#private box ?? what the hell is it called...

[codenamesazanka]

Eri's touted as sort of a 'Tenko But Things Went Right', which isn't wrong, but I feel like her save relied a lot of luck too. And luck shouldn't be a determining factor in child welfare??

It was by pure chance that Deku and Mirio first encountered her. 100% random bump. Nighteye had no idea about any child in the Shie Hassakai compound, despite having staked it out for at least a few days already.

The rescue effort was launched to save Eri, yes, but only because the Heroes had that one lucky detail to connect “DNA inside bullets” to “visibly injured child”. Without that...who knows? If Heroes had no compelling evidence to storm the compound, would they have just continued a routine drug investigation? If they raided the compound but didn’t know about the child beforehand, what would’ve happened to her? Shunted off to an orphanage because she’s ‘a criminal/yakuza’s child’? Place under HPSC supervision because of her relation to the bullets?

The manga itself stated that Eri was going to be sent off to an orphanage, BUT her out-of-control quirk was cause for concern and fortunately there was the one (1) guy who can suppress her quirk and help train her - who happened to be a teacher at a private educational campus run by a multi-millionaire who can afford to take her in as a ward. How amazingly lucky!!!! (And everyone themselves said that they were hoping to teach Eri how to use her quirk so that she can cure Mirio. How nice that her quirk is deadly but also has this miraculous healing ability that lends this additional incentive to take her in.) Eri is still only in custody of UA because her last living blood relative, her grandfather, is still in a coma. Would Pops ever want her back, if he ever wakes up? Would UA let him? Good thing UA has the resources and connections to win a custody battle, in this case.

Plus, before all of that, Eri was already another abandoned child, way before the Heroes ever learned of her. Her mom abandoned her; then her grandfather took her in, but when he fell into a coma, she ended up with the worse possible caretaker. Yeah, Overhaul is Overhaul, but a relative falling ill and being unable to take care of a child is something that can happen to any family.

Eri was abandoned by her mom because she killed her dad. What on earth was the police doing then? Did her mom is not report this? Five seconds after the dad disappeared, the mom immediately plopped the toddler in the car seat and drove her off to Pops? Or is it more likely the mom screamed and panicked and called emergency services, but it turned out that there’s nothing to be done about the dad… and then emergency services also apparently did nothing about the mom or Girl With Newly Lethal Quirk or the beginning of quirk counseling so that the mom could understand the accident as ‘mutant quirk’ and not ‘curse’??

There were points where Eri could've been saved, before she ever bumped into Deku, before Overhaul put Pops in a coma and started cutting her up.

Similarity, saving Tenko shouldn't have just been 'Hero happened to be in the area and wasn't busy and was able to spot this injured child and go help him' (if it doesn't turns out AFO was behind this too lol), or 'if only there could've been a Hero 15 years ago who could handle his quirk, hold his hand, and give him relief'. It should've been 'first person who saw this injured child called the police or took Tenko to a police box'. It should've been 'Kotarou's last act of parenting was not to pick up garden shears and whack his kid with it, but know to keep calm and know what to do in a quirk emergency' or whatever. It should've been 'the three other adults in the household had enough conscience to not let Kotarou bully his toddler'. Hell, it should've been 'All Might and Gran kept tabs on the Shimura boy'.

idk. I just don't think 'Luckily a Hero noticed!' is good enough.

[pineappical]

OK look Ted being trans and having a bit of a dad bod??? Chefs kiss, perfect beautiful delicious we are being fed tonight. 

TEEHEES he just means so much to me 😊🫶🫶

[helluvapoison]

Possessive

how the overlords would put a claim on you

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Carmilla Carmine ⁎⁺˳✧༚

As much as she loves spending her mornings in bed with you, wishfully thinking she could stay there all day, she can only give you 3 more minutes at best. Being an Overlord and a CEO keeps her rather busy. You’re grown, you can handle yourself (you have to in this world) she’s not keeping tabs on your whereabouts. Carmilla isn’t itching for a fight like these new “up and comers”. Giving you something to protect you when she’s not around simultaneously puts a target on your back. A simple ring with her name inscribed would suffice, satisfying any possessive vices she may or may not have

˚✧₊⁎ Zestial ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Abhorrent is jealousy, driving the younger generations to filth like, ugh, hickeys. Although, on a certain level he does understand. Being in Hell for as long as he has and alone the same amount, he knows all too well the primal need to claim what other’s might steal. One must leave their mark as a warning sign for others. Zestial’s exceptionally charming when he wants something, notably not asking when he presents you with the crisply wrapped gifts. There’s no less than twenty. Boxes upon boxes of accessories and clothes that suit you but hold his color palette, spider and web details to boot. He’s utterly thrilled when you wear them, showering you in compliments and declaring himself the luckiest soul in Hell

˚✧₊⁎ Rosie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Goodness, have you seen how sinners nowadays go about the whole ordeal? What happened to romance!? Call her old fashioned, but Rosie likes a smidge of glamour in her techniques! She’ll walk shoulder to shoulder with you, holding her parasail over the both of you. She’ll accidentally press her painted lips on your cheek and forget, quickly getting swept up into conversation with someone or the other. It’s fine, no one would question her! Not if they wanted to live anyways. Butterflies swarm her stomach when she notices you haven’t wiped her imprint away, a proud smile spreading across her face. It becomes purposeful as the days go on

˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

While happy to broadcast newsworthy exploits, sharing his private affairs with the world is out of the question. Of course the appeal of it all isn’t lost on him, he merely doesn’t see the point. Why broaden your horizons of potential dangers by claiming you publicly? To calm that unruly, covetous alien in the pit of his chest? He’s not that selfish! Besides, nothing less than something permanent could truly satisfy him anyhow

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

If he doesn’t have eyes on you, he’s working. Those measley hours apart won’t stop him from reminding all of Hell you still belong to him. He doesn’t trust anyone down here. He’ll convince you it’s for your safety that he tightens the collar around your neck. With a hum of approval, Val’s long and slender fingers twist the tag with his name on it. Heart shaped, of course, he loves you after all!

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Only the insecure need to put a claim on their person. That’s not Vox, no way! You’re never really out of his sights anyways, what with today’s power of technology and all! The need to brand you goes a different route. He wants everyone to know you’re spoken for, pulling you on camera every chance he gets. He wants them to stare in awe and envy but cast their eyes down when you walk by in public. A slight on you would be a slight on him personally and no one messes with The Vees

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Truthfully, there isn’t much she wouldn’t do. You’re all over her Sinstagram and that says it all. Every runway show, every red carpet walk, every paparazzi shot you’re always beside her. Vel dresses you left and right to match her OOTD somehow. She snaps a pic every single day (sometimes more) to show her followers their favorite couple is thriving and stylish as always! The description never fails to scream how your all hers

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 6:34

do u want to celebrate your bday, mr. great explosion murder god dynamight

Bakugou stared at your message for a while. He sits by his study desk, supposedly taking a break from his homework. His brows are contorted to one of contemplation, a pout on his lips as he types in his reply—rather quickly, too.

hell no

(ꃋᴖꃋ)

He shook his head. Bakugou turns off his phone and sets it to the side. 

If anything, he hates and genuinely gets upset with surprises, especially when celebrating his birthday. He doesn’t get it; why people celebrate another year closer to death. When he was younger, he remembered loving the attention, the gifts, and the praise. 

But now that he’s older, he’d much rather just spend time by himself. Maybe cook himself a dish or two to celebrate, but that’s it. He doesn’t need anything grand—not anymore, at the very least.

Then again, why would you be asking him a question like that as if you weren’t on the other side of Japan? He thinks it’s childish; besides, celebrating his birthday is a complete waste of time. He’s a hero-in-training, and so are you, so he’d rather use that time of celebration to either train or study (and he has the audacity to call other people nerds).

Bakugou decides to go to school earlier than normal because he doesn’t want to give those idiots (his classmates) time to even prepare for a surprise party (yes, Kaminari’s horrible at whispering and keeping secrets) for him in the dorms (and also the classroom; it just slipped from the tip of Kirishima’s tongue).

A hand holds onto his shoulder, and by instinct, he moves away from the contact and turns to the person with a scowl. If he weren’t alert, he would’ve blown said person to bits, and yet the moment he hears that familiar laugh, all raised defenses are lowered and his tense shoulders relax.

“What the fuck?”

“Surprise! I knew you’d come to school early,” you greet him with a bear hug. Bakugou scowls as he tries to push you away.

“Kats, I missed you so much! It’s been forever since we last saw each other—”

“How the hell did you get here?”

You grinned, ignoring his non-serious threats of exploding you to the skies. “Come on, Grouchy. I don’t have much time, y’know?” You dragged Bakugou toward one of the private lounge areas within the grounds of U.A., and he’s surprised you knew how to navigate your way around the campus. “Don’t worry, I asked for a bit of help from Midoriya since he’s the only one I know aside from you that goes to this school.”

“That damned—”

“Don’t get mad at him! Getting mad would make you wrinkle quicker, and don’t furrow your brows; I think I’m seeing wrinkled lines in your forehead.”

“You—”

“There’s no time for scolding me, Kats!” You held up a bento cake to him. 

He notices the two little boxes of what he assumed would be his presents behind you and the lighter you used to light up the candle. He thinks it’s wasteful when he could’ve just lit it up himself with his Quirk. Then again, he couldn’t really do anything anymore because what’s done is done.

The cake itself was thoughtful. Frosted with light orange frosting, decked out with what he assumed were mini explosions made out of fondant at the sides and a little lettering that said, “hbd dynamight,” with a little spark of red, orange, and black at the end of the sentence. 

Bakugou looks back on it, and the realization dawns on him.

This is the first time someone—aside from his parents—made the effort to give him a cake for his birthday. 

“Do you want me to sing happy birthday?” You ask when he doesn’t immediately blow out the candle.

“Fuck, no.” He rolled his eyes and took a moment before doing so.

“You didn’t have to do all this, nerd.”

“But I wanted to.”

That made Bakugou smile, even if it was only a little. “Thanks.”

“You’re seventeen now, and that is one year older than being a senior citizen,” he chuckled, “and as always, don’t smoke, drink, or do anything that would get your hero license revoked. Lessen the frown and turn it upside down; remember that I’m an awesome friend for remembering your favorite cake flavor even if you don’t eat it often—and finally, happy birthday, Kats.”

His heart is beating too quickly as he tries to play it cool by nodding to everything you said. He’s missed this, though he’d rather die than tell you that, knowing damn well you would never let him live it down.

“Whatever, you sap.” Bakugou stuck out his tongue, and you did as well.

“Well— shit, I have to go before I miss the next train.”

“Don’t have morning classes, then? Shiketsu’s a four-hour commute from here.”

“Uh huh. Remember—”

“Yeah, yeah. Cake goes in the fridge if I don’t want to eat it, and send you a video of me opening your gift. I hope it’s not ass, like last year’s mug with our picture on it.”

“Hey–! It was a very good picture,” you replied. “I have one too, just so you know,” you chuckled after finishing packing everything up. “Because it’s cool to match mugs. Really good way to strengthen our relationship. It makes you think of me whenever you have your morning coffee or tea.”

He snorts. “As if, nerd.”

Bakugou watches you leave, but not before seeing you stumble against your feet, which made him cackle obnoxiously at your misery. With the bento cake and gifts in either of his hands, he thinks this is one of his best birthdays yet. And spending it with you, even if it were only for a short moment, is surprisingly fulfilling.

He may start to enjoy surprises if they were this pleasant.

Now he just has to worry about getting back to the dorms without being seen by any of the idiots that would pester him about where he got his cake and gifts from.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[radiance1]

de-aged Danny is one of my babies,

Shit hits the fan with the giw and Danny is super injured and Clockwork has to mess with some things so Danny doesn’t return to his core being vulnerable and sends him millions of miles away to Gotham and in the process Danny becomes 6/10 years old and is weeks healed due to being smaller and costing less ectoplasm but is still achy, Danny is steered to Jason’s apartment where he just got off his shift and then his is the twist! Jason is mute due to an accident with the joker and Batman (batman unintentionally causing his muteness) and out of reflex of a child on his counter hand first into a box of Cheerios let’s put a exasperated noise of flames and a lighter and Danny responds with his own spark of electricity and Jason is shocked (hehe) that Danny can understand and even communicate can he just lets out everything he’s been doing since “holy shit I can talk to someone normally” and then he realizes this child has the same scar as him and is pissed but Danny calms him down and calms the pits and he’s like “okay you’re mine now shit- I’m like Bruce- no. I’ll think about this later-“ Danny is super cute and Jason is having a field day with parent hood and Jason gives Danny a comm for when he goes out but he’s only allowed to speak in ghost speak and the rest are confused when Jason sprints away and they follow to see Danny in Jason’s arms being lulled to sleep with a man on the ground knocked out or dead who knows not Jason because it was shoot & punch and ask questions later and then Danny says sleepily “Oh your daddy’s brothers, hi” like it’s normal to meet family in this situation and Jason puts him to bed before signing “Say anything to Bruce and you will never be called uncle or attend his birthday in your life.”

Bruce only finds out when Jason some how ends up super injured and can’t sign and Danny translates (no editing just straight he said fucking hell) and introduces himself as Danny Todd, Bruce privately cried a little

The Joker catches wind of Red Hood's son and as you know, the Joker loves breaking people, both physically and mentally.

So he tries that shit with Danny, and because this is highly targeted specifically towards Red Hood. He even uses the method he killed Red Hood with when he was just a little itty-bitty robin.

Don't even talk about time because the entire Batfam suddenly gained fucking superspeed (They don't, but at the rate they're going they might as well have it), find the location the Joker is holding Danny at and descend on the Joker like a pack of starving wolves catching their prey.

Like, no joke (heh). They all throw straight hands; Joker gets tag teamed to hell and back by every one of them and none of them are holding back.

Later the Joker is on the ground a mangled mess, passed the fuck out and Batman just decides to go "Peace" and leaves him for dead without looking back, takes Danny (With Jason's explicit permission) and drives off in the Batmobile to Batburger because Danny was hungry.

Literally everyone else:

Joker just gets absolutely violated even further than what he already got, now that Batman's gone and very much left him for dead there ain't no one here to even try and stop them.

Gets beaten so hard he regains consciousness, and that guy still finds some reason to laugh.

A couple hours the Joker is just a mangled corpse with an inch of life in em and they give Jason the honor of finishing him off because not only was he the one to kill him, but he also tried to kill his son. Joker gets a bullet through his skull with both Danny and Bruce none the wiser because Bruce suddenly found himself on babysitting duty.

Danny was fully well and capable of getting out of that situation on his own, and he would've, but the Batfam was literally just faster in getting to the Joker than he was.

And he was literally with the Joker.

[yourmomxx]

Emily Prentiss(chief or not cheif) X Fem!Reader have been secretly married for several years, (if emily is cheif they’ve been dating since she was an agent and then married when she was a cheif and if not obviously the opposite). No ike knows or expects emily to be in a relationship because she doesn’t say anything until one day she forgets her badge and lunch at home so her wife brings her stuff and the whole place is shocked ? bonus if tara or someone flirts with her

a/n: ooh, I love me some secret relationship trope! Unfortunately, I'm still only on season 5/6 of Criminal Minds, so I just kept Emily as an Agent and not as Chief, if that's alright (Tara is in it, though ;)). I hope you like this, anon!

— ❝ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴇᴀᴍ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡs ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ. Tʜᴇʀᴇ’s ɴᴏ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ. Mʏ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟ ʟɪfᴇ ɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴇss ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴘʀᴏfɪʟᴇ.❞ —

-Jennifer Jareau

Emily Prentiss was a private person. She prided herself in it.

I mean try it, hiding something from an entire office of educated professionals in degrees on how to read the most subtle shifts in a persons behavior and building a view based on that information.

Of course, let’s not forget, there’s the general rule, or rather, interdict, of profiling the other members of your team. But sometimes, you can’t help yourself.

Emily had noticed it in herself more times than she would like to admit.

Sometimes, it happened as easy as breathing, a natural trail of thought that let loose when she caught on about something or the people around her. She tried to undermine it as quickly as possible whenever she realized she was doing it, though.

It’s not the fact that she didn’t trust them.

No, that was never the thing, those people were like her second family. Or her first even, maybe.

But after spending almost every waking hour of the past years of her life around them, there were some things that she would rather keep for herself.

Leave them be in their own bubble that was just ‘Emily Prentiss’.

And when she talked about ‘things’, then she was actually talking about you.

The team could find out about her pregnancy, about her resentment towards the church. They could know that she had a phase at fourteen where she liked licorice and hasn’t been able to eat it since those dreadful seven months, or that she still hated her father for being emotionally unavailable and leaving her to deal with her mother on her own; they could know that.

But they couldn’t know about you. Never you.

This is wasn’t an issue of trust, again.

Trust was never in the mix when she made the decision, every morning before work, to lay off her wedding ring and keep it safe on a small chain in her back pocket.

But you were her safe place. A rock, a tow, something for her to hold on to, the only thing that was in no way connected to her work place.

Emily loved you, she did so much, and she’d known it after the first time she saw you smile, and accepted it during the first time she kissed you.

And hiding you, keeping you safe from all of this, was her way of shedding off the horrors and traumas of her job when she came home at night, completely tune out whatever she had experienced mere hours before, and dive back into you.

Your shared house, shared bed, shared sheets, shared kitchen, shared table.

Not talking about you, or even admitting you existed, while she worked and saw the worst sides of what humanity had to offer, drew a distinct line between her life with you and the life she led at work.

Call it a personal protective shield.

So, no, she would never, ever tell them.

“No. For God’s - No.”

Which is why, when Emily Prentiss walked into the bureau that morning, and realized her credentials weren’t in their designated pocket, and also her bag was empty of her lunch box, she knew that she was doomed.

Emily knew about your caring side. The loving, mothering, always everyone's shoulder to cry on-side.

Hell, if she was being honest, it was one of the reasons she started falling so hard for you so easily.

In that moment, though? God, how she wished she would have chosen a narcissist.

(Not literally, though. She'd profiled guys like that before. They really weren't wife- or husband material.)

You had just been on your way out of the house when you had seen your wife's dark lunch box still residing on the counter top where you had prepared it for her an hour ago.

After a quick look at the time on your phone screen, you had short-handedly decided to slightly delay your trip to the pharmacy for some mundane refills, and drop by Emily's office to bring her her lunch.

After all, you knew how busy she could get, and how her focused state had the power to drown out every other basic need her body had.

If you wouldn't make lunch for her, she wouldn't have the time, or the head, to think of buying something for herself, you knew that.

One would think that was clear after almost an entire year of marriage.

The thought alone brought a smile to your face.

You grabbed your car key off the counter and hurried your way out the door, closed it behind you, halted for a moment - and slowly backed up inside again.

You eyed the black case next to the key bowl suspiciously.

"That wasn't there yesterday," You muttered to yourself.

Cautiously, because when your wife worked in the FBI, anything was possible, you reached for the leather-bound case and drew it closer to you.

When you opened it, the tension immediately left your shoulders. You shook your head sighing at the sight of your wife's passport picture and the huge, dark blue letters FBI showing themselves to you.

"Oh, Emily, what am I gonna do with you?"

When you left the house then, it was final.

Hopefully.

"What's up with you, you seem stressed out?"

Emily did her best not to flinch in her already tense state when JJ came up next to her.

She managed her best, reassuring smile and pressed her sweating palms into the side of her jeans.

"Oh, it's nothing," She lied. "Just thought I lost something."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "Alright," She muttered. "If you say so."

Then, she crashed a light brown paper file into Emily's chest.

"This just came in from El Paso, three homicides so far. I'll inform the rest of the team and we'll meet in the briefing room in ten."

Emily couldn't do more than nod, and just managed to grab the file before it slipped to the floor when JJ left.

She wasn't usually like this. She was good at keeping her head in the game.

But right now, the fact that her credentials were missing wasn't exactly stressing her out, because she knew that you would bring them to her as soon as you realized that she had forgotten them at home.

Emily was stressed out because she knew you would bring them to her.

What she didn't know, was, however she should act and how the team would possibly take it.

The elevator you entered took a tremendous amount of time to realize which floor you wanted to go to, and even longer to slide the doors closed and jerking to a start.

You would think that in an official federal office building, the mechanics could be more advanced.

Then again, counting the many times Emily complained about the budget allocation of the bureau when she tought you weren't listening, maybe you shouldn't be all that surprised.

The doors slid closed when the thought suddenly hit you.

You were about to enter your wife's office. Which you had never been to, not once in your life and only knew the address of because goddamn, was it hard to miss.

The building that was probably the only thing that Emily had wanted to keep you out of for as long as she could.

And you came here for a lunch box.

Emily knew you knew. You had talked to her about it, she had answered your questions on why she always got fussy when you asked her how you could finally meet her team, and you had understood, every time, but this?

She couldn't just ask you to actively lie about your relationship in front of most of - all of - her friends, could she?

The last time she had checked your location, it had already shown you in close vacinity to the BAU building. She could figure what was ahead.

Was she about to deny a relationship?

“Can I help you?”

This office had way too many doors, in your opinion, and way too few signs telling you where to find what.

The greeting voice made you look up, and you automatically shifted into your politeness to strangers-mode, upon seeing a woman come up to you, wearing a two-piece and her hair in loose curls.

A very pretty woman, you had to admit.

"My name's Tara Lewis," She introduced herself, "Who are you looking for, sweetheart?"

You quickly waved her off. “Oh, I don’t work here.”

Tara tipped her head, eyes not so subtly shifting up and down your appearance.

“I figured as much, I would have remembered a face like yours.”

You managed an awkward laugh.

Emily had once, in good fun, told you you were easily caught off guard by people showing genuine interest in you all of a sudden.

You hated when she was right.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Just over Tara Lewis' shoulder, you were suddenly able to spot the dark hair that indicated Emily Prentiss approaching from behind her.

You nodded in her direction in recognition, as she came to a halt next to Tara Lewis.

"I'm a friend of Emily's," You lied, and by God, you did it so neatly, Emily was questioning if she had maybe already dragged you down without realizing.

"She texted me that she forgot her lunch and her badge, and since we're close to each other, she asked me to get it for her."

That polite smile was still present on your face, and your voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

You threw Emily small looks in-between, unspotted by the usual eye, but she noticed them.

You were telling her to go along, to play the game, string it all a bit further until it turned into a web that could either wrap around and suffocate her, or catch her when she stumbled.

And she probably should.

Because you made it easy. You had made it so easy for her, laid it out like a red carpet for her to walk on, the lie, that could keep her sanctuary safe-

"I'm married."

In the midst of talking to Tara, your words died in your throat and your mouth stopped, hanging open.

Tara herself whipped her head around so fast, it was a question if she was breaking her neck, eyes ripped wide open in complete and utter schock.

It was quiet. In-between the three of you, a needle dropping would have echoed like the loudest drum.

"Say what now?" Tara didn’t take her eyes off Emily for a moment.

Slowly, movement seemed to re-enter your muscles and your eyes widened at the absolute extent of what had just happened.

"What are you doing?" You hushed at Emily.

Your wife's gaze - who you loved dearly, but in situations like these, could just hold by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake - tumbled between you and her co-worker, and you could almost decipher the exact moment she graciously invited the 'fuck it'-attitude.

Emily's shoulders dropped.

"I'm married," She repeated. Calm, collected, and slow.

All of the things you were totally not feeling right now.

"This is Y/N." Emily stepped next to you and held you gently by your wrist. "My wife."

And if the English Dictionary had demonstrating pictures next to each word, Tara Lewis' face right now would be pinned under 'bafflement'.

It took a moment, actually it took a few, for the Doctor to collect herself again.

She straightened her shoulders, cleared her throat, and shook herself out, as if to remove any unnecessary consideration that kept her from thinking clearly.

"Who knows about this?" It was her first question.

Where your shoulders were ever so slightly touching, you could feel Emily's body stay tense.

"Not really anyone," She admitted.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Emily shook her head. "Y/N is my personal life," She cleared. "I spend almost every awake minute with you people. I wanted something to myself."

As subtly as you could, you leaned your body the slightest bit closer to her. It wasn't visible to the lazy eye, but Emily could feel it.

She squeezed your wrist.

You were comfort to her.

Tara's eyes flew between the two of you, contemplating, observing.

Then, from one moment to another, her lips broke into a blinding grin.

"A wife," She repeated. Emily ripped her eyes open to interpret her friend that she should keep her voice down.

"Good for you," Tara smiled.

Emily visibly relaxed. A breath she had been holding escaped her lungs soundly.

"Let's just be clear," She told Tara, "This is still my thing." She gestured to you. "My marriage is still my thing. I don't need the entire team on me like vultures, profiling my love life like they do everything else."

Tara nodded earnestly. Her small curls were bumping up and down. She pulled her fingers across her lips and pretented to turn a key in the corner of her mouth.

"My lips are sealed." She threw the imaginary key far, far behind the office desks. "Lovergirl."

Emily ignored her and turned to you.

Your fingers lingered around hers in the movement.

"Thank you," She breathed out quietly. A soft smile played around your lips as you looked into her eyes, recognizing that specific gentleness that you knew she only gifted you with.

"Anytime."

You placed her lunch box in her hands. "It's rice with some peas and corn." Emily smiled. "You're the best."

"And, before I forget-" You pulled out the badge from your bag, but instead of giving it to Emily directly, you opened her suit jacket and found the inner pocket, safely storing the credentials where you knew she kept them every day.

You smoothed out the jacket when you were done.

"There you go."

Emily didn't even know what to say. That warm feeling, that she felt in her entire body every time she looked at you, realized who you were and who you were to her, it made itself known in this moment right now.

Right here, in the middle of her workspace.

And with all the horrors she'd see, it was probably the most content she had felt in this place in a while.

"You are so amazing." The words didn't come close to what she was feeling.

But the way your eyebrows loosened, and your lips slightly parted, she knew you understood.

"This is so sweet, and I hate to be that person, but Prentiss, we have a case to get to."

Emily cleared her throat, being ripped from whatever that moment had been, and reminded on what ground she was standing right now.

"Right," She said. She opened her arms and leaned in to pull you into a hug.

A hug, not a kiss on the cheek.

She wasn't that far yet.

"It's okay." The feeling of your breathed words tickled near her ear. "I understand."

Emily squeezed you a bit tighter.

"Get home safe."

You slowly broke away from the embrace.

"I will," You promised.

Tara mouthed a quick 'I'm so sorry' in your direction. You laughed and waved her a goodbye, before you headed for the elavator again, and she got on her way to follow after Emily, who had already made her way to where JJ had ordered them a few minutes ago.

Tara endured until the top step.

"Oh.my.God. I can't believe it!" She almost squealed as they made their way next to each other to the briefing room.

"Look at us, sharing secrets now. Ah." She shook out her shoulders. "I feel like this is a pyjama party in junior year all over again. Amazing."

Emily couldn't do anything else than grin at Tara's antics.

Suddenly, her pocket vibrated with a short tune, and Emily pulled out her phone to check her display.

It was a message from you. Emily smiled softly as she read it.

Have a good day, my sun. Will hopefully see you tonight<3

"A message from boo?" Tara mocked, and tried to peak over Emily's shoulder.

Emily quickly shut off the display, stuffed her phone back into her backpocket and continued walking.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

But the lovesick smile didn't leave Emily's face for the rest of the way to the briefing room, partly because she was so caught up in her thoughts about the specific feeling of your skin, that she didn't even notice she was wearing it.

[etherealily]

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: You're needed. Now.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

It's not like you even knew Nate.

You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.

Until they did.

Until he started following you on Instagram.

That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.

The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.

You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.

It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.

Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.

--------

Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.

She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).

Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-

Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.

Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?

Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.

Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.

Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?

(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)

The story was only text. Text and nothing more.

Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.

What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?

You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.

A picture, along with six other messages.

This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."

"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.

"You should be."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.

"You should be here. Come."

Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.

"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."

"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.

You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.

Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.

So much red.

Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.

He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.

"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."

Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.

But not like this.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-

Nate Jacobs started an audio call.

Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.

"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."

Yup, that sounded about right.

You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?

Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.

"Y/N, please just come."

It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.

"Why?"

"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.

"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"

You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.

If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.

"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"

"Look-"

"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.

"Why?"

"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.

2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.

"I will cut deeper."

"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."

You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.

"I'm cutting."

"Stop."

"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."

A video. SHIT. FUCK.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.

The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.

The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.

As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.

It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.

Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.

"Let me go , McKay!"

"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.

He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.

"Okay."

He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.

What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'

You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.

"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."

"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"

"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"

"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"

The other team's captain.

"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."

The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?

"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."

Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"One more, then you can send her in."

"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.

Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?

Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.

Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breaching every inch of a dry leaf.

"You came."

"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"

"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."

Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?

"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"

"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."

And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.

No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....

And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.

"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.

Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.

Smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.

He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.

Not crack. Probably fent.

Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.

"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.

It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.

Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.

You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.

You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'

You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.

"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."

Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.

"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"

You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right?

You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.

"You catch the touchdown?"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"

"Sure."

His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."

"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"

"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"

"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.

"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.

You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.

"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.

"Small dicks?"

"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."

"Like the hooking up thing."

"How do you know about that?"

"McKay told me."

He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.

"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."

If he was about to say what he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.

"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.

But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.

"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."

"When the fuck did you-"

"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."

Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?

"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"

"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.

"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."

"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"

No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.

"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"

"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.

"Yeah, okay, get out."

"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."

The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."

The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.

That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.

He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.

And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.

"Y/N, please."

"Fine."

You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.

The entire football field gasped.

He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.

"Go. Play now."

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."

"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."

You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.

He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.

You hoped you'd heard wrong.

Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.

Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.

-------

He won.

He. Fucking. Won.

And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.

You hated yourself for it, but yes.

You wanted him dead.

All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.

Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.

"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."

You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.

"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."

"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."

"No chance in hell, Jacobs."

"Stop wounding me. Let me in."

"Or what?"

"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.

"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."

He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffle bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"

"Tell me where to go."

"You don't know where I live?"

"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"

"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."

"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."

He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."

"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."

"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."

"I barely even post anything!"

"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"

He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."

"It was unnecessary."

"Okay, you know what this is?"

He raised a brow.

"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"

And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.

To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."

"You did not just fucking kiss me."

"You want me to do it again?"

"NO."

"Then drive."

This motherfucking bastard of a man!

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"You wanna come in?"

No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.

"I'm good."

He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."

"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."

"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."

"Why? We're never talking after this."

He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."

He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."

"What? No."

"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"

"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"

But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-

"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."

"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."

The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.

Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.

"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.

"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.

"Not dressing that wound?"

"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."

Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.

And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.

How it should be.

But then he texted you.

Fuck.

[velvetures]

Heya I absolutely adore your writing and I would looove to request something like the “vulnerable” fic you wrote about ghost, but for könig instead. So much fluff and so many praises for our pretty boy, since I feel like he would show us his face but he’d be really anxious and self conscious about it. Feel free to decide if u wanna add nsfw content or not, I’m happy with whatever :))

Touch starved, intimacy craving cod boys will be the death of me 😔

Thank you in advance c:

Defenseless

a/n: so sorry I'm answering this so late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless 🩶 this isn't the most in-depth... but I really tried to get the feels of it. summary: The Colonel has been stated as having something up his ass for nearly a week. no tw's that i know of...

The Colonel had been unusually insufferable for over a week at this point.

Barking demands, snarling at everyone in his path, making a total bloodbath out of the one mission assigned to him, and practically punishing all of his men during the two training sessions he’d deemed mandatory. He was on a tirade unlike anything you’d been witness to before, and there was hardly a place to escape from him. That only place being the garage which you had not-so-coincidentally been holed-up in after receiving a vehicle that was for less of better description… utterly fucked. But budget apparently didn’t allow for a replacement, so you’d been sent out to fix the helpless machine.

You didn’t necessarily consider yourself “co-workers” in the normal sense. You didn’t share office memos, or even work in office cubicles that shared a flimsy divider. The majority of your work with him came down to managing the transport to and from the base to their mission insertions. Be it helo or armor-truck, you were licensed and proficient. It gave you one of the most important jobs on base… Transporting the most dangerous men that KORTAC could throw at an enemy. And their massive, intimidating, hooded Colonel was included.

“I heard him chewing into a private’s ass for standing in front of his office door while he was sitting inside… with the door shut.” You overheard one of the mechanics chuckling from underneath of an LUV that had a leaking brake line.

A couple of the other guys joined in the conversation, ignoring your presence for all intensive purposes. You could only imagine that they were doing so simple because of how well attached you were to König in a more personal relationship. It had been nothing but professional and regulatory, but the sight of you lingering around the Colonel for more than absolutely necessary raised plenty of eyebrows around base. It just worked out that you had your entire top half of your body twisted in the engine bay of an MMPV that had taken enough IED damage to need a lot of maintenance and replacements. A pain in the ass you had been fussing over for hours just today; not even thinking about the fact that you’d been engrossed in the job for nearly a week.

“What’d you think Major?” One of the men calling out to you brought your attention away from a replacement coil-on-plug system sitting in a box, not touched yet on the wheel well to your right.

“About what?” You feign interest, not wanting to be caught listening in on conversation.

“The Colonel,” He clarified. “You seen whatever it is that has a stick up his ass sideways?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t make a habit of checking the Colonel’s asshole…” If it’s not clear in your tone that you’re quite finished with the conversation, he doesn’t take notice.

“You’re pretty close with him aren’t you? Can’t you put in a good word for everyone on base… he’s practically frothing at the mouth!”

“I’m not a damn veterinarian either, Johns.” You warn, losing a bit of your patience.

It was one thing for König to swing his weight around like they were suggesting… it was another for him to have been struggling with something far more stressful than normal. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time a soldier took out frustration of the job on his fellow officers. Especially if he got a reality check that displayed just how fragile the system really was in times of actual strain. Not that you’d even had the chance to see him since this “tirade” began, but you could only imagine that something more than the obvious was going on behind that bleach-stained hood over his head.

Girly gossip from the small group of mechanics went on long into the evening. Theories stretching from a mission gone bad to some kind of personal insult from a superior. While the solutions to his “problem” oftentimes resulted in some kind of reference to his sex life being dry, or outright nonexistent. It all sounded ridiculous to you between cranks of your socket wrench or the occasional shrill of an impact drill.

Thankfully you could shut out the sounds for the most part, but by the time you’d found a decent stopping place, the sky outside the hangar had blackened for the night and the temperature dropped far enough that your breath misted in front of your face. It was plenty late enough to head back to your quarters and get enough sleep before being right back under the hood at first light without feeling totally miserable. You didn’t expect to run into the Colonel on your way back to your room.

From the way he walked alone, you could tell that he was exhausted. The toes of his boots skimming the ground a little more than normal, as well as the slight hunch is his typically unforgiving posture. König looked like he’d had his ass kicked before being asked to dig his own grave and crawl out of it. Hearing everyone complaining about his sour mood made even more sense than before, and you couldn’t blame him for sharing around the misery. Besides, he was one of the highest-ranking people on base… it was his reluctant responsibility to deal with people almost every second of the day.

He deserved a damn break…

“Hey! Colonel!” You called out just loud enough to make him stop. Begin careful enough to not just call him by his first time in the case that someone was listening in. His head snapped in your direction and he stiffened for a moment before recognizing you in the dark shadows of the night and parking lot lamps.

“Major…”

Chills rose on your skin hearing his roughened voice rolling your title off his tongue. He wasn’t the slightest aggressive, and you couldn’t quite decide if he was just sparing you his anger, or just worn himself down too much to care. You jog the distance between you, feeling some tension in your lower back from being bent over that damn truck all day. Hopefully it wouldn’t make König’s notice… he was always very particular about injuries or overuse with his direct-connection officers.

“Wie war dein Tag?” His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s smiling under his hood.

At least that’s what you imagine he’s doing.

“It was alright,” You nod giving him a smile. “Working on your MMPV. It’s in a hell of a state, and I’m not sure I can fix her.” You mutter a bit quieter, mind drifting to the vehicle and the limited amount of actual repairs you could do without needing some additional parts or funding allotted for the repairs. König seemed to pick up on it for a moment, but he also ended up having half of his mind somewhere else for the time being.

“I understand…” You couldn’t be sure if he meant simple exhaustion or a shared feeling of being much in the same state as your armored car. “I’m certain with your attention, it will do more than survive the blow.”

You giggle softly, resting your hands on your hips and digging your thumbs into your lower back as nonchalantly as possible to hide the way your digits pressed and rubbed at the immense pressure building right above your hipbones. Your shared mental and physical abuse wasn’t the slightest bit new. It always felt like when you got to see König for any respectable amount of time something was wrong with one or both of you. Normally, it made for plenty of good jokes and light teasing. A good one didn’t come to mind, and the Colonel didn’t appear in the mood for banter either. Really, his voice didn’t even sound like it wanted to be present. Fading in and out of gravelly and growled tones between German-accented syllables.

“Are you retiring for the night?” His blonde eyebrow raised up above the ripped eyehole of his mask. You spared a glance at the roof which shielded your quarters from the elements. Damn near two-hundred yards away, as well. You hated thinking about the walk.

“Yeah, I figure I should head that way. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there if I don’t drag myself across the concrete like I want to.”

König chuckles lowly, bringing another smile to your face. You hoped it was a decent relief from what was bothering him so badly to make base feel like a war zone. The thought of being his first sign of something positive in days only intensified your joy of the thought. He takes his own glance in the direction of your rooms and then looks back to you with something of an appraising edge. Even scanning the immediate area for good measure before visibly losing some of the façade hiding his exhaustion.

“Drill in the morning?” He asks quieter, nodding his head for you to follow alongside him.

“No. Just working on that damn truck…” He chuckles again, giving you a softer look out of the corner of his eye.

“You can always stay with me,” He says quite a bit more offhanded than the offer really was.

There was no fucking way regulation would stand for it even if it was nothing more than a platonic pajama party. The mere thought of “the Major” and “the Colonel” being spotted leaving the same bedroom after a night alone would have them both court-martialed and discharged. Yet König handed out the offer easier than he could hand out candy to small children on Halloween. It spun you for a loop. Resulting in your feet welding themselves to the ground and your eyes widening as you turn to look up at him in question as to if you’d actually heard him correctly.

“Stay with you… stay… like, overnight?” The sentence alone felt so forbidden yet enticing in your mouth. König shrugs. A little more of his tension developing in his shoulders as you visibly see himself second-guessing such an intimate thing quite randomly.

“It was just an offer, Major.” He clarifies. “My quarters are much closer to your garage… and I’ve got everything you might need for one night away from your own bed.” He added with a soothing kind of tone.

But it left you just as anticipatory. He wasn’t this forward. At least, not in such a personal way. He didn’t phrase things this… domestic, directly and he sure as hell hadn’t ever thought to try it on you above all others. There was something more to this, and it wasn’t just due to the distance to your own quarters compared to his. A benefit for him lingered somewhere just below the surface of truth he’d been willing to speak about. Naturally, you weren’t about to take the first step in pushing him. So instead, you took the choice of playing the long game and allowing him to take the lead.

He is your superior officer, after all.

“You know… I might just take you up on those amenities, Colonel.”

His eyes crinkle again, giving you a second opportunity to wonder what his pretty mouth must look like when he smiles.

“If you stay, my rank stays outside. I don’t prefer answering to a title in my own home.” His low voice rumbles with an affectionate tone. One that makes you nod your head automatically, like he’d whispered some spell over you.

“Of course, sir.”

His quarters weren’t what you expected.

Instead of the typical grey walls and standard furniture, he’d went about the process of either collecting some more personal things or brought them from wherever he’d lived before now. The bed was actually massive, swallowing your position that a king size bed was more than large enough. The four posts around it had been stained a dark, ash kind of color over heavily grained wood. A desk sat over against the wall underneath of the one window in the room and while it was stained the same color, carved designs on the drawers and feet were different from the bed frame style. The walls were void of any pictures or art, bit there was enough personal touches scattered around that it pieced together a bit more of the mystery behind the Colonel’s personal life.

“It’s really nice,” Your compliment falls into the room softly, almost like you’re attempting to keep the atmosphere untouched by your presence. “Where’d you get all of your things from?” It wasn’t until after asking that you realized it might be too personal of a question considering his attitude.

He looked around and shrugged. “Antique stores,” He ran a gloved hand over the top of a nightstand next to him. “I liked the idea of fixing things… and I had the knowledge of how to do it.” Your insides twisted in interest at the idea of König being well-versed in woodworking. Images of the massive man knelt down with sandpaper and reaching the smallest nooks in the carved wood. Meticulous. Unwilling to take a shortcut… it made more sense the longer you thought about it. He walked up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders gently, letting out a deep breath.

“I didn’t… invite you here just for convenience.” He admitted a bit shyly, fingers twitching to squeeze your shoulders just a little harder.

Ah, there it is…

“What did you let me in for?” You reply, turning to look over your shoulder and up at him with a friendly little smile. “Because I know it wasn’t for chocolates on the pillows and breakfast in bed when I wake up.”

Those big, dark, eyes glittered a little. Framing just a small bit of humor in an otherwise dark, painted and highly guarded expression in a well-defended man. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Hs ability to find some softness in an otherwise harsh and cruel world of voluntary service to country. A damn shame he’d found this world instead of another one that would be more welcoming… less bloody… but then again. You’d also found this world too, even if it was your pathway to simple drive into warzones instead of running into them with a rifle and a desire to be the last man standing.

“I need some… help.” He could see the question and concern on your face, but instead of even uttering a single word, he just moves away from you and sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes polarize away from you and down to the gloves that he began struggling to get off with slightly trembling hands.

You debated. Tossing around so many ideas in your head that you began dropping them. Juggling too many problems and possible solutions all at once. Hoping that he would speak up, or give you some sort of help. König wasn’t the best talker. Never had been really, but often he’d give away something that let you in on the issues in his mind. He was a stone wall tonight. Sitting like a marble statue with nothing more than softened eyes looking away from you with a palpable desire for help; yet no ability within himself to say how. The first thing you didn’t like was that he still had on all of that gear. Between the flak jacket with all of his spare mags, the helmet, steel-toed boots, multiple holsters and a slew of other things, there was far too much on him for you to get close enough to finding a crack in that armor.

“Can I?” Stepping closer, and pointing towards his helmet you ask gently, testing his comfort. He just nods, not even willing to look up at you to check what you were even wanting to do.

You unbuckle it carefully, not wanting to tug on his hood and sit it down next to him on the bed. But right as you sit it down, you see him reach up and tug the material off to drop it down inside the helmet. His blonde hair is a mess. A bit sweaty and matted down from a days work, it falls over his forehead and down to his nose. It softens the stark color of black face paint smeared over the whole top half of his face. The process of breaking down the soldier piece-by-piece takes less than five minutes, and that even included a small fight over whether or not you should be allowed to take off his boots due to how “demeaning” he felt it would look to have you kneel down in front of him like that. Thoughtful as you found the idea, you still pointed out he was your superior officer and it only made sense that you take care of the “unimportant” tasks for him. What you really didn’t know what that he watched you unlace his boots with every intention of letting you know that it felt even more intimate than letting you be one of the few people who could see his face in typical circumstances.

“That’s better… right?” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair to try and unstick the hair stuck together with sweat.

He nods. “Ja, viel besser.”

You smile at his German, sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh presses against his and your shoulder rests tightly next to him. “How about you take shower? I think washing off the day might help out a bit.”

König shakes his head no and quickly decides on a better idea. One that ends up with you laying flat on your back and a 6’10 man laying with his head on your stomach and his body nestled between your legs. His arms stay bent by his sides, resting weight on his elbows to resist laying his entire weight on you but his hands palm both sides of your ribs intentionally. His fingertips pressing between the dips of your ribs and the warm exhale of his breaths fanning against your stomach. It feels uncommonly desperate. Sensing the undeniable behavior of a man needing touch. Closeness from another human instead of the victory of a battle alone, or the knowledge that he’d lived another day without dying a horrible death. That thought alone has you wrapping your arms around his head and holding him tightly. Cradling him as well as you can to make him feel safe and protected even though his feet are hanging off the bed. Your heart pinches in regret that you’d not thought of coming to see him sooner. At least defending him in front of the others who’d been hellbent on making him out to be an asshole for having such a rough week.

Fuck.

He’d almost groveled like a puppy on its belly for you to touch him.

“You smell like cinnamon,” He mutters with his mouth slurred in the extra fabric of your shirt. “I like that… reminds me of my mother’s cinnamon rolls.” The memory is audible; softening his words and making that German accent thicker with exhaustion and comfort of being wrapped up in your arms.

You giggle very softly, pushing his hair off his face. “I’m surprised I don’t smell like grease.”

“Nein… du riechst wie zu hause.” His reply is gravelly and warm.

You close your eyes and settle back against the bed. “You know I don’t know German well enough to understand that…” He laughed softly, squeezing your sides with his massive hands.

“Do you think I’m not aware?” A laugh escaped you and as a retaliation you tapped the top of his head in a small, soft, shun. “I like saying things to you in German… it makes saying the truth easier sometimes.”

When his hands slid further under your body to fully encompass your waist, he buried his nose into your stomach and took a deep, relaxed breath. Nuzzling tighter into you and rubbing his face into your shirt like he was attempting to rub his scent and face paint off on your shirt. Neither option sounded the least bit bad. Wishing that he would fully immerse himself in you if it would make him feel better. Ease that misery festering in the back of his mind. Beginning to settle in, you started running your fingertips up and down his back. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt as you went, and tracing out the defined lines on his shoulder blades and rippled lats stretching over his ribs. Each pass either smoothing the pads of your fingertips, or giving him a slight scratch with blunted nails. Earning some German mutters and contented grumbles vibrating against your stomach.

“Du kilngst… wie ein… bär.” Your German feels quite juvenile, but König’s short huff of amusement gives you enough satisfaction that the lighthearted jab had reached him. He nips at your hip with his teeth, making you jump in surprise and giggle nervously.

“Isn’t there a saying… ‘don’t poke the bear?’.”

“I thought you were a King, not a bear?”

He shakes his head, a little slow on a comeback. “Either way, I’ll prove my dominance.”

You chuckle softly. “Don’t bother, I’m more than content to stay just like this.” You hum, returning to the smooth up and down movement of your hands on his wide expanse of a back.

“I’m happy to stay like this as well,” He mutters, stretching out a bit more. “However, I don’t like where you are.” Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly, you freeze for a moment.

“I can move if you’d like?”

Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly. He shifts a bit, putting more weight back onto his knees with a small grunt before snatching you up far enough to roll you onto your side and settle himself behind you as if you weren’t any bigger than a teddy bear meant for pure comfort and warmth. A muscled and tattooed arm vicegrips your chest and the other arm slides under your head to prop up your head. Instantly turning the role of comfort you’d been happy to provide into a much different situation.

“Can’t do much laying like this.” You protest a bit, attempting to turn over to face him so you can at least return to touching him.

“No, you fit right… shaped to me.” He slurs; tightened his grip and shook his head, resting his nose right in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under your shirt and reaches up far enough to rest his forearm against your chest and make a half-collar around your neck with his hand. He feels hot to the touch, and while you would’ve shied away from any other man touching you in such a way, König doing it felt right. As if there was something connecting you to him other than a simple recognition of the desire for a human connection that wasn’t painful. A different kind of dominance, creating a safe place for himself, but also for you in the way the curve of his hand fit right at the base of your throat.

“Touching you like this… it makes me feel more powerful than any firefight I’ve won.” He states, further resting his upper body against your back. “Like all of the mistakes i’ve made were worth making; just so I could have a moment to feel invincible laying in my own bed.”

It’s deep. Touching. Reaching right down into the bottom of your soul and wrenching it with an iron-grip so warm that you feel a heat rise in your throat.

“That sounds like something you should tell a woman you love, not just me.” You whisper, sliding your own hand under your shirt to hold his hand.

As if he could, he attempts to pull you tighter against him.

“I just did.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated <3

[cat3ch1sm]

you've made a lot of fics about killua, but never a general relationship headcanon? 🌸 could I request that?

By the way, I love the way you write the characters, it always feels pretty Canon and I enjoy reading your works a whole lot <33

🌱~ messages like this always make my day💚 than you so much!! im so happy you enjoy my works <33 more are on the way! ilysm 🫶🏾🫶🏾

these are way longer than i thought they were gonna be wow😭😭 turn out i have a whole bunch of killua relationship hcs in my brain and you seem to have broken the dam😭 i hope you like them lmaoo

𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬!

°˖ ⊹ ꒰🌱꒱ ♡ definitely don’t expect killua to be the sappy, super overly affectionate type. he will either call you a dumbass or stupid or some other insult. but when you protest he’ll just be like “whatt? i meant it in a nice way.”

killua is not a pda guy. the most he’ll do in public is hold your hand and even that’s a coin toss. he isn’t that fond of things like that anyway, but mostly he’s just worried that if an enemy of his sees you with him that they’ll target you in order to hurt killua. he’ll never admit that, though.

in private it is a different story. he lets you play with his hair and likes to lay with his head in your lap. once he fell asleep like that and woke up so embarrassed even though you told him over and over that it was fine and you thought it was cute, which just made it worse. it’s rare he’s the one initiating physical affection, but it does happen. it’s slightly awkward when you first start dating though, since obviously that’s a new concept to killua. i can definitely imagine him doing that yawn and stretch move when you’re watching a movie or something, but when you reciprocate his affection killua gets all flustered.

killua has legitimately no idea what to do in a romantic relationship. hell, he doesn’t know what a good family relationship should even look like, and he never made a friend until he was like 12, so healthy relationships are a foreign concept. he will be absolutely flabbergasted when you buy him gifts every once in a while just to make him happy, and he’s shocked when you buy him chocolate robots for Valentine’s Day, and he is beyond confused when you give him compliments or tell him that you love him.

killua always admonishes you when you buy him stuff. whenever you bring him something he’ll just stare at it and scoff. “why do you even bother buying me stuff? i’m rich enough to buy your whole family and more, so why do you even bother getting me stuff like this?”

he always takes it anyway so don’t even mind him. killua has a specific place where he keeps your gifts. when he’s away from home he keeps them on him in a knapsack or wherever he’s staying at the time, but when he’s at the zoldyck mansion, killua locks everything away in a box safely hidden and always keeps the key on him so his family can’t get to it.

speaking of his family. you are definitely out of your mind if you think killua is willingly taking you to meet them. absolutely not in a million years. if ever killua does need to go back to his home for something, usually to check on alluka, you are staying wherever you are until he gets back. he will also ask gon to keep an eye on you if gon happens to be traveling with you. killua would rather his family just not know about you at all lest the zoldycks do the same to you as they sometimes do with alluka- capture you, and then hold you over killua’s head and threaten you whenever they want him to do something.

okay enough with the angsty stuff and back to how literally clueless killua is about dating. when gon who is the rizz god for some fucking reason informs him that he needs to take you out on dates, killua is blindsided. at first he just takes you places he likes to go, like the skate park or heavens arena to watch fights, but gon pulls him aside again at some point and says that he needs to take you places that you enjoy. which is something that killua is kind of stubborn about at first, but he does actually want to make you happy, so he obliges.

there’s this post on like twitter or something where this guy is talking about how since spending time with his gf she has him watching stupid shit he would never watch like twilight or grey’s anatomy. that is basically what happens with killua. he’s doing stuff with you that he never thought he would do in a million years and enjoying it for whatever reason. don’t tell anyone though because he gets so embarrassed

one of the things he found out that he likes is wearing eyeliner. you made sone offhanded comment about it and that his eyes look like a cat’s and suddenly you were doing eyeliner for him. it took a lot of convincing, but when killua sees how good it looks on him, he’s asking you to do it for him every day. eventually you teach him how to do it himself as well

killua winds up going to gon a lot for relationship advice. what does he do when you’re sad? go to gon. what should he do for your birthday? ask gon! should he get you new shoes or a new jacket? what do you think, gon?

killua rarely lets you pay for stuff. he’s rich so he doesn’t see why he should

whenever you’re on your phone or reading a book or something, killua will randomly appear behind you and put his head on your shoulder and just watch what you’re doing in silence. but if he sees you’re doing something like online shopping, just scrolling through items, killua will tap the screen whenever he sees something he likes for you. he especially likes to pick out your clothes, and he’s actually good at it. unlike the going out on dates thing, he picks out what he thinks you will like and what looks good on you. honestly killua was the only character who actually changed clothes every day in the show so he’s good with fashion lmao. most of the time he’ll buy the item for you too

killua also doesn’t mind too much if you steal his clothes, like his hoodies or hats. he might not let you take the newer stuff, but he doesn’t mind letting you parade around in his clothes. on the flip side he will also steal some of yours.

killua is very much that bf who claims “im not hungry” but then proceeds to steal half your food. so you’ve learned that whenever he says that to order twice the food

around people he knows, mainly people he doesn’t like, killua likes to show you off- but in a subtler way. like he might casually hold your hand just to show everyone “yeah, i have a partner. no big deal haha”

you literally never have to worry about killua cheating on you. he is fiercely loyal. he’s not one of those bfs that, when approached by another girl or guy, is like “oh, im sorry, but i have a partner.” nah he’s sprinting full speed in the opposite direction of whoever’s trying to approach him. either that or he’s just super rude to anyone who asks for his number or is romantically interested in him.

*cue random mf who wants him* “hi! i thought you seemed really cool and i wanted to know if-“

“nah i got a partner”

“well i just was wondering-“

“fuck out my face im dating someone”

“just-“

“hell nah”

in addition to that, killua is very much the jealous type. if you haven’t watched the phantom rouge movie go watch it rn and tell me killua isn’t jealous. anyone else who makes you smile or laugh or makes the mistake of touching you, killua instantly hates. he always makes sure to be there whenever you’re around that person. situations like that are an exception to his PDA rule- he’ll throw an arm around your shoulder or waist if he’s feeling really protective, or hold your hand. he doesn’t get jealous about gon, though- all three of you are friends and he knows for sure gon wouldn’t try anything on you in a million years.

killua may or may not go a little overboard with his jealousy at times, though. he might mistake a simple interaction for someone trying to get with you

“yo, y/n- why was that guy talking to you?”

“*long sigh* killua. how else was he going to take my order?”

killua is on the protective side and doesn’t really like for you to be out without him or gon. if you aren’t back within a certain timeframe he’ll start spamming your phone with texts and calls to make sure you’re okay.

from: killua @ 10:56 pm

“yo”

“yo”

“y/n”

“yo”

“you good”

“heLLOOOO”

“you’re supposed to answer me im your boyfriend”

“why do you hate me”

“are u alive”

“are u alive”

“come back”

“pls”

“where u at”

“it’s almost 11”

“if ur dead im going to kill u”

“ANSWER BRO”

from: y/n @ 10:57

“HOW DID YOU SEND SIXTEEN FUCKING MESSAGES IN THE SPAN OF ONE MINUTE”

from: killua @ 10:57

“:3”

[sopiao]

OMG HIIIIII ^^

i feel like there’s not enough price love on this app >:( so i wanted to request a reader that moves in across the hall from Price. and gets a little crushy crush on you 😻

LIKE OMG he helps you move in, do all the heavy lifting. such a gentlemen. always there whenever your AC breaks down. he just so happens to run into you in the complex’s laundry room. somehow always awake when you need him.

please ignore this if you want or don’t feel like it!! take care of urself boo!

PLS IVE BEEN SO EXCITED TO DO THIS THE SECOND I FIRST READ IT. honestly such a cute idea :^

anyways- 👀

Price was a very private man, never discussing any deep or emotional issues or feelings with anyone. He hated small talk, always found it awkward or bothersome. He didn’t feel as lonely as he thought he’d be, he liked the peace and the time he has for himself. Yes, he will be polite, but would rather prefer being by himself. But he’d try his best to avoid any interaction without being rude.

That was until he heard talking and a series thuds outside. Price was always very nosy and curious so he looked through the peephole of his door and saw you standing in front of the apartment across from his, it was empty for as long as he’s been there. Boxes were scattered along your feet.

He’s not sure why, but he felt like he should help you. He told himself it was just to make a good first impression of course. He scrambled to find the nearest clean shirt he could find. Coming out to meet you, Price was awkward at first, feeling like it was a bad idea at the last second until he saw your face, a soft and welcoming smile.

“Hi! Sorry about the boxes, I’ll be quick” You chuckle awkwardly, looking at the boxes that took up one side of the hallway. A smile instantly grew on him as he reassured you that it was alright and that it wasn’t a bother.

“You need a hand? I have some free time” He offered, lying, not wanting to seem like an eager creep that’ll snatch a pair of underwear from you while your not looking.

“You sure? I don’t wanna take up any of your time” Of course you were grateful for the offer but didn’t wanna be a bother. He insisted that he helped and that he wouldn’t be late to the nonexistent plans he made up. You didn’t doubt that he couldn’t do it. I mean, just look at him. His arms alone made you drool.

He made sure to make a show of it when he helped you out. Holding a box close against his barrel chest, making sure to subtly flex his arms he knew you were eyeing. Occasionally, you’d sneak a glance of his ass when you would go back out to bring in another box.

Price even helped you bring in all of your furniture from the downstairs lobby to the second floor. Doesn’t sound like much but when your bringing in furniture up and down and up and down— it gets tiring as hell. And fortunately for your case, sweaty.

Right after bringing in the couch, he did 80% of the lifting, you plopped down across it for a little break. Price pulling up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his neck and face, showing you what you’ve been thinking about since the beginning. He was turned to the side so it didn’t look as obvious that he was showing off for you, but you still got that full view.

—

Price was excited when he heard a knock on his door, even more when he saw you, if he was a dog his tail would be wagging side to side.

“Sorry to bother you again, but do you know how to fix an AC? Or a repair number I can call?” You asked, chuckling nervously, again he pretended that he had free time in between plans he didn’t really have. Plus, it took him away from his heaps of paperwork and got to be in your presence, even if it’s for a short while.

“‘Course. I have some time” Flashing the charming smile you always thought about. Following you into your apartment with a reasonably sized tool box. He couldn’t help but eye how you looked, dressed to try and accommodate the hot weather without a functioning AC. Loose black tank top and grey sweatpants.

“Thank you! I would’ve probably roasted to death if I went one more minute with out it. So sorry to bother you again” You grinned, relief washing over you, the cool air against your boiling skin and sweat woke you instantly.

“No problem at all” He shrugged, putting his tools back in the red metal box, resting his surprisingly soft hand on your shoulder.

“Feel free to call me anytime anything needs fixing” His touch seemed to linger, along with your and his gaze on each other.

—

Price sprang up in a second and came running into your apartment when he heard a scream, the door was unlocked. He found you sitting on your counter with a pan, clearly afraid and scared.

“What?! What happened?!” He yelled, looking around your apartment for an intruder or something, his wooden bat being held over his shoulder, ready to strike.

You stuttered, too scared to reply, even think to form a sentence.

“A spider”

“What- Wait- Seriously?” He let the bat drop to his side, laughing at how seriously afraid your expression was.

“Yes, seriously! It’s huge, John! It’s as big as my hand!” You yell, trying to get to him while he laughs.

“Fine. Where is it?” He smirked. You followed him to your bedroom where the spider was. It really was as big as an atom, he couldn’t even find it until it moved up the wall.

—

When John heard your knock at his door he took no longer than a second, ready to open the door and greet you. Wondering what you’d want at this time of the night. He stopped for a second, realizing that he may be a little too eager. Waiting a couple seconds, like one or two, and opening the door, pretending that he just ended a call.

“Hm?” He tilted his head, forearm resting on the edge of the door as he leaned against it. Somehow you were more charming than the last time he saw you. Looking so excited with a paper towel on your hand with a single treat on it. He pretended he didn’t see it, but was internally hoping it was for him.

“Oh, good. You’re awake” You chime happily, taking the thick brownie and pressing it up to his lips for a bite. Wanting for him to take the test brownie, but being to awkward to ask him normally. He hummed in surprise, accepting the baked good. Placing his hand under his chin to keep it from falling and leaving crumbs.

“So?” You asked a couple seconds later, he’s still chewing. He chuckles at your eagerness, nodding his head as he tried to finish up his bite.

“I- Uhh. Wow. This is—this is good. Mm, really good” He nods, taking another bite of it as he dusted of his hands. Making you delighted that he liked it. He held the last bit of it up to your mouth to take it. Biting it from his hands you looked to the side, nodding to yourself and taking mental notes.

“Good. Good. Needs chocolate chunks, a little too dry” He stares as you just talk to yourself, a soft smile on his face.

“Oh. Caramel! Or is that too thick?” You perk up, snapping your fingers and looking up for confirmation or disapproval.

“Frosting?” He adds cluelessly, knowing nothing of the science of baking.

“Frosting!” Your eyes light up, pointing your finger at the idea.

“Mocha, maybe? Or nuts?” He tried his best to help and contribute to your little brainstorming session. Nodding along with the idea you thank him and walk back to your apartment to tweak the recipe a bit.

[pearlsinmyhair]

˖⋆˚₊⊹ his muse

hobie brown x fem!reader

this has been in my drafts for. forever. like it was summer when i wrote it on a whim. this initially started as a request for hobie with a reader that came from wealth. the vivienne westwood imagery picked up from there, and i just kinda had fun with it. and now im posting it- huzzah!

warnings: smoking (cigarettes). mentions of drinking. slight nsfw at the very end. meet-cute that leads to smut. hobie being a flirt. fem!reader.

hobie is in the midst of a creative rut that he can’t get out of, no matter how much he tries to. that is, until some inspiration walks through the door.

hobie was in a musical rut.

which never happened to him. never. if he needed a subject for a song, all he had to do was look outside for five minutes or watching the news for even less to have a subject.

that was the wonderful thing about hating the establishment: infinite cruelty, infinite song ideas.

but here he was, staring down at his guitar and picking at strings aimlessly. nothing came to him, no note or melody stuck out to him as song worthy.

he was sitting on the worn couch in his band’s makeshift studio, crosslegged and hunched over his guitar like a madman.

a soft knock came from the doorway, and he looked up to find one of his band mates hitting their knuckles against the doorway.

“you need to get out, man. you’re cooped up.” he said, stepping into the room to stand over hobie like a mother hen. “some fresh air will do you good.”

hobie scoffed, never one to take orders from anyone. but then he exhaled and leaned back, looking up at his friend with an exasperated expression.

“and where exactly do you intend for us to go?” he asked lowly, grumbling.

that’s exactly how he ended up here, in a music club full of bodies he didn’t want to touch and liquor he didn’t want to drink.

it wasn’t a traditional club scene by any means. It was a bit more artistic, leaning away from rave-style places that he’d gone to before. but it still wasn’t his preferred place.

he nursed a shirley temple, which his friend had shoved into his hand unceremoniously before disappearing into the crowd. hobie had decided that he would be the designated driver, and he understood that his band mates were going to take full advantage of that fact.

when they entered the place, his drummer had leaned over.

“maybe you’ll find a muse, hobes. i’m sure there’s plenty of pretty things in this place to give you ideas.” the boy wiggled his brows, and hobie promptly shoved him away with a chuckle.

now, he leaned against a counter and wondered what the hell he was doing. this wasn’t air. this was just distracting noise.

and said noise was becoming a little too much for his senses.

he made eye contact with one of his more sober mates, gesturing that he was going to go somewhere private. he sent a text to their group chat as well saying the same thing.

not a role model

-> heading to the back, text or call if you need me

little drummer boy

-> you’re no fun, man.

not a role model

-> 🖕🏿

he moved down a hallway, the sound of bass and electronic beats fading into a pleasant jazz sound that made its way through the speakers overhead.

the space behind the actual club was a kind of lounge, filled with warm ambiance and vinyl records and leather arm chairs. when his friends brought him here, he always inevitably retreated to this quieter space.

it was ironic really. the punk unable to handle crowds and noise. but this was a much different setting from his own shows, so he cut himself some slack.

he sunk into one of the armchairs in a side room, his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling. his head slightly throbbed, and he began to regret not drinking water.

he reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette box.

he wasn’t a casual smoker, not by a long shot. it just helped to have something to drag on sometimes, something to burn his throat while he was thinking.

right as he put the cig to his lips, the door banged open and slammed shut once more, the lock sliding home.

his spider-senses told him to prepare, but when he looked up they stopped buzzing.

because a girl leaned against the wall across from him, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

she looked afraid, scared. the way her fingers trembled alerted him to the sheer amount of adrenaline running through her veins currently.

and she hadn’t even noticed him yet. he took a moment to glance over her.

she wore a pretty little lace dress, black and short, with straps that barely cling to her shoulders. his eyes drifted down her bare legs to the black platform gogo boots on her feet, and he was impressed with the height she was balancing on. he knew from experience that those shits weren’t easy to master.

he had been a model once, and he knew enough to see that the girls clothes were expensive. like, wearing his rent expensive.

she took an anxious step, only to wobble like a baby deer, legs too long to stand properly.

maybe not so stable after all.

when she still didn’t notice him (too busy listening to the door), he opened his mouth to make himself known.

“runnin’ from something, little fawn?”

her eyes snapped to him, and she jumped slightly when she realized that someone else was in the room with her. her wide doe eyes did nothing to help disapprove the nickname. she opened and closed her mouth to speak, struggling to get the words out.

“i’m not running.”

he chuckled.

“no? do ya’ slam and lock doors at clubs often then?”

she scoffed at him, rolling her eyes. she took a step away from the door, though he could tell she was keeping track of any noise.

“i’m just…catching my breath.” she said, pulling at the necklace around her throat.

hobie’s eyes drifted down to it, surprised to find a string of pearls with an all too familiar saturn pendent.

his curiosity got the best of him. “real or fake?”

her eyes darted up to meet his, and she looked away in embarrassment as she said “real.”

he let out an impressed whistle. “that’s why you’re running.” he mumbled as the pieces clicked together.

she gave him an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowing in a way that he found adorable.

“my guess” he said as he stood from the chair, taking a step towards the girl. “is that you definitely aren’t supposed to be here. rich girl, pretty dress, innocent look. this place is practically forbidden for your like.”

her gaze hardened into a glare. “and what exactly is my like, hobie brown?”

he smirked. “you know my name.”

a statement. she deflated slightly.

“i’ve been to your shows.” she said, voice lowering. it was just enough to make him realize how close they were. he registered her body language quickly, noting how she didn’t shy away. so he didn’t either.

“interestin’, doll. does your daddy know?”

“don’t condescend me.”

he took a step back then, raising his hand in an ‘i come in peace’ gesture. “easy there. just askin.”

he went to grab a lighter to light his cigarette, reaching down into his jackets pocket. when he found nothing, he groaned softly.

a click made him look up, only to be met with the girl holding up a lighter of her own. he leaned forward to light his cigarette, and she held his gaze as the sizzling sound breiflu filled their silence.

“as you can see” she said softly. “i am not quite ‘my like’.”

he let out a puff of smoke, making sure to turn his head so that it didn’t flow into her pretty face. she coughed anyway.

he chucked. “what you doin’ with a light if you don’t smoke?”

she flipped the lighter in her hand, and it took a moment to notice that it was one of the silver heart ones that were popular.

“you like vivienne, huh?” he said, looking down at her with half lidded eyes as he took another drag.

“what can i say, i have a thing for punks.” she replied, looking up at him through her lashes.

oh, he was going to eat her.

“s’that so?” he asked, wanting to drag whatever admission she was holding in. he leaned close over her, and she stretched her neck to look right up at him. this close, he could smell whatever shampoo she used.

she was off limits. but he never really abided by rules, did he?

“what’re you runnin’ from, doll?” he asked, tapping his cigarette out as he waited for an answer.

“my father sent a body guard out to find me. i snuck out, and the man’s in the club right now.” she said, watching the way his lips curled around the cigarette.

the air kicked on, and the girl below him shivered. he shrugged off his jacket with a sigh, pulling it around her. she accepted it gratefully, practically nuzzling up against the collar.

fuck, he was a goner.

“better get you out of here, then.” he said, using the edges of his jacket to tug her closer. she smirked, allowing him to pull her against his body. “that would be great.”

he leaned down as he texted the chat, brushing his lips against the top of her ear as he typed.

not a role model

-> hey, i got someone i need to take home. anyone sober?

little drummer boy

-> the fuck are you on about, why would anyone be sober.

fresh meat

-> i am, go enjoy yourself hobes.

thank god for tyler, he thought as he pulled back the collar of his jacket to press his mouth to the girls jaw.

as she snuck him into her room later, the lyrics of a song began to write themselves in his head.

and as he thrust into her, her hands fumbling against her silk sheets and her moans in his ear, he realized that he had found his muse after all.

hobie’s masterlist

[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 (?)

[drak3n]

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE: PROLOGUE

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: the launching of a new platform magically re-connecting seperated people has shaken the entirety of social media. after many months of contemplation and denial, you give in to your urges.

ꨄ. SENA’S NOTE: this merely serves as a way to introduce all eight parts of the mini-series! as they’re all characters from different fandoms, there clearly won’t be names or any specific action in this! so this is a little short :)

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE MASTERLIST

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

everywhere.

it was everywhere you went. following you around like it was your shadow, cornering you at any given possibility.

you knew the drill. once something went viral anywhere, it would stick around for some time and then be forgotten.

that wasn’t the case with this damn live show. not at all. the first time it had been announced on international tv must have been ages ago, like around the beginning of the year. yet, the hype never seemed to die down, with more and more people freaking out online and in real life about how it changed their lives.

you were convinced it was a scam. like come on, who even believed in a fairy tale like that? being reunited with a lost lover, or any kind of lover who it didn’t work out with?

there was a reason it hadn’t worked out. because if there wasn’t, you’d still surely be with that person.

it started with trailers being shown on every channel you zipped through, announcing free slots for their newest season and putting emphasis on their confidentiality. how people had the choice to stay anonymous while spilling their private and embarrassing matters to so-called love experts.

such bullshit.

now, it went way past that. you ended up avoiding watching tv, just to literally be haunted by that cursed show in other ways. through flyers and stickers flying around, through posters hung up on subway stations and even inside of said subways, hell, a couple of days ago, there was even an airship promoting it.

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE. a silly name for a concept just as silly as that.

what did you have to do again to apply?

right, as if there was any way of forgetting with how much your coworkers were babbling about it. they made sure to remind you of that every day.

“i’m still thinking if i should just call them the next time and try my luck,” you heard one of many tell another while you were waiting in the line for your lunch. “i really, really want to make up with my ex. they’re my only hope.”

their conversation went on for many more minutes, and you were glad when you finally were next in line to greet the lunch lady with a tired smile. as she filled your tray in a halfhearted manner, your smile quickly faded away upon hearing her talk to a fellow worker behind the counters.

“my son and his teenage love reconciled after he applied there. they are awaiting their first child soon!” the elderly woman gushed while placing a cup of pudding onto your tray, waiting for you to scan your employee id before you shuffled away from the line to plop down on an empty space in the crowded lunch hall.

it was all the same. love, love, love. always those same old problems. getting dumped, being abandoned, or doing the dumping and abandoning.

regret, sadness, frustration, desperation.

you came home that sane evening with thoughts plaguing your mind; with the big question if those were all signs for you to see. if everything you’d been hearing and seeing for these past couple of months were meant to open your eyes, somehow. to get the hint.

making a beeline to your bedroom, your eyes darted to the package placed on your bed. still untouched and waiting to be sent. the pastel pink stamp had been placed on the corner of the box yesterday by you. those fuckers made so much money with their hit show that they distributed stamps, to force them to send more drama their way for them to indulge in.

it was stupid that you had even put in the effort to package what was meant to have been tossed away long ago. it might or might not have been long yet, but why did you keep that?

as a writer, you couldn’t contain yourself. even back then, you had always known you’d end up becoming anything connected to writing, journaling, whatever. it was almost annoying how you used to document all those feelings you couldn’t put into words.

specifically writing letters had always been your passion. writing down your heartbreaks and grief into words and making them come to life on paper.

words you failed to tell him.

the recipients were all written on the envelopes inside the box, some years ago, and some recently, and you didn’t even know if they were still the same addresses.

for some, you knew for sure they weren’t.

even if the cast of TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE — if they picked you, that is — wouldn’t find their current addresses, you were for sure going to be relieved. those letters had been a significant burden on your heart ever since you had written them.

for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel any kind of satisfaction from writing. these letters existed to be sent. and you were realizing it just now.

they were meant to be read aloud, understood. they had to be read by others for you to be at peace with your unresolved feelings.

the very next morning, you handed the package to the post office, bidding farewell to years of bottled-up and hidden feelings.

it wasn’t until a week later that you received a letter, with the same pink stamp and sender the same you had sent your letters to. you found yourself reading it in front of the door to your apartment:

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

dear contestant,

we thank you for your package and were enthralled to read about your experiences. upon short discussions within our team of experts, we soon decided to choose your case to present in our next live airing, which is going to be this saturday!

the letters have already been sent out to their respective addresses — some of which we had to adjust as there have been changes.

it is up to you if you want to join us for our next airing — it be via call or even by showing up at our studio! we will welcome you in any case and make sure you will reunite with one of your lost loves.

please do not worry, as we will handle all of your data with the utmost care and make sure that none of it is leaked for other purposes.

up until then, stay lovely and trust the process!

ꨄ. your TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE cast

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

PROCEED TO OPEN LETTER

THE LOST LOVE ꨄ TOJI FUSHIGURO

THE ONE NIGHT STAND ꨄ HIROMI HIGURUMA

THE NEMESIS ꨄ ATSUMU MIYA

THE BEST FRIEND ꨄ KEN RYUGYJI

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS GONE WRONG ꨄ SHUJI HANMA

THE FORBIDDEN LOVE ꨄ LEVI ACKERMAN

RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIMING ꨄ TOUYA TODOROKI

THE BOY NEXT DOOR ꨄ SHOUEI BAROU

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; alastor

requested by ; anonymous (08/03/24)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; alastor

outline ; “Excuse me, I don't know if requests are still closed but would it be okay to ask relationship headcannos about Alastor??”

warning(s) ; some references to canon-typical levels of violence from alastor, but mostly fluff!

there are an innumerable amount of reasons as to why it’s damn near impossible to get close enough to alastor to form a romantic relationship with him, but even after you have somehow managed to gain his trust and admiration to the point that he wants to court you things don’t get any more straightforward — arguably they only get more complicated the longer you’re an item

he’s nothing short of a gentleman with you and insists on taking things slow and going about things the ‘traditional’ way (or as close to traditional as one can get in hell) — and that can mean anything from holding doors open for you (either himself or through his shadows) or lending you his coat when you seem cold, to aggressively shutting down/intimidating the afterlife out of anyone who approaches you with intentions he deems inappropriate or delivering you your enemy’s severed head in amongst a gift basket of flowers and baked goods (courtesy of rosie as he’s not much of a baker himself)

he uses a mixture of french and english pet names for you depending on his mood — think along the lines of such terms of endearment as ‘my dear’ or ‘ma chèrie / mon chèri’ — and for his own part he’d rather you just address him by name unless you’re in private and he’s in a very good mood (well… a good enough mood to actually respond to being called something like ‘dearest’ or ‘honey’ instead of outright ignoring you until you actually say his name)

he frequently remarks about how much his mother would love you, how happy she’d be to see him settle down after all of this time, and how he wishes you could meet her — those moments are when you get to see a more human side of alastor, his smile softening to something more nostalgic and genuine as he speaks about one of the few people he truly cared for during his life

he’s not the biggest fan of physical affection in general and will only really partake in it on his terms, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t show his love for you through other means — in fact, as far as he’s concerned, his affection for you is shown as clear as day despite his own dislike for being touched

gift giving — though his gifts aren’t always the most traditional, alastor does tend to go out of his way and get you things whenever he’s out and about. sometimes that means picking something up from the tailor that he knows you’ll just love, or bringing you a box of baked goods from rosie’s emporium whenever he goes to visit her, and other times that means fetching you ‘trophies’ from the people he’s dealt with on your behalf (sometimes they’re extremely fresh and bloody, other times he actually makes an effort to clean and dry them — it’s 50/50 regarding how much cleanup you’re gonna need to do), but no matter what he’s always happy (proud, even) when he presents you with your gift — and even prouder if he comes back to your place of residence later on and sees that you’ve put anything on display (well, the stuff that can be displayed anyway…)

quality time — you’re the person whose company he actively seeks out the most, even if that just means sharing a space as you each go about whatever task you’re doing at the time. of course there are the dates he takes you on (he is a gentleman, after all, and he makes an effort to woo and wow you whenever he has the chance), but the majority of your quality time is spent in the hotel or his recording studio: going about your chores together, hanging out in the common area and overseeing the group activities charlie has planned, sitting side by side and reading or eating in silence, having your meals together, talking about whatever comes to mind when the mood allows it, or just sitting with him in his studio in silence as he broadcasts his show for all of hell to hear

words of affirmation — he’s not the most talkative person, especially not when compared to someone like angel dust or charlie, and is generally more of a listener/observer in most of his daily interactions, but with you he does make an effort to keep up conversation and ensure that you know just how much he appreciates your company. of course he always makes sure to compliment your newest hairstyle or outfit change, especially if you’re dressing up to accompany him to a meeting or another such formal event, but his affirmations go beyond just shallow praise and you get to see much more of that when you’re alone or in the brief moments where nobody is looking your way when you’re with others. for example, he’s always quick to reassure you of how deeply he admires and cares for you (as much as he’s capable of doing either, anyway) by insisting that it takes a great deal to catch his eye and that by merit of being the radio demon’s lover you must be spectacular, no matter what your insecurities may say.

acts of service — again, regardless of his more disturbing proclivaties, alastor is a gentleman and will go out of his way to ensure you’re well taken care of and that any and all unnecessary stressors and discomforts are swiftly and painlessly (for you) removed from your life. sometimes this can mean him fetching you (shockingly well made given his usual diet) breakfast in bed when it’s clear you didn’t sleep well the night before or having his shadow servants do your bidding for the day so you don’t have to worry about overworking yourself in his absence, but it can also translate to actions that are much more aligned with his terrifying reputation — for example, torturing anyone that opposes you (like an overbearing boss or annoying neighbour) into silence and compliance with his whims

alastor is also a generally very protective and territorial partner who isn’t above getting petty and passive aggressive towards anyone who tries to interfere in your relationship — and then if they don’t get the hint and back off immediately (or they attempted to cause you harm) he’ll start getting outright aggressive and make sure that they understand just how much they fucked up by trying to take what belongs to him

related to the above point, but alastor also has a nasty possessive streak to him and will heavily monitor all of your external relationships (both just by sticking by your side whenever he’s able, and also by ensuring you always have one of his shadows by your side when you’re apart) — he’s more lenient with your friendships if you happen to be with someone he explicitly trusts (like rosie or nifty) or someone that he knows wouldn’t dream of interfering in your relationship (like charlie who is too nice for her own good sometimes) but otherwise you can expect him to be extremely judgemental and passive aggressive with the people in your life that you’re close to (especially if they happen to be someone who distrusted him immediately… like vaggie)

this side of him can be managed with a lot of patience and compromise from you, but it’s never going to go away completely so you’re going to have to get used to that side of him early on

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

iii. one for the money, two for the show.

— the one where you were never ready, so you watched him go.

warnings: war flashbacks to the miami gp, more insight into y/n (look i have to give a lot of context for my own sanity), not really proofread sorry, 2.4k words.

masterlist ✢ next

FROM “WHAT’S NEXT FOR AIDAN KIM?” POSTED IN THE US WEEKLY YOUTUBE CHANNEL MAY 2023

You are looking at the top comments.

aidanbabes nooo my baby😭 he looks so sad!

flowerbedkim I swear to god y/n better count her fucking days

halleyc don’t come at me but this sounds like he proposed

ynbby why is he talking about this though? y/n has been super private and he’s telling US WEEKLY THIS?

ynaidan i hate being a child of divorce😭

Miami, Florida May 6th

GRAND Prix number two with Elix, attempt number two by Mr. Stuart Schafer to get into your pants. Can it get any worse?

Yes, yes it can. Because as long as you have “a job” you don’t have to come to these sponsor events. Which sucks for you, not having an acting job for the moment has never felt more like a punishment from the universe.

Artists, from actors to singers are here promoting their gigs while all you do, again, is take pictures with men in jeans and loafers and try not to barf every time you consume Elix.

You’re watching your career crumble in front of your eyes and you can’t do anything to save it from burning when it hits the floor. Mildred has called you several times during the course of the weekend to inform you of canceled interviews, revoked invitations and “sorry we’re just looking for something else” calls from casting agents.

Part of you is in disbelief that a five minute interview from your ex-boyfriend is feeding the fire, part of you expected it all the same. Women are the preferred villain in the narrative, and if it means putting a man above them, the media has had the choice made for a while.

Did you really have it coming, though? There have been endless comments about how it was about time people realized the type of person you are.

But what are you? Who are you really?

You’re a coward. You tell that to yourself in the mirror first thing in the morning.

Many people have the luxury to say they can’t pinpoint the exact moment where they went wrong. You can’t afford the pleasure of such obliviousness, because the exact moment everything went wrong was when Aidan got down on one knee.

And when the question that left his lips went from "Will you marry me?" to "Why won't you?" You knew there was no turning back.

Marriage wasn’t a foreign concept to you, but while it is generally seen as a milestone, for you it was just another stepping stone. The roles of The Wife and The Mother were something you might eventually grow into, but on the night of your third anniversary, you realized you weren't even ready for that of The Fiancée.

Was it genuinely a surprise for Aidan that you had to close the velvet box he was holding in front of you, hiding the diamond ring from your sight, before he dropped his other knee to the ground and whispered 'Why?'

Never, in the three years you'd been together, had you seriously talked about marriage. It was another bridge you would cross once you got there, and in your mistaken calculations, you thought it would be around the time your relationship turned five. That's the limit for romantic relationships without a ring involved according to most women's magazines, and your own mom. At least neither know the ring was the cause of the breakup.

It's a little pathetic how lucky you consider yourself that the tabloids don't know you rejected an engagement. They're cruel enough as it is, things can only go further downhill, straight to hell.

"You good?"

Your best friend in the world, Victoria Presley, is able to join you in the VIP area of the Paddock thanks to a couple pictures on instagram where she tagged Elix. God bless the era of influencers. Or, family connections. Being the daughter of Sony Music executive Luke Presley and celebrity life coach Claire Walker can open many doors. Well it isn't Vic's fault being born into a rich and influential family, at least she's doing her own thing with her beauty products.

"Yes, I am," you shrug. Q3 is going on right now and although you try your best to keep your focus on the two red cars around the circuit, you find it hard to get out of your head. Plus it's so hot in here you feel sticky and gross.

"I lost you for a moment there," she insists, sipping her glass of champagne, the eyebrow raise she gives you after means she needs more info into what was going through your head just seconds ago.

"Not getting any call backs right now," you sigh, taking the flute from her although all it would take for you to get your own is a few steps. "I'm kind of frustrated."

"I'm sorry babe," Vic rubs your back, unbothered by your stealing. "You'll get something soon."

"And E! cancelled my interview, AND—"

Tires screech and an 'ooooh' goes through the grand stands before the screens show a red car embedded in the barriers. A groan of "It's Leclerc!" passes through the people around you in the VIP Lounge.

You grimace, focused on the circuit again as Charles leaves his car, shaking his arms before hitting the halo several times, frustrated.

"See everyone has bad streaks," Vic has gotten her own champagne again and is pointing to the screen, where the Ferrari driver is being followed on his way out. "It's his second crash, no?"

Other people's disgrace doesn't soothe your own, so you give Vic a stern look, causing her to shrug.

Q3 is done and Ferrari has mixed feelings about their two drivers' results. As for you, the faster you can get back to your hotel, the better.

─────────

Vic drags you to dinner with a couple of her influencer friends. Everyone and their mother is in attendance at Miami, and they’re here to have fun.

"They're here!" the girl to Vic's left whisper-yells, stretching her neck to look over at the entrance of the restaurant.

The place has been completely full the whole time you've been here, which has been a while, you're done with your dinner and have a few drinks on you, yet Vic has begged you twice to stay 'just a little longer'.

Of course Vic is having the time of her life, talking about promotion agreements and posting schedules, and although you hang out with lots of influencers and social media stars on your daily life, you're not clicking with any of them tonight. Have you become bitter? No, of course not.

"y/n knows them, she can just introduce us," another one giggles, and she cheers with her tequila sunrise to your own half-empty drink that's resting on the table.

"Hmm, what?" you chuckle, unsure of how you missed the part where you entered the story.

"The Ferrari Drivers," the first girl answers in that 'obviously' tone you hate when people use with you. "You're with Ferrari all the time lately, aren't you?"

"I'm with Elix," you clear up, best as you can as they're not really paying attention, their eyes following the group of men that are being escorted by a hostess to their table. "So you know, it's not really—"

"But you've met them,"

"Well, yes but..."

Yes but, you've seen them in scattered moments where they nod and smile at you passing by and the three times you've had to take pictures drinking Elix. You don't even get to the coworker level of knowing them.

"Well let's go!"

"Hold on Holly," Vic speaks up for the first time, "I mean, they literally just got here."

"Which is why we came here," Holly can't seem to get rid of that know-it-all tone, and it's frankly starting to annoy you even if she has a different target now.

It's time to use the angry eyes with Vic, again,in less than 24 hours. That's why she kept asking you to wait just a little longer.

"How did you know they'd be here?" you question, although you already know what a cleveage can do to get any information you want. Can't blame a girl for using her tools.

“I have my ways,” Holly says, and does in fact, fix her cleavage. Fair enough.

"Vic..." you whisper, as the rest of them regather in their own conversation. "What's happening?"

"I just– they said they really wanted to meet the Ferrari guys, y/n," Vic half whines. She's doing the most to impress the other girls, which is a very Vic thing to do, but still you don't like it. "And since you work with them, well it would be easier to approach them, right?"

Wrong.

"I- Vic, I don't work with these guys. We don't even work for the same people, and... it would be weird to approach them while they're trying to have dinner peacefully."

You are not a big fan of interruptions because you've heard enough of your coworkers talk about how annoying it is. As for yourself, sometimes you mind, sometimes you don't. It all depends.

You can barely distinguish their table with all the movement around the restaurant, but you manage a peek at Carlos' hair. Both of them are there, surrounded by a bunch of other Ferrari guys.

"So? Let's go," Holly is speaking again, downing the rest of her alcoholic Shirley Temple.

"I have to use the bathroom," you announce, dropping the napkin that covered your lap on the table.

"Right now?" the other girl—you feel guilty for not remembering her name— groans.

You refrain from replying, and try not to stomp to the bathroom like a toddler throwing a tantrum. If there’s anything that you hate is feeling used, and it hurts a lot more when it comes from Victoria.

It’s something else when she uses her doe-eyed stare and says “please, please, please” to get her way even with you, rather than set you up to impress her other friends.

You take your time to reapply lipstick in the bathroom and soothe your annoyance. You have told Vic before that she needs to ask for things, not just push you into awkward situations. At least she didn’t follow you to the restroom.

Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bathroom, wondering how to go on about this. It’s very likely that things get twisted and it is you who’ll look like she wants to brag about knowing the Ferrari guys, which you’re sure they’re used to—being bragged about. But you don’t want that.

There are many clichés that you have experienced, both as a character in RomComs where the biggest makeover that is done to your character is to apply a little mascara and remove the glasses (you hate that, what’s wrong with wearing glasses?). And in real life, with big romantic gestures like receiving a bouquet with a hundred roses and one is artificial… Blah blah.

This cliché is a little more ridiculous, though, as you crash into Charles Leclerc while leaving the restroom.

“Oh, sorry,” you half-smile back at him, he’s already smiling, showing dimples and everything. You see his appeal no matter how much you don’t want to notice it. Tall, green-blue eyes and those stupid dimples. Not to mention the fact that you suddenly find accents charming. Again, stupid.

“Hey y/n,” he says still smiling, “Did you just get here?”

“Uh, no actually we’re leaving in a few minutes,” you move out of the way of a lady that wants to get into the restroom, she eyes you both for a moment before continuing on her way.

“Are you here with your friends? Or is it with Elix?”

“My friends. Thank God I get to be away from Elix for a few hours.”

Charles chuckles and the moment runs long enough to become awkward. You’re still outside of the bathrooms and another guy has too given you an off look as he made his way inside.

"Let me walk you back to your table," Charles offers as a way of breaking the silence and you shake your head no.

"You don't have to, my friends are probably on the way out already, anyway."

Are you being selfish by keeping Vic's friends away from him? It doesn't matter to you, not really. But really a small part of you doesn't want things to go their way.

Charles doesn't listen to your refusal anyway, and asks you to lead the way with a gesture.

"I didn't see you at the Ferrari Suite after Quali," he mentions as he follows you a step behind.

"I was in the VIP Lounge with a friend," you explain, "I'll be at the Suite tomorrow, though."

You stop at your table, where the three girls are still doing their best to ogle at the Ferrari guys.

"Hey," you get their attention back and not one in the three of them even attempt to hide the pleasant surprise that Charles' presence gives them. "Are you ready to go?"

It's Vic's turn to give you a look. One that tells you to not be unfair, things have just started to go as they planned.

While you return the pointed look to Vic, Holly strikes a conversation with Charles. Lightning quick.

"Let's go," you repeat, "Gotta be up early tomorrow."

"Can we get a picture, though?" the other girl—lord, if you could remember her name you'd feel a little better —adds quickly.

"Do you mind?" you ask Charles before he can reply. You don't want to make a fuss and have half the restaurant acknowledging his presence and his disposition to take pictures and sign autographs while he's trying to have dinner.

"Not at all," he shakes his head and waits patiently for everyone to be camera-ready while you stare. "Aren't you getting in the picture?"

"I'll take it," you hold your hand out for an iPhone, and get Holly's bedazzled one. Charles frowns but you just say 'okay, ready?' before pointing the camera at them.

No one else argues the fact that you're not in the picture.

A chorus of 'thank you's' passes quickly as you return the iPhone and the three influencers start checking the picture. They're probably better photographers than you, you can accept that.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, y/n," Charles leans towards you, leaving the group to their own thing after he pleased their request. "Right?"

"I'll be the one drinking Elix," you joke, half-whining.

"I'll be the one in the red car," Charles jokes back, a wide smile spreading on his face.

You laugh, fighting against the sudden shyness caused by the familiarity.

"Goodnight," he calls quietly, and the girls wish him a goodnight and good luck for the race before he snakes through tables back to his friends.

Not another thank you is directed at you as your group leaves the restaurant to wait for the Uber back to the hotel.

─── team principal radio: ❝hello! thank you for reading! I'm really grateful for everyone who has interacted with this story, I hope you're enjoying it so far ♡❞

[thebisexualdogdad]

Could you do Felicia Hardy smut headcanons please?

Felicia Hardy x GN!reader

*Danielle Rose Russell used as fancast*

**I think about sex with Felicia far too often* *

● Felicia's sex drive is off the charts

● seriously, she needs to cum at least twice a day to feel even remotely satisfied

● and if you aren't there to make it happen she has plenty of toys to get the job done

● she owns quite the lingerie collection

● so many black lace pieces

● her favorites are see through bras because she knows those drive you particularly crazy

● "see something you like?" She'll say standing in the doorway of your bedroom in nothing but a revealing lace bra and panty set

● and it drives her crazy when you worship her tits

● sucking and toying with her nipples

● making her cum just from stimulating her chest

● having her ride your thigh while you're lavishing her breasts

● and leaving hickies all across her skin

● she melts when you call her a good girl

● you will be in the middle of a heist and she'll pull her zipper down ever so slightly to tease you with her tits

● "better pay attention love don't want to set off the museum alarm now do we?"

● "how the hell am I supposed to focus when you're taunting me like that?"

● "what can I say? I have great assets"

● "you sure do Felicia, you sure do"

● there's nothing she loves more than oral

● doesn't matter if she's giving or receiving

● you frequently wake up to her settled in between your legs

● and she works you like a pro giving you an incredible start to your morning

● and you always make sure to return the favor

● spending hours between her legs leaving your bedsheets absolutely soaked from how many times she cums

● anytime you run into her ex Odessa it ends in you two bringing her back to your place for a threesome

● Odessa always praises Felicia for finding someone so good in bed

● "at least I know you are being well taken care of Felicia"

● "you haven't even seen their best work"

● anytime you score huge on heists you have insane celebratory sex

● fucking on every surface of your apartment possible

● bringing out your special occasion toys

● speaking of, your toy box is full of contraptions that most people have never even heard of

● Felicia's got a list of kinks so long you'll never run out of new things to try

● and she introduces you to positions that shouldn't be humanly possible

● mid heist quickies that get your adrenaline pumping

● her bending over for no real reason just to show off her ass in her tight leather suit to turn you on

● you have no problem when Felicia flirts with people to either get intel or to steal something from them

● no one can resist her and she gets her prize every time

● "what do you think this watch is worth? 15-20k?" She grins walking back to your table after swiping a watch off some rich guy at the bar

● "whatever it's worth it's definitely paying for our next trip to Europe" you say kissing her proudly

● it's honestly pretty hot watching people hit on her knowing you're the one who gets to take her home

● but when certain people get a little too handsy with her she will drag you somewhere more private to ensure you that you are the only one she wants

● you guys have a nice big apartment that overlooks New York city but it is fun to break into penthouses and luxury hotels for a change of scenery every so often

● and when you travel you book the nicest hotels to screw around in

● fucking her on balconies with breathtaking views

● everyday is an adventure with Felicia

● and you wouldn't give it up for anything