at your feet. His jaw dropped as he saw you in the white lingerie, garter on your thigh. "You are in for a very long night, hope you got all of the sleep you wanted last night," and with that, he kept his word, filling your night with love, compassion and a mix of many other things that would leave you incredibly sore the following morning.