#the only stain on her perfect record

[odysseys-blood]

so im always the first to be annoyed by school aus bc well 1) half the time theyre just so meh

2) another half the time ppl use adult chars which easily could be in college????

anyways i think tales of the abyss should have a like spinoff school special just bc i think tear and ion should get to have lunch together and be friends snd hang out during choir practice :]

[itadorey]

[3:33 pm]

pairing: neuvillette x reader fluff, ~600 words

neuvillette doesn't think he's ever been in love.

sure, he knows what love is. he's read all about the emotion, thumbing through book after book in an effort to further understand one of the most complex human emotions that exist. but even though he's gone through the entire library, he still finds himself confused.

as the chief justice, he's also seen some of the worst that fontaine has to offer, and that includes crimes that have been driven by love. he thinks it's interesting, seeing how people let themselves get so overwhelmingly consumed by their emotions that they are driven to take such drastic actions. and all in the name of those they revere.

as a citizen of fontaine, neuvillette has also seen the brightness that love brings to people's lives. although he doesn't fully understand human emotions, observing it in his daily life does help.

he has seen a young mother pull her child onto her lap, a fond smile on her face as she gently wipes the crumbs from his mouth. he has seen the bashful looks exchanged by two teenagers as their pinkies interlock, blushes staining their cheeks as they stroll along the streets of the city. he has also seen the way a woman's face lights up as her husband approaches her, holding out a single marcotte and receiving a kiss in return as she plucks it from his hand.

most recently, neuvillette has seen it in you.

he sees it in the way you take the time to greet each melusine individually when you arrive at work each morning, occasionally bringing in treats you think they'd enjoy. he sees it in the way you come in early on heavier days, making sure that neuvillette's court records are neatly organized just the way he likes it before he even steps into his office. another thing that catches his attention is how you always go out of your way to help others in the office, oftentimes sacrificing your break or lunchtime in order to make someone else's day easier.

he thinks he feels his heart warm when he sees you lift a melusine to reach something on a high shelf.

neuvillette also wonders if some of your love is directed at him. he can't help but notice the way your eyes soften when you see him every morning, gazing after him as he makes sure to greet all the melusine. he pretends not to notice the way you duck your head bashfully when he approaches your desk, wishing you a merry morning before asking how your day has been so far. he averts his eyes from your trembling hands every time you set his teacup on his desk, choosing to take a sip and murmur his appreciation before you slip out of his office with a soft smile. the tea is always brewed to perfection, and he wonders if your attention to detail is just another way you show your affection. (It is.)

he finds himself noticing that the irregularities in his heartbeat only occur whenever you do any of the aforementioned things, and he wonders if he's finally feeling the emotion that has evaded him for so long. the next time you bring in his tea, neuvillette is quick to grab your wrist, gently preventing you from leaving as he asks you to join him for his afternoon break.

and as you take the seat across from him, sending him a shy grin as you grab a teacup for himself, he starts to believe that he might be falling in love for the first time in his life.

reblogs are appreciated <3 thank you for reading!!

[katsukikitten]

Izuku doesn't have many vices, mostly because he doesn't allow himself to indulge in any. Thinking them more as nasty habits or stains on his perfect PR record than anything else. Like headaches he'd rather avoid or didn't seem worth the bashing he'd receive from fans and haters online.

But that didn't mean he never indulged.

Especially with the weight of being the number one hero pressing down onto his broad shoulders, pushing him further into his sulking as he drapes himself over the smooth bar top. Half finished handle of liquor under his scarred palm, swirling the last dredges of the clear liquid inside as he thinks about ordering another.

Izuku was only here at this tiny lively bar in the small forgotten prefecture of Tokyo because Kaminari dragged him here. The electric blonde wasn't sure if Izuku had a girlfriend or not, he knew his occasional hero partner to be secretive about his love life which was the opposite of Kaminari who often advertised just how single he was. Denki dragged the hulking hero because Izuku needed to “live a little” and it was “cuffing season.”

Izuku didn't know what that meant.

Googling it is how he finds himself on the brink of a spiral with his perfectly white teeth sinking into the inside of his lip before his tongue laps at the metallic tang that floods his mouth.

It doesn't stop his teeth from sinking into tender flesh, it doesn't stop him from swallowing down more burning booze or sighing loudly.

He just can't stomach the thought of having to face his mother without a date during the holidays again this year. Don't mistake this concern for self pity nor vanity. Izuku is not the type of man who thinks he deserves to have people fawning at his feet, hell the man often grappled with feeling deserving of his given quirk on a daily basis more often than not.

But the way his mother looks when she opens the door, how her big smile drops the slightest when Izuku shows up and no one is there under his arm or holding his hand. Or awkwardly smiling as they meet his mom and Yagi-san for the first time even though they'd been dating for a good long while.

Izuku is just too busy, he doesn't mean to be, tried to board his PTO to take a long hiatus or two from work so he could dote on his partner.

But nothing was ever good enough.

He couldn't face that look of worry or concern from his mother, not again.

It wasn't for lack of trying on Izuku's part either, blind dates arranged by his mother or friends, even the agency! Dating app after dating app leading to dead ends or lack of intimacy leaving Izuku to feel hollow, desperate, enough to seek out other lonely heroes that wanted nothing more than sex.

Still he took everything seriously, maybe too seriously, and things just never worked out.

Yet the hopeless romantic in him never wavered and he thought he had one last shot at love when the hero agency set up an arrangement for a PR girlfriend to keep his ratings high. Izuku did everything in his power to make it work, to try to fall genuinely and deeply in love with the pretty woman who he shared his apartment with. Taking her on dates to places like the movies or to see the Sakura. Fucking her on his couch, in his car, over his dining room table after pushing away the dinner she made.

But each action only made him feel empty, more so than before. There was no spark between them, at least not on his end and Izuku couldn't stomach the idea of leading her on. Especially not when Izuku saw hearts forming in her eyes from more than just sex.

It ended in a mess when she confessed she loved him while straddling his lap and he went soft inside her. Fat tears threatening to fall that he blinks away before she gets up to slap him, he doesn't feel anything.

She breaks her fingers.

Breeching her contract that Izuku buys out when the agency threatens to sue her, the only time the commission head ever saw Izuku's bright emerald eyes narrow and darken.

He doesn't understand why he can't keep anyone around, he begins to think he is the problem.

That maybe his expectations were too high? Maybe he didn't devote enough time? Or maybe he really truly didn't feel anything when he was with any of the men and women he dated in the past save for one.

He expected love to be like the movies and of course Kaachan called him a dumb ass for it. That romantic sappy shit, movies that Izuku and Katsuki had watched curled together on Izuku's couch, “weren't fucking real.”

Only for the blonde traitor to move in with a woman he knew for less than six months when Katsuki kept telling Izuku it was too soon to move in with him despite them secretly fucking for a year and knowing each other all their lives.

Izuku finished the second half of his bottle.

His phone demands attention, chirping from the pocket of his jeans as Kamianri’s laugh echoes over the confined space. Izuku reads the banner on the illuminated glass, the text is from his mother.

Is it just you this year, honey?

Before a second one comes through.

Yagi is asking so we know to put the leaf in. We don't mind when you bring extra company. Kaachan and his girlfriend were a pleasant surprise last year.

But I'll be more than happy to just see my son.

Guilt floods his system, heavy in his chest that it forces a groan from his throat. Idle hand coming to clampe and squeeze harshly at the nape of his neck. Finger shaped bruises forming under thick digits in the hairline of his undercut, his emerald curls doing little to hide it. As the pain ebbs pleasantly down his spine he thinks to pat down his jeans seeking out the familiar rectangular outline before he slides off of the wobbling stool.

Pushing open the heavy door to the secluded alley with ease, mind sharp and feet steady as he looks around. Alcohol never had much effect on him due to his large stature and even larger metabolism leaving him to drink an obscene amount of booze before he felt a pleasant buzz. Tonight he hadn't had nearly enough to ease his shattered heart.

Jagged emerald eyes cut through the alley before he lets the tension in his shoulders release but not enough he'd be off guard. He remembers Stain and his legacy, he knows society still remembers the hero killer too. Knows that most heroes don't necessarily die in action but when they're most vulnerable. Throats slit while they were asleep, fucking, or stepping out into a dark alley in the middle of the night for a smoke.

The thought does little to soothe the aching need in his throat, to feel the burn that could dissolve the lump that sits uncomfortably behind his Adam's apple. Pulling out the half crushed pack of cigarettes and placing one between his lips. Dark orange lighter flickering to life as he rolls over the steel and flint before he takes a deep breath.

Only to instantly regret it.

Stale smoke clots his lungs and coats his tongue, still the acrid taste doesn't stop him from pulling another drag. Mind wandering far beyond where he stood, willing the smoke to smother his hopeless heart.

“Didn't you have a campaign ad against those?” You purr, watching the bulky man tense as his head snaps up to face you.

Izuku hadn't seen anything and his danger sense didn't go off when he surveyed the alley but it does now. A tingling in the soles of his feet as he looks up at you shrouded in the shadow of the neighboring building on the fire escape a foot or so next to his head. You jump down with ease and lean against the rough brick wall next to him. Close enough your elbows touch.

Watching the giant of a man fumble over the stick in his mouth making a cruel smile form on your own.

“Number one hero smoking, tsk tsk, what if I'm an impressionable young lady?” You giggle and it clings to Izuku's skin more than the stale smoke, he scoffs.

“You act as if you don't have a vice.” He glances down at you from the corner of his eye before tilting his head up to blow the smoke away from you.

“Everyone has a vice Mr Deku.” Brandishing your cherry tootsie pop you seemingly pull from thin air. Making a grand show of pocketing the bright red wrapper before popping it past glossy lips, eyes glued to the hero hiding outside the alley of the no name bar.

You imagined he'd be in uptown places, where the silverware was gold plated and a shot of patron was twenty dollars. Not here with the ripped leather seats held together with faded duct tape and cloudy glasses.

But here he stands in black jeans, a gray graphic tee with black sleeves from an undershirt rolled up past his thick forearms, smoking no less. The only expensive thing on him is his watch, it makes your fingers twitch.

You roll the sucker around in your mouth, letting it clink your teeth as you watch him, a harsh line for a mouth that smiled so brightly on the news this morning.

Did all heroes do this? Look pathetic in dark alleyways smoking overly stale cigarettes hoping no one sees them? He looks down at you with a calculated, cold gaze, if you were any other woman it would send a shiver down your spine. Especially from how it contrasts to his normally bright gemstone eyes now they looked clouded, jaded with unspoken emotion.

You think it serves him right, yet still your clawed hands bring out a pack of unopened cigarettes from the pocket of your oversized jacket tilting them towards the hero.

“Take these. Those have gotta be at least a year old. They don't make the packaging with the small warnings anymore.” You crinkle your nose at him, his normally doe like eyes narrow as they rove over you harshly before he quirks his brow.

It's kinda cute how bitchy he looks. You swat away the thought and he thinks he's bothering you with his smoke.

“I thought you didn't smoke.” He moves the stick further away from you.

“I don't. I lifted them off the electric blonde you came with. He's a terrible flirt you know.” Cat smile forming around the lollipop sick in your mouth, watching Izuku's eyes flash in warning, it makes you giggle, “Gonna arrest me?”

“Stealing is wrong.” He stubs out his half smoked cigarette, it disintegrates against the brick from its age and not the pressure he applies.

“So’s lyin.” A smiling retort as you shake the fresh pack at him, “I'll even pick your lucky.”

He looks down at his old ragged emergency pack with only the lucky looking back up at him. Bent and half broken from the argument he had with Katsuki almost a year ago about how Izuku couldn't stomach just sex anymore.

Looking up at you but before he can accept the offer you're already gently patting the pack against your palm, pulling the golden plastic that acts as a guide to take off the wrap from the box. Picking his lucky at random and flipping it upside down before you pass the pack to him. He sighs and takes the box, looks down at the fresh pack and looks back up at you. Sees your smug smile.

“Thanks. Going to black mail me now?” He decides he should have another since his first one was so awful. Pulling the dark orange lighter from his pocket to start a good ember.

“No, I think I've got enough collateral.” Flaunting his expensive, classy watch on your wrist. Well about mid forearm for you, “Secrets safe with me.”

Instinctually his broad palms slaps his wrist where his watch should be, as if he doesn't believe his eyes. Glancing back up at you again wholly expecting you to be already at the mouth of the alley but you stay close to him. Well within arms reach and step closer to him still.

He blows the smoke up into the sky again, keeps the cigarette on the opposite side of you.

“I've got more expensive ones in my apartment.” He comments it almost comes off flirty until you see how sad his emerald eyes look. Izuku wants to ‘be a man', wants to take you home and fuck the brains out of your pretty head but his heart swells in agony, he sighs out more smoke.

“Is this you trying to take me home? Ooo so heroes do have one night stands!” A teasing nudge to his ribs, he doesn't even budge, just moves the burning stick up higher so the smoke won't stick to you.

“I don't do one night stands.”

“Then why invite me to see your expensive watch collection hmm? Tryin to get me to steal your heart instead?”

“Maybe I am.” His gaze flickers to you again, holding your eyes as his lids are at half mast.

Did anyone even know the number one hero could give fuck me eyes?

“Steal my heart, be my girlfriend.” He looks down at you, sees what he registers as panic, “Just through the holidays.”

You blink up at him for a moment as he studies you. Drinks in how those black skinny jeans cling to your thick legs, how the fishnets do little to keep his thoughts pure and that little lingerie you wore as a top had his dick twitching. Left fist clenching when his eyes look over a man's leather jacket on your broad shoulders.

He thought about all the jackets he owned so he could replace the well worn garment on your shoulders with his own.

“I'll pay you.” Taking a long drag, feeling desperation claw up his throat competing with the burn of nicotine, “Pay you a lot more than what that watch is worth.”

The idea of it makes you laugh loudly, the pretty sound echoing around the alley as you grip onto his forearm for stability. He had to be fucking drunk, there was no way he was asking a theif to be his fake girlfriend, what was this a shojo manga?

But when you look up at him and see his freckled cheeks flush with embarrassment you swallow down the rest of your mirth.

“Oh you're serious.” Pulling the cherry sucker from your mouth, letting your lips pop around it lewdly, Izuku watches with close emerald eyes his mind wandering down places it shouldn't, especially not with a woman he's just met. Still thick digits twitch as he tries not to palm himself roughly.

“What the number one hero can't get a girlfriend?” You deadpan and this time it's his turn to laugh except there isn't any joy in it.

“Ha. No. Haven't you heard? I'm too much of a ‘fucking nerd.’ Guess Kaachan was right.” He stubs out his cigarette before pocketing the butt since there was no tray in the back alley.

His admission gives you pause, pressing the cherry confection back on your tongue roughly before you pull it into your mouth taking it from manicured nails. Pushing the sucker to poke out your cheek making Izuku's long lashes flutter.

“Kaachan?’ You giggle, looking up as you move the sucker from one side of your mouth to the other with your tongue. Hard candy clacking against your teeth, “You mean Katsuki? That's Dynamight’s given name right?”

Shit shit shit! He hadn't meant to call him that! How did you figure it out so quickly!

“Oh! Oh please don't say anything!” He looks mortified and you watch his cheeks turn as red as your tongue.

“Don't worry Zuzu. Your secret is safe with me.” Crunching down on the last thin layer before the taste of chocolate coats your tongue swallowing the Tootsie roll and Izuku watches your Adam's apple bob while his mind swirls with dirty thoughts.

Thoughts so dirty he almost misses you add,

“Gonna need bigger pay to keep quiet.” Nails tapping his watch, “Sides can't say I'll be a good girlfriend. I hate everything after Halloween. My birthday included.”

“What? Everyone loves the holidays!” He's shocked you've said that and you shake your head.

“No, everyone with good or whole families love the holidays.” You correct and he looks down at you with a frown. Already you pick up on a habit of his, teeth worrying the inside of his lip as he thinks, “I currently have neither.”

“Oh I'm-”

“Don't. I don't need the mighty hero’s pity.” You scoff, sounding a little jaded before you fix your face, turning to a joke as another smile pulls at your pretty lips, “Not when I can take his money instead.”

“Cute.” He scoffs sarcastically, still he can't deny the flutter in his stomach.

“You're kinda bitchy ya know that?” You smile, “The media makes you out to be Prince Charming.”

“I don't look like Prince Charming?” He gestures to himself and you laugh loudly again. He can't help the heat that creeps up his throat.

“Bet you fuck like Prince Charming too. All vanilla and boring.” Struggling to stifle yet another giggle.

“If you accept the offer to be my girlfriend you can find out if that's true or not.” Quickly his demeanor changes, emerald eyes darkening as they slowly drag up and down your body with a sinful gaze. The sight of him looking down his nose at you makes your stomach clench. You shouldn't be considering his offer now from one intense gaze. A hero and a morally gray person never worked out and it was only a matter of time before your thievery caught up with. You really shouldn't but you know what they say.

Curiosity killed the cat

“Fine. I'll be your little girlfriend til new years. When do we start?”

“Tonight.” He leans close letting his large hand slide down your forearm to your wrist til his fingers are lacing with yours, “It's so late, I really should get you home, shouldn't I baby?”

Emerald eyes sparkling with promise that he planned to devour you whole the second the two of you stepped foot into his penthouse apartment.

“Yes, you should. It is so very late."

“Oh my god IZUKUUUUU fuck fuck fuck!” You scream as you grind onto his handsome face, cumming on his skilled tongue for the umpteenth time in the half an hour you've been in his apartment. Mauve nails around his throat as you choke him slightly, shamelessly riding his face to prolong your high, not that he would dare interrupt it. Groaning loudly under you as he slowly yanks at his fat long cock that leaks with pre. Hungry eyes watching him as you let out another breathy moan.

“Fuck and you've never had a girlfriend before?” he laughs in your cunt at your question. Strong hands coming to lift you off his face with ease so you can hear him better.

“I know I said I was a nerd but I never said I was a virgin.” Before he roughly adjusts you back on his cute freckled face, slurping your clit roughly as mock punishment for interrupting him. Your eyes cross and your thighs squeeze his head.

“Fuck.” You whine and he's rewarded with more of your slick as you cum again, Izuku already decided that he loves how you whine curses for him. Feels you start to slump from the pleasure as your body melts, offering you his hand to support you better as you grind into his face before you can't anymore.

Before this insatiable man lifts you with ease, flipping you onto your back when the needle of the record player hits the center of the vinyl. Pressing you into the dark couch with his pelvis as he wets his cock by grinding into your sticky folds, making you gasp out like he wants before he's gently cradling your throat, slipping his tongue into your open mouth as he groans.

“We taste so good together.” He growls, the sound makes you see stars, especially as his fat cock head nudges against your abused clit. Catching your fluttering entrance and it makes you both shudder before he angles himself properly. Slowly sinking in and watching your face for any signs of pain or displeasure. Watching your eyes roll with each passing moment before he rested against you. Giving slow, rough thrusts that grind down into your clit that have your hands shaking at his back as claws struggle to find purchase in his skin.

“And you're telling me these girls didn't stay for the dick either? Fuck Izuku!!!!” Arching your back, if you weren't careful you'd become addicted to him, your question makes him hide his face into your throat.

“Guess sex isn't enough.” He mumbles against your tacky skin.

“That or you're not telling me something.” You gasp at the end, when he keeps hitting that spot and makes you cum each time. Makes a deep tension in you dissipate until you feel as if you're floating, you wouldn't be able to speak much longer.

He thinks you'll pull away but instead you thread your fingers into his sweaty curls to bring his face to yours. To look deep into his eyes even if you struggle before you seal your lips with his. Letting your tongue slide over his until you moan his name into his mouth.

“Oh fuck Izuku, you have to cum in me now. Fuck fuck you're throbbing.” Your cunt clamps down on him at the thought of his warm seed spilling into your milking cunt. He pants over you, still keeping that steady slow roll of his hips but how you squeeze him makes him insane. Makes his hips finally speed up before his pace turns sloppy.

His moans turning into loud grunts as he fucks you with enough vigor the legs of the couch scrape against the expensive hardwoods until he's cupping your throat again but never squeezes. Looking down at you and you don't dare look away as you watch his long lashes flutter, the sight makes the coil in your stomach snap again. Feel him paint your cunt in pearly strings of white before he slowly lowers himself on shaking arms, giving your throat a tender squeeze before he rests his head in the crook of your throat, he hadn't intended for the two of you to fuck already. Hell he didn't even mean to rip off your jeans and set you on his face so he could show you that he really wasn't boring.

And he sure as fuck didn't meant to fill up your pretty cunt with his spend.

“What are you doing to me?” He pants playfully, kissing at your thudding pulse point.

“Stealing your heart, remember?” A breathless giggle as the two of you lie like that until his cock begins to soften. He sighs, slowly gets to his feet before he's lifting you into his arms, it makes your cheeks warm, especially when you look down at the soaked fabric of the sofa.

“I think we ruined your couch.” He laughs at your joke.

“Ts fine, the covers are machine washable.” He nudges his nose into your cheek and you giggle before he's setting you on the edge of the tub as he starts the shower for you.

“Here's how to adjust the water temp if you need it hotter. Most women love it scalding.” He takes a step back, moving to grab for a fresh towel for you. You try not to let your heart sink when you realize he isn't going to join you.

“Oh a real casanova huh?” He rolls his eyes at your playful jab before he steps into his bedroom to give you privacy for the time being. Fishing out a T-shirt and clean boxers for both himself and you to sleep in. Laying yours out on the bed as he smells his body wash float from under the snowy glass door. It makes him smile as he thinks of how you'll smell like him until he takes you to gather your things from your place tomorrow, that or he'll buy you whatever you want or need.

For now he'll relish the idea that you, his fake girlfriend, gets to smell like him, your fake boyfriend.

After awhile you come into the room, clean and pristine, movement catching Izuku's eye of course. When you meet his eyes you smile, give a little twirl.

“It's Chanel.” Letting your fingers adjust the hem of the regular cotton towel and Izuku laughs.

“Is it? Lemme see.” He rises, holds your hand to twirl you again as he looks down at you with a smile, “Perfect fit.”

“Thank you.” You giggle again, feeling shy for the first time under his heavy gaze. Watching the corner of his lips tilt upward before he points out the clothes he left out for you and slips into the bathroom. Surprisingly you don't hear the lock click to the door, Izuku was either far too trusting or he truly did not see you as a threat to his life.

Quick to change into the oversized, old shirt and boxers before you take this opportunity to explore his penthouse now that the six foot four man wasn't pressing himself up against you.

Tiptoeing out of his room even if you knew you didn't need to, whetting your curiosity first with the living room that was adorned with ceiling to floor windows to the left when you first came in. Your breath fogging the window as you look over the cityscape. A snaking inky black cuts through the bright lights, the wide river bed reflecting the lights back in swirling currents giving the scene the stars the sky lacks.

Even this late at night the prefecture is teaming with life, you wonder if it's exhausting for him. To sonder over the lives that carry out beneath his feet. If he wonders if he can save them all.

If he knows he can't.

The needle of the record player bumps against the middle of the vinyl again pulling you from your thoughts.

“Oh.” You squeak, tiptoeing to the old thing and gently lifting the arm. Finding the album cover and slipping the vinyl in with ease before shutting off the player. Eyes quick to find the empty spot on the wall to where the album goes.

Not on the shelves under the player, no those were jam-packed with composition notebooks unlabeled making your curious fingers twitch. The album belongs up on the wall with the rest of them that he organized beautifully. Each piece placed perfectly to compliment each piece of art so that it could be viewed individually or if you stood back you could see it as something whole.

Standing on tiptoes to return its album art facing forward. Taking a step or two back to appreciate it before the notebooks whisper to you.

Slipping one from the shelves, it's filled margin to margin with text about the albums. The notations were meticulously detailed reminding you of placards at museums or art exhibits. Finding the corresponding piece, staring up at the art before your eyes flicker down to the notes.

…when the music swells it squeezes my heart, the lyrics were chosen carefully bringing tears to my eyes. It's haunting how relatable it is to wonder if I'll get a perfect love and if I do that I'm deserving….

You swallow thickly, know you'll get swallowed up by this notebook that you didn't have the time to dissect, especially not with the limited amount of time you had. It felt akin to a diary, something you shouldn't be reading. Normally that wouldn't discourage you, wouldn't have your fingers slowly shutting the book. Normally you'd devour as much as you could with an excuse on why you weren't where you were supposed to be on the tip of your tongue.

For now you return it to the shelf.

Feet carrying you across the cool hardwood to the open concept kitchen that over looks the living room with the album art, expensive couch and the TV. The large waterfall island made of marble, clean and smooth save for a few scattered pieces of Izuku's life he hadn't yet tidied away like the rest of the apartment.

Another notebook, a theme it seems, lying open. A sketch of a hero on the left with text surrounding them before paragraphs of text and few bullet points to the page on the right again in Izuku's slightly messy handwriting. As if his hand cannot keep up with his brain.

Snow Fall - similar to Shouto’s ice quirk…

“Beloved?” Izuku's voice calls gently from down the hall, you tear your eyes away from the notebook and quickly open a few cabinets before you find a glass and fill it from the tap.

“M coming! Just needed water.” Heading back to huge bedroom, smiling devilishly when you find Izuku.

Seeing his body better in the light of the bedroom. Scarred, thick with muscle and soft freckles kissing almost every inch of his skin. The tan spots giving extra attention to his Adonis belt that leads to his fat cock. It makes your cunt throb.

You set the AllMight collectable glass down onto the bedside table, not noticing the fanboy item until you see his flushed cheeks, following his eyes to the PLUS ULTRA cup. The source of his embarrassment makes you giggle again.

“It's cute.” You reassure, jumping on top of the deep viridian duvet, cocking your hand on your hip and pulling your shirt up to show a little skin.

“When's the last time you fucked on this great big bed?” He doesn't answer you right away, basil eyes looking at you before they begin to look through you.

A burning ember gaze sears his memory, he closes his eyes as if that would stop the images from demanding every last shred of his attention..

“Been awhile.” He finally admits, dropping his towel unashamed as he steps into his black boxer briefs. They cup his sac and softened cock nicely, clinging to his thick thighs that have you salivating. The way he ate pussy and fucked was almost good enough to replace the cold hard cash he promised to pay, almost.

That distant look in his eyes made you wonder if there was someone else that held him back from his romantic endeavors.

“Shall we christen this great big bed too then?” A playful tease as you pull up the fabric of his shirt to expose your breasts. He loved the sight, loved how you looked in his clothes, in his bed, underneath him as his emerald pendant swings in your face.

His cock twitches, a tick in his jaw before he's clasping his hands in restraint. Wringing his fingers as he thinks of the last time he fucked in that bed.

He feels the ghost of sharp canines at the nape of his neck, his hand automatically moves to brush over the area. His curls fall over his eyes and he sighs deeply.

“No. I think you should sleep.” He smiles softly, it doesn't reach his eyes and you don't push, “We've got a big day tomorrow. Got to get your stuff and -”

“I don't have a lot of stuff. My outfit was the most of it.”

“You don't have any other clothes?”

“Maybe another pair of pants, some underwear for sure but this is mostly it. So we have time.” You purr, crawling down the bed before you flop onto your stomach. Arching your back purposefully, out stretching your fingers to play with his.

“Then it will be even longer. We'll have to get you an outfit for the party.” He threads his fingers with yours before you let go when his words register. Sitting straight up.

“Party?”

“Yes, baby doll, party. We've got several to go to. Maybe a gala too. Then there's the agency Christmas party oh and…” He bites at his lip as he rest his chin on scarred digits beginning to go off on a tangent as he thinks of all the invitations stuffed in the top desk drawer of his office.

“A gala?!” Oh fuck oh fuck this was a bad idea. When he said girlfriend through the holidays you thought fucking and a private date or two. Not being surrounded by pro heroes you ran from on the daily, identity concealed with a mask.

Not only would you be in the literal lion’s den but you really weren't the most classy type of bitch. You've never really been invited to any big event let alone one that was fucking televised. At least not events you didn't crash to slide priceless paintings off the walls or expensive jewelry off the wrists of the one percent. At least then you'd have your mask to hide behind, the ability to blend into the crowd but now you'd be hanging off the arm of the number one hero.

You'd have to act like a proper lady who definitely didn't crash in vacation homes or half lived in apartments of the rich and the famous while they stayed in their main mansions until they got tired of the same old four walls.

Each gig you promised that this would be your last and each time you found yourself with a new piece of jewelry made from dazzling gems of deconstructed designer pieces hungry for the next heist.

Art and jewelry weren't the only things you've stolen, information and secrets often sold for a lot more but Izuku, pro hero Deku, didn't need to know you had a stash house, more like stash attic, in some rundown home in Kamakura you'd gotten for a steal.

His thighs bump up against the edge of the bed, cupping your cheeks for a moment, “You look…worried.”

“I am worried. Some of these events are televised. Are you sure you want me? I'm not exactly Yaoyorozu or Kendo."

“I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't.” He comes down to press his lips to your forehead. It makes your stomach flutter, it shouldn't, “Besides those will be the easiest ones. The hard ones are the more personal settings.”

He leans back, takes his hands from your face as he heads towards the lights, “I won't let anything happen to you.”

He flicks off the lights, stands by the door for a moment before he goes to shut it.

“You're really going to sleep on the couch? I thought we had to make this realistic.” A final attempt to get him to at least come and enjoy his luxury bed. It was big enough that you doubted the two of you would even touch by accident in the middle of the night. If he was so afraid of intimacy, which was odd, he seemed more the time to fall in love if he fucked. Especially when he did romantic shit like fuck you to music and whisper some of the lyrics in your ear.

You pat his side with sharp clawed fingers, “Come on boyfriend.”

He can't remember the last time he slept in his bed, changing and washing the sheets more out of habit than necessity and as he tries to recall he thinks it's been over a year.

He looks at you for a long, long time, you curled up in his expensive sheets and comforter as you pat the spot beside you patiently but he sighs.

“Maybe another time. Good night sugar.”

“Good night Zuzu bear.”

[sinsandsweetness]

cw- smutty stuff, free use concept but very much consensual (Rick x reader mostly but all of the boys x reader mentioned too)

note- small blurb that’s totally not proofread, and will probably edit at another time. haven’t written in a few weeks so feeling rusty… feedback is apreciated or just general commentary ofc. have been in a really lovey, gentle, sweet smut mood lately so this is what ur getting sorry. don’t know why I’m so obsessed with reader being a form of escape but… ya. enjoy:)

Been having the filthiest thoughts about being the community free use slut. Everyone using you to relieve some stress. Yes, you read that right; everyone. You’re their perfect little plaything that will never say no. That just gets on her knees and takes it. No matter when or where.

It starts way at the beginning, with Shane and Daryl and Merle. Them taking turns dragging you to their tents, late at night when everyone else is asleep. Sometimes it’s just one of them, but other times they share. Take you at the same time and fill as many holes as they can. Leave you with the faintest blue and purple marks scattered all over your neck for the rest of the group to squint at in the morning. To gossip and whisper about over breakfast. Your berry stained lips and innocent eyes reminding them all of a pretty little doll they seem to treat you like.

And then you get to the prison, where things are tense, and discover that your… well, intimate service are needed more than ever. Acting as the only acceptable vice for the group to take their frustrations out on, in what you would describe as a relatively healthy way. At least considering the alternative. So while Rick is losing his mind and you’re already sharing a cell, he decides to try what a few of his friends have been doing right from the start. Using your pretty mouth as the escape they claim that works so well.

And he’s pleasantly surprised at the fact you’re more than willing. To let him urge you into the cell way before the sun has set. To let him drag you down to his bunk in the middle of the night where he doesn’t waste any time peeling your sleep shorts off in a mess of tangled sheets and blankets. And the whole time he’s with you, your lips burn hot as they trail down his neck and nip at newly sunburnt skin. You kiss him without thinking and your tongue tastes like toothpaste and bad decisions as it traces over his own and your hands seem to know the exact spots that have him pushing his jeans down to his ankles in almost shameful, record breaking time. But he doesn’t seem to mind because most importantly, having you right beneath him in the dim lit concrete cell, means that his mind, even just momentarily, is finally blank. For a few minutes, as long as you keep bringing your lips back to meet his, he has nothing to worry about. No crying newborn baby, no walkers, no fast spreading diseases or quarantines or mysterious unsolved murders. Nothing. Well, except the volume at which your pretty little moans are crawling their way up your chest and taunting your next door cell mates.

It’s when he finally has your legs wrapped around his waist and you’re so fucking warm and holy shit you’re wet, and your hands won’t leave his shoulders and your nails are scratching and raking down his back in the most pleasurable burn he could ever imagine… that, that is when it comes to him. When he finally fucking get’s it.

He understands exactly why every time it came to going on a run or splitting the group up, Daryl was always first to claim you as his partner. Why Shane was so obsessed with fixing some damn watch he found you so you could meet him out behind the barn or on the edge of the woods wearing nothing but a sundress and a smile, not a minute later then midnight. He even understood why Merle was acting uncharacteristically nicer to you than anyone else as he pouted and paced around his cell, begging for all kinds of attention but only really wanting the one. The one that was proving to be completely and irrationally addictive the more Rick thought about it. The more he focused on your skin under his hands and how sweet your voice sounded when you could no longer form a coherent sentence.

While he catches his breath, arms still wrapped around your waist, he can feel your legs trembling on either side of him as your hands continue to cup his face ever so gently. He doesn’t even open his eyes when you lean in to bite his lip and drag it out slowly before peppering sweet, meaningless kisses all down his jaw, neck and shoulders. It’s then, when your touch is making the back of his neck tingle and his breath hitch in his throat that he can’t help but feel like he’s been missing out. A whole year of this that the other guys have been experiencing? It doesn’t really seem fair. Not now that he’s had a taste. Now that he knows exactly why every man you’ve encountered since the world went to shit, has taken such an extreme and undeniable liking to you. Not now that he feels like he has to make up for lost time, pressing his forehead against yours and rocking himself back into you for the second time that night. You don’t object. You just spread your legs even further and pull at the damp curls at the base of his neck, silently urging him to keep on moving.

You don’t mind being used. Not really. It’s what you’re there for. To distract him from the horrors of the world and remind him that there’s still at least one thing worth living for. Even if it’s just a warm body in a shared bottom bunk. You’re there to ensure that the scowl lines on his face soften and his eyes close in pure, unfocused elation while he forces your hips even deeper into the mattress with involuntary moan that escapes your lips.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Separate Vox and Velvet with a powerful s/o that killed Valentino for torturing them?

No Can Do

Vox

You held the man close, feeling the way he gripped at your coat, practically tearing it, his face planted against your chest.

His breathing was unsteady, his body held against yours, the man so pulled in on himself.

It was so unlike him.

You let him settle, his breathing slowing as you simply held him, letting him calm down.

After some time, you pulled him back, trying to look at him.

Vox turned away, the man didn't want you to see him like this.

Perfection was his image, and he hated it when anybody, but especially you, saw him as anything Less.

You pulled his face back, gently caressing the side of his head as he looked at you.

His screen was smashed, the right side of his face shattered in several jagged chunks.

Valentino's handiwork.

You held his face for a minute before you leaned in, kissing his face gently before leaning back.

His face began to heal, the cracks in his screen slowly disappearing as you held him close.

You held him for a few minutes longer, just to let him calm down and settle in your embrace.

After some time you pulled back from the embrace, kissing him once more before assuring him, you'd take care of it.

And take care of it you did.

You really made a show of it, making sure to record the entire thing, really working the man into a red mist. You having a whole rig to make sure every punch, kick and cut was witness in 4K quality.

Just as Vox would want it.

You didn't release the footage of course, seeing one of the V's being brutally murdered might damage their image, but you made sure Vox saw it, letting him watch every second of it, finishing it by pulling him close, looking him in the eyes before kissing him. Telling him he meant the world to you.

You'd love the man hard and true, helping him stabilise his empire now that Val was out of the picture, though even with the work, you alway found a way to spend some time with him.

The two of you would have a passionate romance, one only fuelled by your actions, as well as just how fiercely protective you were of the man.

Something he relished, the man always getting all giggly when you held him close, man a little love drunk when you got possessive of him.

The man was still very independent and headstrong, somethung you mostly respected. But with you, his loving S/O enforcing his will, and with him not having to worry about Val's emotional volatility, buisness ran far smoothly for the man.

Granted, he was down a V, and their 'adult material' monopoly had taken a substantial hit, but you made up for it by rangling up the remnants of his studio, signing them up to Vox-Tec as a subsidiary.

Things would be shaky for some time, but after the storm had settled, and you went back to buisness, with you by your television moguls side, things only looked up for you.

Your romance would be sweet and very passionate, yet refined in a manner only Vox could accept, you knowing how to behave in public, often allowing Vox to lead the situation simply to keep him happy, only stepping in when... Necessary.

But you loved him, and he loved you, and while it was never perfect, nothing in Hell ever was, it would be amazing for both of you, neither of you regretting it for a second.

Velvet

Now, Velvet wasn't some delicate little flower, not by any means.

But when you found the woman in her studio, barely keeping it together, bloody and bruised, you knew what you had to do.

You of course comforted your S/O first, despite your resistance, fixing her up and giving her some love. You planting a kiss on her lips before telling her not to worry.

You dealt in an awfully sadistic manner. Breaking Val slow and brutally, making sure everyone saw it as you rendered him limb from limb.

It was humiliating, for him, everyone watching you crush the life out of the husk that contained his retched soul, leaving him a nothing. A stain on the floor of the V tower, one you refused to have cleaned, leaving it as an example to everybody.

Nobody fucked with you. Or your girl.

Yours and Velvets relationship would be odd for a while.

You did just kill one of her allies and a close friend, granted, he was a piece of shit who abused her, but she wasn't no saint either.

Vox was also pretty icy with you, but he wouldn't do much seeing as you'd only acted to avenge Velvet, the girl standing up for you, managing to steady his hand.

Though you were pretty sure you could take him.

50/50.

Once things settled down, however, you'd only get closer with your british accented babe, a passionate romance bubbling between you.

The two of you would grow ever closer, intimacy growing stronger and stronger every day.

You'd often times just spend time with her in her studio, watching her work or manage her shows, throwing your 2 bits in when asked about a dress or outfit, only to be ignored by the fashionista, the woman knowing full well more about fashion then you ever would, so you usually just agreed with whatever she said.

But you also spent plenty of time together outside of the studio, either enforcing the V's will, or simply to cause some chaos. The two of you never closer then when you got freaky in the middle of a turf war.

Literally.

You'd have a firey, passionate romance, the sort Val would record for premium vids, you seamlessly assimilating into the remaining V's power structure, helping the both of them maintain their power, all the while loving your sassy, sarcastic bad bitch of an S/O.

[atzfilm]

king’s play (m);

🎨 wc/pairing; professor!hj/f.professor reader (4,1k)

🎨 genre/content; college!au, fluff, smut: rushed, explicit & unprotected smut 

🎨 summary; shadowing your colleague as a new professor, you come to realize the reason why his classes are at full capacity within five minutes of registration

🎨 note; this is self-indulgent and i have no remorse you all are coming down with me.

You balance three coffees in one hand as you rush up the steps, desperately trying to be on time once in your life. Students say hi to you as you run past, a quick smile as you greet them back. You have exactly one minute until your dean scolds you for being late, again, and you were sure this was the time you would be there. But unfortunately the train stopped in the middle of the tracks for a car accident, twice, and it left you with barely enough time to get here. A short 15 minute ride turned into an hour one. It’s not your fault, no, but she’d somehow blame it on you. You push through the front doors, almost dropping a cup as you run through the halls.

“Fifteen seconds!” You fly by Professor Jung’s class, shooting him a glare as he laughs at you, closing his classroom door. You slide around a corner, almost making it to the auditorium. The bells ring before you can open the doors. You slow down, swinging it open with your free pinky and running inside. The room is already full with your students, the Dean sitting in the corner of the classroom, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose. She sighs softly, rubbing her face as you run up the steps, placing the coffee carefully on the podium. You throw your bag down on the table next to it, reaching for the projector remote and turning it on.

The chatting from the students fades out when you clear your throat, tapping on the mic lightly.

“Today’s lesson,” you start, trying to catch your breath. “Is that you never trust public transportation. Ever,” you add. A few students chuckle, your Dean’s frown deepening. The world must be against you; on the one day you needed to be early you couldn’t. And it’s the day she evaluates how you run your classes. You sigh into the mic, rubbing your face. “Pardon me, but I left my usb on the train by accident. Still, you all have the slides I emailed you correct?”

A hand is raised in the front, and you gesture to her. “Yes, Soyeon?”

She points to your side table, “Professor, the coffee is spilling everywhere.”

You quickly turn, the brown liquid dripping to the floor. Perfect. Just… perfect.

“That was a disappointing show you gave me this afternoon, Professor y/n,” your Dean says once all the students leave. There’s no use in hanging your head in shame, but you do anyway. It was indeed embarrassing, but you could’ve been worse. You heard that one of the anatomy professors broke a projector and wrote on the whiteboard in permanent marker.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean for anything like that to happen. We were supposed to use the coffee for watercolor, but so many things went wrong and…” you trail off, her unpleasant frown only deepening as you try to excuse yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“This is unacceptable,” she starts up again, tucking her files into a thick black binder. “I’ll have to reduce your classes next semester, Professor. At least until you get your act together. You won’t earn a permanent spot on the faculty if you continue down this route.” She stands, tucking her purse underneath her shoulder.

“Wait, is there anything I can do? Please, I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I had an amazing lesson planned but things just happened. Please Dean, I really do apologize. I’ll do my best the rest of the semester.” You can’t lose your spot here. This is one of the top universities in the country, and being fired or removed from the faculty is a black stain on your record. No one would want to hire you. You’d be forced to move back to your hometown, and deal with the disappointed looks your parents will give you.

She pauses, eyeing you. “Despite your display today, the students do enjoy your classes. You’ve had high ratings in comparison to the other adjuncts that are currently here. So although I do not like what happened, I can give you another chance. Professor Kim Hongjoong is teaching another class right after this block, and I would like for you to shadow him. Attend his class tonight, and speak to him after about times where he can help assist you in your journey to possibly becoming a full time faculty member. Will that be okay with you?”

“Yes!” you say it a bit too loudly, coughing. “I mean, yes. Thank you for helping me out.”

"You do know the reason why I observed your class. A student complained about your tardiness. That is something we don't allow at our university."

"I understand," you plaster a fake smile as she nods, leaving you behind in the classroom. You know exactly which student told on you; the only person you've ever failed. He was the grandson of one of the university's largest donors (to the point where a building was named after their family) so it was unthinkable to fail a student in that high regard. You hate nepotism, so you didn't give them a chance. He barely showed up to class, and expected an A? You could barely hold in your exasperated scoff when he complained to you. And that choice led you to now. On the brink of losing your job.

"Fucking hell," you mutter, making your way back to the podium to pick up your things. Shadowing Professor Kim. It's going to be a long, long night.

-

You grip the large coffee in your hand as you walk in the classroom. It’s a large art studio, several paintings on display already. You were going to take a seat in the back, but you decided to place your things on the side and observe the work instead. You take slow steps, taking in each painting. Being an art professor yourself, you can see what techniques each student used, and where they lacked. But overall, the paintings were amazing, especially for a freshman class. Students began to walk in while you were walking around, so you sit in the far back, enough to not disturb but close enough to see what’s going on.

“Evening,” Professor Kim walks into the classroom. You’ve seen him on campus a lot. The art department is pretty liberal with its dress code but he always stands out from the rest; customized clothing that he obviously did himself, piercings lining his ear, nose, and brow. Most of his clothing is oversized but it fits him well. You’ve sat near him in meetings, his jovial nature contagious. And he wasn’t bad looking, at all. You often were at a loss whenever he spoke, his soft tone pleasing to the ear.

Hongjoong gives easy smiles to the students, chatting with each before he gets to the middle of the circle. He claps his hands, a light grin on his lips. “Ready to paint tonight? A quick recap, we’re on the last night of this painting, and for the next, it’ll be freestyle. Any painting medium you’d like, just make sure you can finish it in five sessions.”

Light groans fall from the lips of the students, and he nods, “I know I know. I’d rather at least eight, but we only have six classes left until your final. Need five of those to work on it. Oh,” his eyes flick to yours. “Didn’t even realize we had a guest.”

“Ah, sorry. Thought the Dean mentioned it,” you say, bowing quickly to him. He waves you off, telling the students to start on his paintings. He makes his way over to you, hopping over brushes that lie scattered across the tiles. He stumbles slightly over his own feet, before making it to you and stretching out his hand. You take it with ease, noticing his painted nails. They’re black, fingers adorned with rings.

No wonder students fought to get into his class.

“I’ve seen you in meetings, but we never get the chance to speak,” he says, grinning. “Nice to officially meet you. I’m Professor Kim, but you already know that.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Professor y/n,” your smile matches his. “But of course, you already know that.”

He laughs loudly, completely genuine. “Well, I’m assuming the Dean put you up to this? She always sends people she doesn’t like to my class,” he sighs. “Not your fault!” he says quickly, eyes widening. “God, now you probably think it is your fault. This is why the other professors don’t like me.” His pout is almost adorable, but you don’t get the chance to dwell. A student calls him over, and he apologizes, leaving you back to your own devices.

You sit back in your spot, watching as he speaks to the students softly. You hear various music genres playing out of students’ headphones as he makes his way around. He definitely has a lot of leeway in his class, the Dean telling you that you couldn’t allow students to play music while they’re drawing. Sure, this is your first semester teaching at this university, but you know how to run a classroom. You’ve been teaching at public highschools for years. So you sit there bitterly, watching as students listen to his advice, his slight jumps when he thinks of an idea, his widened eyes as he listens to their feedback. You could probably watch him all day.

A soft bell rings out in class. He turns off his alarm, saying his goodbyes to students. They clean up their workstations as he packs his things, moving around the students and making his way over to you. “So, what d'ya think?” He wiggles his brows, his piercing moving along with it. “I honestly am not too sure why she’d make you shadow my class, especially in the middle of the semester. I’m not doing much but watch them paint,” he rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“Nope, I can definitely see why they’ve taken this class,” you admit, looking at the paintings. “I mean, they’re just freshmen and they already have their own styles and ways of doing things. And you don’t dismiss it like I’ve seen others do. You embrace it and encourage them to build on it,” you meet his eyes. “Think you have an open spot for a professor?”

He laughs, blush coating his cheeks. “You’re flattering me.”

“Maybe, or maybe I’m being one-hundred-percent honest,” you grin, throwing your tote over your shoulder. “I think a few of your students have questions. I’ll see you next class, hm?” You gesture to a group of young women.

He nods, wishing you a goodnight and quickly moving over to the students. You shake your head at him, moving around the easels and leaving the room.

-

It’s a bit intimate, watching another’s eyes as they focus on something else entirely. The quiet observation, hushed breath as they take in whatever they’re looking at. Observing how they smile, their eyes widening in realization, the way their gaze flicks to yours in awe. It’s overwhelming when your eyes finally meet, your stomach dropping slightly when they look at you in surprise. There Hongjoong is, staring at your eyes as you look back in shock. You wonder if he felt the drop that you usually do, but he keeps your gaze, soft and innocent. Until you see his pierced brow quirk up, waiting for you to say something. That’s when you have to tear away, show your excitement without focusing on his gaze.

“I can believe you have this set! I mean, how? Really, how. Did you steal it from Picasso or something? Raid an art supplier? Professor Kim, this is insane,” you hold it delicately. As if the palette will suddenly shatter if you gripped it too tightly. Of course it wouldn’t, but no ordinary person just holds this.

You’ve been shadowing him for the past two weeks, watching as he walked around the classroom with effortless confidence, spoke to his students with excitement only someone who’s passionate about their subject could muster. Professor Kim Hongjoong was one of the most talented and spirited colleagues you’ve ever met. A lot of them were older and cared less about teaching art (not all, but many). But the way he commanded the room had you silent, staring in awe. Looking past his outer appearance, he cared about what he did. And it only made your dilemma more difficult.

The two of you spent time outside of class together; at first speaking about classes, but soon going into discussions about personal lives and hobbies. You learned that he had his own studio and he invited you to it one night. So, here you are, staring at one of the rarest painting palettes to exist.

Hongjoong laughs at your suggestions, shrugging. It’s modest how casual he is about having it in his possession, and it’d make you want to slap him if you weren’t so immersed in the bright colors. “A friend of mine had a friend who was friends with a famous art seller. Word spreads around, and I found out where they sold these sets. I sold my first car just to get it,” he says.

Your eyes almost fall from their sockets. “You’re shitting me.”

“Shh,” he holds a paint covered finger to his lips, glancing at the open studio door. “The dean will kill us both if she hears you speaking with banned, colorful words,” he wiggles his fingers, and you laugh. “What? You know her, she’d take classes away from me next semester!”

“Not you, but maybe me,” you say, placing the palette back in its place. “She’s been out to get me ever since I won that faculty award last February,” you frown. “It’s not like she could win anyway, no one likes her. And it’s rare for a student to enjoy her history classes. I barely kept my eyes open when I was an undergrad here.”

He frowns. "I was unfortunately one of those faculty members that had to sit in on one of her lectures. I can see why her ratings were so low," he snickers. "Her tenure was definitely the only thing keeping her here. And she isn't too bad as the dean. A bit straight laced for an art school, but you have to be in a position like that.”

“Yea,” you agree, placing the palette back in its spot. You look around the room. You can tell that he loved using acrylics the most, his paintings abstract and bright. But you saw racks and racks of custom clothing as well. It was definitely a messy studio, he mentioned it before you entered, but you loved it. It’s like you’re walking into his mind, seeing what he’s seeing. You stop at an unfinished painting. It looks like a person, though you can’t quite tell who it is.

“That’s my first love,” he says behind you, hands tucked in his pockets. “She tore up my heart, but she was my muse and the start of my journey. S’not finished, but,” he runs his hands along the outside of the canvas. “Not sure if I want to finish it anyway.”

“It’s already beautiful,” you say, tilting your head. The strokes are bold, as if he was angry as he painted. It’s barely done, but you can already imagine where it’ll end up. “Fucking Hell. You’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met.”

His laugh is loud, echoing around the large room. You turn to him in mock anger, pouting. “Are you laughing at me, Professor Kim?”

He nods, “Don’t know why I get all giggly when I’m around you. Maybe it’s because you’re my crush.”

“Don’t tease,” you roll your eyes, ignoring the thump in your throat. You hold it in, only a grin exposing your feelings.

-

Nothing else came of that night. Just you wondering each day if he actually meant those words. If he found you attractive, if he had a crush on you. He didn’t mention it again to you either, the heavy flirting continuing. It almost made you feel a bit kiddish, thinking about your crush on him. You thought you grew out of the giggling with your friends about a boy stage, but apparently not. You’ve spent each night recollecting his words, screaming into your pillow. It was embarrassing and you’d rather not think about it. But he’s been on your mind ever since, taking over every day dream.

“It’s pathetic,” you murmur, putting an earbud in your ear. You’re at the annual conference with other professor’s, making a painting to showcase at the end of the event. You only had a few hours and you barely started, most of your canvas empty. You glance to your side, looking at Hongjoong’s. His was as covered as yours, so it was a relief. You looked back at your painting, feeling a heavy stare.

You glance to the side again, Hongjoong meeting your gaze.

“I hate being stared at, you know,” you retort. His lips curve into that lopsided grin of his, your face warming without remorse. “That implies that I want you to stop staring, Professor Kim.”

“It’s your fault you’re so pretty, Professor. It’s a bit hard to look away even for a brief moment,” he says softly. But he follows what you say, eyes moving back to his painting. As if he didn’t utter the tenderest compliment you’ve ever heard. You let your hand rest against your chest, trying to control your heart. You don’t notice how his eyes flick back to yours for a moment, amused.

"You can't say things like that," you start. He pauses his stroke, glancing at you.

"Why not?"

"People might get the wrong idea." (People = yourself).

"And what if it's not wrong at all?" He raises that pierced brow of his again. It's taking everything in you to stay in your spot, your teeth grinding together as you grip your stump. Think good thoughts think good thoughts–

"I want you, Professor y/n. It's as simple as that," he adds in.

You almost press the paintbrush into the canvas, hard. You look around quickly, the other professors in the room too immersed in their artwork to notice what he’s saying. And all of them have headphones on, so his soft whispers won’t go past you. You look back at him, wetting your paintbrush.

“Don’t tease me,” you whisper back, lightly mixing the red.

He sighs softly, “I’m not teasing. I don’t know how much more obvious I can make it. We’ve been on two dates already.”

This time, you do paint incorrectly, your brush falling to the floor. You grab your cloth, dabbing the canvas quickly to get rid of the mistake. Luckily it disappears in an instant. You let out a sigh of relief, turning to Hongjoong. You lean closer to your canvas, making sure no one can read your lips.

“Two dates? I don’t even remember the first?”

“First, my studio. Second,” he gestures around here. “This.”

“You’re calling this conference a date?”

“I invited you to sit next to me,” he smiles, glancing at you. “Is that not enough for one?”

Kim Hongjoong may be one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid your eyes on, but man, was he a dumbass. You nudge his foot, glaring at him. “You are such a-!”

“Hm?” He raises his brow. “Such a what, y/n?”

You lose your train of thought, mouth opening and closing as he stares at you in amusement. You never thought that someone saying your name would sound so… alluring. You swallow, turning back to your painting. He doesn’t say anything else to you, but you feel his shoe tap yours. You still don’t say a word, even as his foot covers yours.

“I swear Hongjoong–”

He stops tapping, and you falter.

“Hongjoong?” He whispers softly. “Fuck, say my name again.”

Nope.

You stand, grabbing his arm. He yelps, a few professors glancing. This is completely and utterly unprofessional, but you don’t care at that moment. Because right now, you want to find the nearest empty conference room and - well. You drag him into the first room you see. Just as you peek in and make sure no one is around, he shuts and locks the door behind you. There’s only a momentary pause, before his lips are on yours. His work is quick, teeth hitting against one another’s, vests tossed to the side, coats somewhere on the opposite side of the room. Your back hits the conference table rather harshly, ouch spilling from your lips. It makes his quick pace falter for a moment to look at you in concern, but you’re already unbuttoning your blouse. He lifts his shirt up with one hand, and you have only but a brief moment to admire his tattoo decorated skin before he’s on you again.

“Think they’ll notice we’re gone?” You tease through kisses, his lips traveling down your neck. He snorts slightly, looking back up at you.

“They wouldn’t if you weren’t so involved in the presentations,” he slips off his pants, playing with the buckle of yours. Your hands cover his, aiding him. Soon enough you’re both pantless

“No one was speaking up, there had to be a sacrifice- oh-”

His fingers slip into your underwear, sinking into you with ease. His palm nudges your clit as he does so, lips still against your neck. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer into you. He curls them, moving in and out quickly. You hold back a moan, fingers digging into his skin. You hear a speaker in the distance, grabbing his hands and pulling them out. He looks at you in confusion, but you only slip your hand into his pants, stroking his cock. He groans, head pressing against your shoulder.

“No time,” he murmurs.

“I know, that’s why we need to be quick,” you whisper, nudging him closer to you. “Think you can fuck me and be done in less than five minutes?”

He rolls his eyes, “Not in college anymore.”

“Hongjoong…” you frown, and he swallows slowly.

“Fuck, I love when you say my name,” he pushes his underwear down. Just as you’re about to say it again, his cock sinks into you with ease. You press your hand against your mouth, holding back the moan that threatens to escape. His fingers grip your hips, pulling you closer to him as he presses his hips into you. You let your hand slip in between the both of you, rubbing your clit at the pace he sets. His fingers dig harshly, breaths loud.

“You feel so good around me,” he mumbles. “Just like art.”

“Joong,” you utter, only causing him to move quicker. He lets go of one side of your hip, moving your own hand away and rubbing your quickly. “Fuck, I’m close.”

“Come for me, pretty girl, come on,” his teeth bite your neck softly. You wrap your arms around his back, humping his hand. It happens much quicker than you realize, his soft whispers in your ear pushing you over the edge. You hold him tightly as he stills of you. “y/n, fuck, y/n I need to come pretty girl.”

You let him go and he pulls out immediately. He disappears before your eyes in a moment, grabbing the garbage under the two of you and coming. The sight is humorous in itself, but you’re in too much of a daze to let a laugh out. You slowly get up from the table, looking around for your vest as you pull up your pants. He steadies himself, turning around to look at you. A lazy smile crosses his lips, following your suit to redress. After a couple of minutes of gathering yourselves, you turn, looking at him.

“A garbage can?” You snicker, tossing him the hand sanitizer you keep in your pocket. He catches it with ease, frowning.

“There’s nothing else around!”

He adjusts his shirt, messily. You move closer to him, helping him adjust his coat and shirt to look not too wrinkled. He does the same for you, tucking loose strands of hair back into its place. His eyes stay on yours as you do so, flicking back to your lips.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says. “You are pretty beautiful, y/n.”

“You’re pretty handsome too, Professor Kim,” you smile at him, ignoring the rattling of your heart.

“I don’t…” he trails off, thinking. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing, I want us to be more than a one time thing. You’re more than that to me.”

“I want that too, Hongjoong.”

Relief washes over his face at your words, “You’re not teasing me right?”

“No, I do like you. I wouldn’t have let you do any of that if I didn’t. But maybe we take it slower next time? Like taking me out for coffee?”

“Okay,” he steps away from you, glancing at the door. “Time to go, then?”

“As long as you don’t go out there with that lipstick on your mouth,” you grin. He grabs his phone and looks at his face. There it is - a long streak of lipstick against his cheek. He rubs it quickly, using your hand sanitizer.

“You would have let me walk out there like that?” He asks, eyes wide. You only shrug, walking past him and out into the hallway.

[talesofesther]

cross my heart (and hope to die)

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Every time Steve gets hurt, you're there to help pick up the pieces; you just weren't expecting him to fall for you in the process.

A/N: Steve my beloved &lt;3. Hope you guys like this one, it started as one thing and took a massive turn as I was writing it, anyway, I think it turned out good? Let me know. Any flashbacks are in italics.

Word count: 8,9k

Masterlist

Hospital hallways had a knack for looking and feeling like the perfect setting for a horror movie, especially on nights like these, where said hallways were mostly empty. It was a good thing, for a hospital not to be crowded, but with the cold air, the white walls and tiles, the lonely chairs beside the snack machine, and the only company in sight being the receptionist; your skin was constantly crawling with goosebumps.

Your sneakers were scratching against the recently mopped floor, the pungent smell of disinfectant made you scrunch your nose. It was a bit of a sight, your jeans and red flannel under the white doctor's coat your mother insisted you wore. That's probably why you hardly told people about it.

In your hands, you held two patient records, one for the kid who annoyed the hell out of you, and the other for the old woman who told you all about her cactuses and succulents. As you reached the receptionist's counter, you slid the two papers over to the older woman, who was stacking a few files of her own. "Hey Claire, these are from the ones who got out today."

"Thank you Y/N, tell your mother to come to see me before she leaves okay?"

"Will do." You tapped the counter and were about to turn and leave when the main glass doors were pushed open.

You were greeted with a sight you weren't expecting to see today; Steve Harrington walking through the hospital doors, the bright artificial lights illuminating his beat-up face. One of his eyes was swollen and there was a good amount of blood on his cheek, lips, and nose, his knuckles were bruised as well and he walked with hunched shoulders. You never expected to see Steve trying to make himself look smaller.

And you must be looking at him with quite the face because from one glance at you he quickly averted his eyes, fumbling with the zipper on his jacket as he reached the counter.

You cursed under your breath for your lack of manners, and awkwardly hovered by the end of the counter. Why you stayed? You couldn't tell.

Steve and you weren't friends, maybe it would be a stretch to even say you were colleagues. You shared a few classes with him, had been put together in some group projects but that was about it. He had been enough of a douche lately for you to not pay much attention, or, at least he walked with the kind of people that were massive douches back at school.

Carefully laying his hands on top of the counter, Steve leaned forward, licking his lips before he addressed Claire. "Hi, I was- I was kind of hoping to get this looked at." He vaguely gestured to his face.

Claire looked at him from over her glasses, a frown on her lips from a lifetime of dealing with teenage drama. She nodded, and made quick work of making a patient record for him.

It took maybe a minute, but the silence that engulfed the reception hall of the hospital was heavily awkward. Claire wrote calmly with her pen, you found the stain on your sneakers to be really interesting all of a sudden, and Steve was shuffling in his stance, his fingers tapping the counter in an unsteady rhythm.

"Y/N, will you please?" Claire's voice made you snap your gaze up to her. She was handing you his new record.

"Sure." You nodded, already knowing the routine. You took the paper and forced your gaze to meet the one from the boy next to you.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Follow me."

The room she assigned to Steve was a bit of a walk, and he followed you through the hospital hallways in silence for about twenty seconds.

"I didn't know you worked at a hospital."

You knew it was coming, you saw the curiosity swimming in his eyes. Your lips quirked up slightly. "I volunteer. My mom works here."

Steve's lips parted in a silent 'oh', he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and walked faster to fall into step beside you. "That's cool."

"I guess, for the most part, it is." You fumbled with the paper in your hands, feeling his eyes on your profile.

"Do you also help in surgeries and stuff?"

You chuckled, "no, I don't. I help with the more simple stuff… Uh- organizing materials, checking in on patients, keeping company, taking them to their rooms." You glanced at him with a smile. Tentative, only to see what kind of person you had in your hands.

And when you were met with a chuckle and a smile of his own, you figured he was more approachable when alone.

Just before reaching the room assigned to him, you passed by a snack machine. Steve's face lit up in a way that reminded you of the little kids you're always escorting around, one hand already fishing for his wallet. "Can I?" He pointed a finger at the old thing.

"Yeah, go ahead." You shrugged, leaning against the wall while he picked what to eat. You selfishly allowed yourself to look at him then. It was no secret that he was handsome, the fact that most of your friends were swooning over him was proof enough, but there was something different about seeing him here and now; alone in a hospital hallway with blood staining his shirt and a gash on his lip that reopened when he smiled as his snack fell from the machine.

He hummed when he took the first bite, closing his eyes momentarily. "You want one too?" He asked with a full mouth.

Your eyebrows shot up at his offer, you almost took too long to answer. "Uh no, I'm good."

The room you took him to was one of the smaller ones, with just one bed, but it had a window and a TV, so that was a plus for him. After telling Steve he could sit on the bed to wait for a proper doctor, you couldn't help but ask; "what happened to you?"

Steve's expression fell, he scoffed and ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Isn't it obvious?"

Technically, it was. Someone beat him up. But who would dare to beat up the king of Hawkins High?

A lone droplet of blood escaped his nose, he was quick to wipe it away with the sleeve of his jacket. "I did something stupid, or at least didn't stop it from happening, and got what I deserved I guess."

You tilted your head with a frown, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you looked at him. "Why'd you do it, the stupid thing?"

"I was angry, and hurt… There's this girl and I…" He sighed, shaking his head. His legs swung back and forth while he picked at the white sheets. "It's stupid."

You would agree, if you two were closer. You would tell him that it's not worth it and he will only end up hurt. You had seen Steve and Nancy Wheeler being cozy together in school earlier this week; you also saw her running off with Jonathan earlier today. It was easy to guess.

"For what's worth," you set his record on the clip at the foot of his bed, "I think she'll come around." Walking backwards to the door you gave him a wink. "And you'll be okay, wounds like that tend to heal pretty fast."

Steve had a lazy smile on his lips, a look in his eyes you couldn't figure out. "Yeah? You promise?"

With one hand on the doorknob, you gave him a cheeky smile of your own. "Cross my heart," you traced an 'x' over your heart, "and hope to die." Your voice held an overly dramatic tone for a promise you didn't believe in. But for some reason, you wanted him to believe it. You wanted him to believe in a reality where hearts didn't get broken and stomped over.

And Steve chuckled again just before you left his room. The somber expression he walked in with was gone, in its place laid newfound hope, and while fragile, it was there.

______

After your encounter with Steve at the hospital, he surprised you by seeking you out at school. You shared a good amount of classes, and given that he stopped being friends with Tommy and Carol overnight, it was only natural for him to stick with you. You were well on your way to call each other friends. He became a constant part of your day over the last months.

And now, on Halloween night, part of you regretted giving him hope with that one promise. Gossip moved fast on a house filled with teens, a whispered comment here, a mocking laugh there, and soon everyone was aware that Nancy dumped Steve.

It was ugly, and that's why you avoided places like these, but someone convinced you to attend this one party;

"So, what are you going as?" Steve asked as he stuffed his books inside his backpack. He sat beside you, as he usually did nowadays.

The classroom was slowly emptying as you got up from your chair, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Tina's Halloween party, what are you going as?"

You scoffed. As if. "I'm not going to that."

You made to walk past him, but he got up and took hold of your backpack, forcing you to halt on your steps.

"What do you mean you're not going? Of course you're going."

Why he wanted you there so much was beyond you, he had Nancy for christ's sake. You sighed, giving up on trying to brush through the conversation like you'd been doing for the whole week. "Why would I go there? To drink cheap beer in a house full of sweaty and handsy people?"

Steve's hand landed on your elbow, a gentle touch that you were well too aware of. "To have fun, I mean, do you ever get out?"

Your face scrunched up as if he'd insulted you. "I go out."

"Hospital work and school don't count."

You slapped his hand away with a chuckle, ducking your head and walking to the door because the teacher was already giving you a side eye for still being in the empty classroom. "I go out, okay pretty boy? I'm just not a fan of those types of… parties."

Steve fell into step beside you, it was strange how normal it was becoming to have his shoulder bumping into yours as you walked, how his presence became something you missed when he wasn't around. "I know but, it's our last chance at those, right? It'll be fun, just this once. I'll pick up Nance and, if you want, we can pass by your house too."

No one could convince you to go, no one ever did, because you really didn't like going to high school parties. But he managed, maybe it was the crinkle in his eyes when he smiled, or the way his hair fell over his forehead as he skipped in front of you.

"Why do you want me there so badly?" You dared to ask, leaning your back against the brick wall of the school's hallway.

Steve's lips hovered open for a moment in dangerous silence, before he shrugged and averted his gaze. "I just want you to have fun."

"Okay. But I'm not dressing up as anything."

Steve walked out of the bathroom with a tightness on his chest that went all the way up to his throat and made it hard to breathe. Bullshit. Maybe she was right, but it didn't stop the hurting.

He was searching for you amongst the crowd before he even realized it. The party was still going full force, loud music now annoying to his ears as he squeezed his way between the drunk students.

Everyone was looking at him, girls whispering in each other's ears as he walked by. Steve put his sunglasses back on, he knew there were tears pooling on the bottom lid of his eyes and he'd be damned if anyone saw it.

You found him before he found you. He felt your reassuring touch on his black blazer and he knew it was you before he even saw you. He didn't allow himself to think about it.

"Hey," you closed a hand around his wrist, taking his hand felt way too intimate, "you okay?"

It was a dumb question and you cursed yourself for asking it. Comforting people was definitely not your expertise.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, his fingers grasping the ends of it as he sighed.

"Why don't we get out of here? I could use some fresh air." You suggested, because Steve looked like a lost puppy right now, everyone was doing a poor job of pretending not to look at him and you saw Nancy going off with Jonathan just a minute ago.

"Yeah, you're right." Steve hated how his voice broke, but he was so damn grateful that you were there; otherwise, he'd be on his own, and that's the last thing he wanted right now. You guided him to the door and out the house, the cold air outside was welcoming.

The door closed behind you, muffling the music coming from inside the house. There were a few people hanging out on the lawn, but not nearly as much.

Steve stumbled his way to the sidewalk, he took off his glasses and let them fall on the grass. "I'm guessing you already heard about it."

You'd never heard him sound so defeated. He had a hand over his eyes, breathing erratic. You wondered if this was his first heartbreak. "Yeah, I think everyone did."

When he didn't answer, you crouched down to pick up his sunglasses, putting them on top of your head as you walked beside him with a hand extended to him. "Give me your keys."

Steve wiped his eyes before looking at you with a frown. "What?"

And damn him and those big, sad, and gentle eyes of his. "We're getting out of here, come on." You wiggled your fingers, not giving him much room for argument.

Part of you knew it was a dangerous game to play. Caring about him could end badly for your side, and it's not like you were eager to get hurt. But you knew Steve enough to know that he had no one; absent parents, no more asshole friends, and now, no Nancy. It hit you like a ton of bricks that maybe, you were the only person he had left.

You figured that as long as you keep any rogue feelings in control, you'd be fine.

Famous last words.

Despite better judgment, you got into his car with him on the passenger's seat and drove to a place you liked to call peaceful — not before stopping at a convenience store and picking up a cheap bottle of wine.

The playground was deserted at this time of night; thanks to a clear sky, the moon provided some light, along with the street lamps. The place stood on a patch of grass, surrounded by a few trees, and given that it was a little way up, it gave you a good view of a part of Hawkins.

You sat down on one of the swings and waited for Steve to join you. Wine bottle in one hand as the other held onto the rusty chain.

"A playground?" Steve asked, sitting down on the swing beside yours.

You pushed yourself back and forth with your feet, turning your head up to look at the blanket of stars above you. "Mhmm." You hummed. "It can be pretty peaceful without annoying kids running around."

Steve chuckled, and you took it as a win already. He copied your movements, swinging himself lazily. His mind was cluttered, but if it wasn't, he'd know you were right.

Crickets were singing tonight, along with the creaking of the moving swings and the wind rustling leaves from time to time. In front of you, Hawkins was nothing but patches of light in the distance.

Popping open the bottle, you took a sip before passing it to Steve, alcohol burning on your tongue.

He drank it eagerly, taking about three big gulps of the wine.

"Easy there, dude," you giggled, snatching the bottle from him and setting it beside you.

"You come here often?" Steve asked quietly, eyes fixed ahead of him.

"That sounds like a horrible pick-up line." You teased, leaning your head towards him.

Steve felt his cheeks burning, he was glad for the lack of lighting. "I wasn't-"

"I know what you meant," you smiled, averting your gaze from him, "don't worry."

Gripping tighter onto the chain that held up his swing, Steve mumbled; "right."

"I usually come here to relax, or when I have too much on my mind," you glanced down, the tip of your sneakers brushing over the grass, "like I said, it… feels peaceful sometimes."

Steve nodded, pursing his lips. For a long moment he was quiet, and then;

"I think she doesn't love me anymore."

You turned to him slowly. The pain was evident in his voice, eyes downcast and you saw the outline of his lower lip trembling. You wanted to reach out, but didn't.

"I'm starting to think that… maybe she never did love me." He shrugged, trying to play off his pain.

"Don't say that." You uttered.

There was a lump on his throat that Steve gulped down, his knuckles going white around the chains. His words turned to a whisper because if he spoke louder, he'd break. "I think she was mad about what happened to Barbara but…" He sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand, "whatever, I'll just- just try to make things right I guess."

You frowned at that, it's not like you could do much with the crumbs of information he gave you, but it didn't feel like he should be the one saying sorry. Not the only one at least.

Turns out Steve was more observant than you thought. "You don't think I should do it." He noted, after his gaze landed on you.

You squirmed in your seat, moving your hands up on the chain and giving your body a swing. "I- I think that sometimes… love is not worth the risk." You chanced a look at him, "but that's just me, okay?" You were quick to add. "I think you should do what your heart tells you. What feels right, you know?"

Picking up the bottle of wine, you took a bigger sip this time. Letting the burn of the alcohol wash away the bitter taste of your words.

You passed it to Steve, and when his fingers closed around the bottle, they grazed yours. "Thank you, for being here and all."

Bumping his shoes with yours, you said; "anytime." And you surprised yourself by meaning it.

______

It was odd enough to see Steve walking through the hospital doors with a bloody face once, and you weren't expecting it to happen a second time. But it did.

You were about to go home for the night when you saw his red BMW being parked in the hospital's parking lot. The glass doors shut behind you with a click and you took a couple of steps forward with a frown on your face. Dark clouds, bringing rain most likely, loomed above you in the night sky.

It was dark out, only a few lamps from the parking lot providing light, but you saw Steve stepping out of his car with a bit of difficulty and heaviness to his movements.

He smiled when he saw you standing in front of those doors, the bright interior of the hospital's reception outlining your silhouette, making his sore feet work and carry him to you. If he was being completely honest with himself, it wasn't his plan to come to the hospital, not after the exhausting night he just had. But his hands on the wheel subconsciously turned the street to where he knew you would be.

Steve stopped in front of you, cheeks scraped and beaten, blood smudged under his nose, and bruises already forming under the floral bandaid he had on his forehead. You raised your arms halfway with an incredulous look on your face, "what the hell Harrington? You're even worse than last time."

It wasn't fair for you to be attractive while scolding him. He chuckled, the motion making his probably fractured nose sting. "You can thank Hargrove for that."

The fatigue from the last days was finally catching up with Steve, he closed his eyes with a shaky sigh, feeling as if he was about to pass out; and he must have looked the part too, because the next thing he felt was your hands holding him up and guiding him inside the hospital.

You didn't bother with stopping in the reception to grab him a record, you could worry about that later. Now, you guided him to the closest room available, worry bubbling in your stomach.

"I knew that guy was trouble from the moment he showed up," you grumbled, helping Steve to sit up on the hospital bed, "but why did he… do this to you?" One of your hands remained on his elbow, the other hovering over his bruised cheek as you stood in front of him.

Steve shook his head dismissively, "it's a long story." He couldn't pull his gaze away from you, he wanted to smooth the crease of your eyebrows with his thumb.

You didn't press him into telling you, your fingers brushed over his arm and down to his hand. When your skin touched his, you pulled away. "I'll call a doctor for you." You told him quietly.

Goosebumps erupted on Steve's body, and the thought of you leaving was suddenly unbearable. "You could do it too though, right?"

You turned back to him with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean, it's simple enough?" His hands gripped the edge of the bed as he spoke.

The hospital room was quiet, you could hear the first droplets of rain hitting the roof and then the window behind Steve.

It's just your job, right? It doesn't have to mean anything.

"Sure, I can tidy you up." You walked back to him with a small smile on your lips, opening up the cabinet beside his bed to pick up gauze and antiseptics. "but then I'm calling a doctor to check up on you," when Steve opened his mouth to complain, you added; "no buts."

Raising your hands to the bandaid on his forehead, you asked; "may I?"

Steve could only nod. This is the closest he's ever been to you, and he never noticed how you had tiny freckles over your nose, or how pretty were the bright specks of color on your eyes. He held onto his breath until you removed the bandaid and pulled away from him.

Soaking a gauze with antiseptic, you raised a hand to Steve's hair and held it away from the bruise on his forehead while you cleaned it. The brown strands were soft under your touch, you wanted to run your fingers through them.

"Have you worked things out with Nancy?" You asked out of curiosity, mostly.

Steve averted his gaze from you, squirming on his seat until you mumbled a "stay still" for him. "Sort of, yeah." He sighed. "We uh- we're not together anymore."

You stopped your work to look at him properly.

Heart probably ripped in half, hair messier than ever, dark circles under his eyes, crimson red blood taking up most of his skin as a telltale of what you could only imagine was a reckless act of courage, and still, he held onto a tiny smile for you. The affection you developed for him made your heart thunder and bleed.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," he was quick to ease your worries, his eyes glistening under the artificial lights, "really, it's… it's better this way."

The once white gauze on your hand had now a pink color to it, you threw it aside and picked a new one. Busying yourself longer than necessary with the bottle of antiseptic, you said; "you deserve someone who loves and cares about you the same way you do for them, Steve."

You chanced a quick glance at his eyes, biting the inside of your cheek when you found him looking back at you. Clearing your throat, you took hold of his jaw and cleaned the blood under his nose.

You felt the way his cheeks moved under your touch when he smiled, felt the way he played and tugged at the ends of your jacket, keeping you there with him.

And you could worry about the butterflies in your stomach later. For now, all you cared about was patching him up and making sure to ease his pain, if not emotional, at least physical.

______

In the months that followed, you and Steve grew even closer, being each other's only constant in life. You two were attached to the hip to the point where in the last weeks of school, your friends had to get used to the fact that, wherever one went, the other followed.

But things shifted once you graduated and the safety blanket of going to school — of having that excuse to always be with him — was taken away.

And it's not like you were avoiding Steve, not at all. It was only natural that, after you both graduated, you'd see each other a little less.

He found a job at the new mall, and you were taking a few extra shifts helping out at the hospital. And that was all there was to it.

Sometimes, Steve called you and asked if you wanted to spend some time by the playground after the sun was down.

Every few days, you stopped by at Starcourt to see him.

You saw each other less — going from being together practically every day, to now only two or three times a week — certainly not for lack of trying on Steve's part. But the routine was safe.

Last night, he bought a bottle of wine for you to share at the playground. He made you laugh as he pushed you on the swing and you made him sing loudly with you over the radio on the way back to your home. And before you could exit his car, he took your hand;

The skin of his hand against yours was softer than you thought it'd be, a bit calloused, but still soft. You were closing your fingers around his before you could think it through.

"I was thinking, maybe you could stop by the mall tomorrow?" Steve asked, his voice shy in a way that you hadn't heard yet. His eyes were focused on your hands over the center console.

He didn't leave much room for you to answer before continuing; "I'll be working but, we could grab some ice cream on my break. You know, hang out, or whatever." He shook his head as if it was no big deal. His bumping knee and white knuckles around the wheel told otherwise.

You didn't do dates, you didn't like the idea of letting people close enough to ask you on them. Steve should know that too, he's had his heart broken too.

But he never said it would be a date. "Ice cream does sound tempting," you mused with a smile.

"It's the best in town." Steve teased, looking up at you the same way he did when you first got into his car tonight. If you didn't know better, you'd call it love.

You chuckled, incapable of saying no even if you wanted to. "Yeah, okay."

"Really?" His eyebrows shot up, the grip he had on your hand squeezing lightly.

"Cross my heart for you, pretty boy."

In some sense, Starcourt felt like its own little world. The atmosphere changed once you walked through those doors. Bright colors and even brighter neon signs for a multitude of stores, plus the overwhelming crowd were quite the contrast with the rest of Hawkins.

Scoops Ahoy was easier on the eyes, particularly because of the boy with the dorky sailor outfit behind the counter.

Early weekdays were slow, Steve was leaning over the counter, mindlessly flipping through a magazine while twirling his hat with the other hand.

"Hey, sailor." You smirked.

He beamed when he saw you, throwing the magazine to the side promptly. "Hey, you came."

You frowned, faking offense and leaning both your hands on the counter. "Of course I did, I love ice cream."

"Ouch," Steve mumbled with the ghost of a smile. "I have my break in about ten minutes, if you wanna pick a table." His gaze moved around the parlor, with only you and him, and an elderly couple sharing a bowl of ice cream on one of the tables.

With a nod, your lips titled up in a smile that was reserved for him only, "surprise me." You glanced at the many ice cream flavors beside him and walked away to find a table.

"Is that the girl you've been talking my ear off about?"

Robin's sudden voice just about made Steve jump out of his skin. He put a hand over his racing heart whilst the other clutched his sailor's hat, shooting a worried look in your direction to make sure you didn't hear it. "Jesus Buckley, keep it down will you?"

Raising her hands in mock surrender, Robin chuckled; "sorry loverboy, you were practically eating her with your eyes, so I assumed-"

"Was not," Steve grumbled.

"-that she was the 'beautiful girl who helps at the hospital and cared for me once and now I'm head over heels in love with her'." Robin finished with a smug grin, leaning back on the wall behind her.

If Steve's frown was anything to go by, he was not amused. "You done?" He had an evident blush on his cheeks as he avoided Robin's stare and tossed aside his hat, picking up two bowls for the ice cream.

Robin chuckled, "hey I didn't mean it as something bad, for what's worth, I think she might like you too."

Just the thought of it made Steve's heart do somersaults inside his chest. He pursed his lips, twirling his scoop on his hand.

"You should ask her out on a proper date," Robin suggested.

Steve shook his head, looking down at the ice cream flavors in front of him as if they'd have an answer for his feelings. "It's not that simple, she's… she's different. We're different. I don't wanna mess it up." He sighed, voice losing its volume as he spoke. Robin had never heard him sound so insecure.

Six minutes after you sat down at the table by the wall, an ice cream bowl was set in front of you, with your favorite flavor.

You looked up at Steve with a smile already on your lips.

He smirked back. Blue, white and red complimenting his features. Of course he could put on a sailor's uniform and look handsome in it. He sat down in front of you, with a bowl of ice cream of his own in his hands.

"You remembered," you said quietly, nose scrunching because of your smile. You picked up the spoon and took a bite of the cold dessert.

Steve pushed back his hair, a nervous habit of his that he was doing more and more whenever he was with you. "Of course I did."

Talking with Steve was easy; and there wasn't a day where he couldn't pull a smile out of you, as miserable as you might be, he made you happy. And every time, in the few minutes just before you walked out your door, knowing that he would be there, outside waiting for you, your stomach would flutter and your skin would feel hot, even more so after he touched you.

It should have been obvious, and maybe you already knew it deep down, only not wanting to admit it to yourself just yet; for fear, because you knew things would change once you did.

But now, as you talked about nothing and everything; as Steve's fingers intertwined with yours over the table, slightly sticky because of the ice cream; as he averted his eyes with the most adorable pink tint to his cheeks, and asked shyly if you'd, maybe, give him the chance to take you out on a proper date; now, it was as clear as day. You had fallen for him, completely and utterly. Willingly too, you knew it was. You knew it would happen, yet you stuck with him anyway.

It was selfish, and it was unfair. But Steve made you feel warm in a way you never had before, so you turned a blind eye to the inevitable outcome. Until now. Until the affection became real and tangible. Until he seemingly felt the same. For when something is real, it can hurt you.

You pulled your hand away from his with a gulp, shoulders growing tense as you curled in on yourself a little.

Steve's face fell immediately, eyebrows knitting together slightly as his eyes silently asked what he did wrong.

The look he gave you squeezed your heart painfully. You looked away. "I- I'm sorry, Steve. I- we can't."

"We can't… go on a date?" Steve chuckled nervously, pushing his now empty bowl of ice cream to the side. He slowly pulled the hand that had been holding yours back to himself, picking at his fingers. "I mean, it's- it's okay if you don't want to. I just thought that, I don't know, maybe we could give this a shot? Us, I mean. I just- you make me feel-" he was rambling, panic making the words roll off his tongue.

"Steve, stop." You snapped, harsher than you wanted to. Your palms were flush against the table as so to ground yourself, and the outline of Steve's lips started to get blurry in your vision. You bit back the tears.

He could only look at you, those gentle eyes of his so confused, tilting his head to the side as a puppy would.

"I'm sorry, but we can't do this." You forced the words out as steady as you could, which, wasn't much. It's crazy how sudden bursts of emotion can numb your senses, if you'd been thinking straight, you would have seen how his eyes held nothing but sincerity, nothing but affection and happiness to be there with you.

But at that moment, it felt safer to push him away, so that's what you did. With a last mumbled "sorry", you got up from the table and walked away from Scoops Ahoy. Away from Steve.

And he watched you leave, with a piece of his heart in your hands. He was silent as he picked up both empty bowls, mumbling curses under his breath as one of the spoons fell and soiled the table.

"How'd it go?" Robin asked him as he walked into the back room, going straight to the sink to wash the dishes.

Steve scoffed, angrily scrubbing the cutlery. "I did what I do best, Robin," foam covered his hands, he had to turn his head to wipe his damp cheek on his shoulder, "mess things up."

______

You didn't see Steve for two weeks after your not-date at the mall.

You didn't have the balls to call him, much less go see him. You didn't think he'd want to see you. You regretted the way you handled your feelings as soon as you got home that day.

The idea of someone having enough power over you to make the mess that a bullet to the heart would, without ever lifting a finger, was scary. You felt that pain once and you swore you'd never let it happen again. A risk that felt too great.

But the idea of losing Steve, the sweet boy that found his way into your heart with dumb jokes and a dorky attitude, was all the more terrifying.

Steve made you want to take the leap of faith that was loving someone.

You mustered up the courage to go see him when fireworks were painting the sky in a multitude of colors on the 4th of July. You would apologize, you would hold his hands and kiss him senseless if he let you.

But you never got to do it. Fate had a knack for messing up your plans. Because on that same night, your mother called you, saying that she would be pulling an all-nighter at the hospital because the new town mall had just burned to the ground. And there were many injured people. And there were casualties.

You had never snatched your car keys and sped off your driveway so fast, almost knocking down your mailbox. Reckless driving was an understatement to describe the way you reached Starcourt in half the time it usually took for you to get there.

Tires screeched against asphalt as you stopped at the Mall's parking lot. Ambulances, police, and even the military littered the place. Blue and red lights were blinking bright under the falling rain, reflecting against the wet ground and the metal of the vehicles.

It was quite a sight to see you running towards the commotion at full speed in your pajamas and a pair of poorly tied sneakers over mismatched socks. You were stomping over puddles and not caring if it got your feet wet, you just needed to find him.

Two strong hands suddenly stopped you in your tracks. You grunted, glaring daggers at the man who blocked your path. So what if he had a massive shotgun on his shoulder, an anxious, worried, and sleep-deprived girl could be just as menacing.

"This is a restricted area, lady, please turn around." His gruff voice commanded.

"I work with them, dude. Let me through." You pointed a trembling finger in the general direction of one of the ambulances, your chest going up and down erratically.

The man that held onto your arms sighed, "I won't tell you again, turn around and leave the area."

"Oh, you won't have to tell me again because I'll-"

Before you could get yourself arrested, a familiar voice interrupted you.

"That's alright, officer," Charles, a young doctor and one of your besties from the hospital walked up to you, "she's with me. Even if a little… underdressed for the job, I need her with me." He looked you up and down with a raised eyebrow, holding in a giggle.

You glared at the soldier as you walked past him, and when he was out of earshot, you thanked Charles; "I owe you one."

"Sure, but what are you even doing here?" The young man frowned, "if they're calling all hands on deck for this, you should be back at the hospital, no?"

You ran a hand through your hair, not being able to stay still as you looked around; there were so many people here, some of them you even knew from school, the rain was getting stronger and dampening your hair and those damn blinking lights of the ambulances were making it hard to focus. "No, no I'm- I'm not here to work, I'm trying to find someone."

"Do you need help? There's… there's been a few casualties, if you need me to-"

"No." You interrupted him quickly, you couldn't stomach to even think about the possibility. "It's okay, Charles," with a gentler voice, you laid a hand on his shoulder, "you go do your job and help the others, I'll be alright on my own."

Your friend gave you a sympathetic smile, "okay, just try to be quick, I can't keep them off your back for too long."

With a quick hug of gratitude to Charles, you started roaming around Starcourt's parking lot. The heavy thudding of your heart against your ribcage was starting to hurt, making it hard to breathe. You had to brush the sleeve of your pajama shirt over your eyes a few times, raindrops — or tears, you didn't care to know — were clinging to your eyelashes.

Only after two minutes that felt endless, you finally found him. There, sitting on the back of an ambulance, holding a bag of ice over one of his eyes, was your Steve.

"Steve," you breathed out with a relieved smile. You started running to him before you knew it, water splashing around your sneakers, calling louder; "Steve!"

His head snapped to your direction, his eyebrows scrunched up together when he saw you running to him. "What…" He mumbled, dropping the ice bag and raising to his feet. The movement hurt his sore muscles, and he didn't have time to prepare himself to have you throwing yourself at him.

The hug was as desperate as you felt since your mother called you earlier, you clutched at Steve's shoulders and buried your head on his neck; feeling the warmth of his body against yours, because he was alive, and he was okay, and he was here.

You didn't hear Steve's pained grunt when you collided with him, but soon your ears caught up with his little hisses of pain.

You pulled back immediately, worried eyes skimming over his body, "oh god I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Steve, I didn't mean to-" the words got stuck in your throat for a moment. Steve was looking down at you, smiling, because of course he was, but you could only see the cute crinkle of the smile on one of his eyes, because the other was swollen shut; it was a mix of deep red and purple that turned your stomach upside down. His lip had a massive cut to it that may or may not need stitches, his sailor's uniform was stained with blood and you were scared to find out what other injuries it was covering.

"-hurt you." You finished in a whisper, your hands hovering over his arms for fear of harming him more, and now you were sure that what was falling down your cheeks were tears.

"No, it's okay. It's okay," tears of his own pooled in Steve's already red-rimmed eyes, his words broke in the middle; "you could never." With a soft grip on your waist, he pulled you into a gentler hug, winding his arms around you and dropping his head to your shoulder. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, one that he'd been holding probably ever since that damned elevator dropped below the ground.

You nuzzled his shoulder as you held onto him with a tender grip, one hand going up to thread through his hair. "I was so worried, you have no idea."

Steve squeezed you tighter, he needed the comfort just as much as you, "'m sorry," he spoke against you.

If it was up to you, you'd stay in his embrace forever, but Steve was hurt and the rain was starting to seep through your clothes. You pulled back to look at him; "has anyone checked on you yet? Let me take you to the hospital."

Steve shook his head. He slid his hands down your arms and hooked his fingers with yours, blaming the emotional baggage of today for it. "No hospitals, please. Some paramedics already cleaned the injuries and shit… I just wanna go home." He pleaded, exhausted.

You squeezed his hands. "Yeah, okay. I'll take you, come on."

The drive to Steve's place was silent, mostly. As soon as Starcourt was out of sight, Steve sighed loudly and leaned back against the seat, and he hadn't moved since; you kept a close eye on him, on the steady up and down of his chest. Your knuckles were white holding the steering wheel. More and more, the reason for why you left him when you last saw each other felt incredibly insignificant beside the affection you held for him.

As you parked on Steve's driveway, you noticed that the whole house was dark, there were no other cars in sight either. "Where are your parents?"

Steve groaned, pushing himself up to sit straighter and feeling his bruised muscles complain about it. "Out, on a business trip or vacation, I don't fucking know."

"Steve, you- you can't be alone like this." You turned off your car and turned to him. "You have somewhere else you want me to take you?"

"No, here is fine. I've been alone plenty of times, it's no biggie." He reached for the door handle but hesitated. He gulped before chancing a glance your way. "You could stay though, if you wanted to."

Something in you broke with the way he said it, like he'd been dreading the thought of walking into his own house, — big, and dark, and cold and so empty — like he'd done it too many times before and wanted something to remind himself he wasn't on his own anymore.

You were going to stay even if he hadn't said it. To be honest, you doubted you'd ever willingly leave his side again.

Steve's house was huge and pretty, but in many ways, it seemed stuck in time. Only the same rooms had signs of life in it. An empty bowl of cereal in the sink, a cushion fallen to the floor in the living room, a few shoes discarded near the door; only the necessities. Not a home, just a house with people making use of it.

You walked with Steve up the stairs and to his bedroom, one of your hands always lingering by him. There were many unsaid words and unasked questions hanging thick in the air between you, and even if Steve was tired, before anything else, you insisted he took a shower. You knew he'd feel better after washing off the blood and sweat.

When you heard the stream of water hit the tiles in the bathroom, you walked back to his room and sat on his bed — it was big and so damn comfortable — with your head in your hands. Just about an hour ago, you had no idea you'd be spending the night at Steve's house. Even if you did catch yourself sometimes wondering what your first night together would be like, you'd never guessed it'd be like this.

As bland as the rest of the house may be, Steve's room had a few traces of his personality in it. A few tapes and a cassette player, an old basketball beside his wardrobe, a dusty acoustic guitar resting against the wall; all making it easy to guess that this was the place he spent most of his time in when at home.

It took maybe ten minutes for you to hear Steve turning off the shower, and then he slowly made his way back to his room.

The door was pushed open to reveal Steve in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, though he was still holding his towel in front of most of his chest and abdomen. His hair was damp — much longer than when you first became friends, you realized — a few droplets of water dripping down the strands and to his bare shoulders. He was walking with stiffness to his movements, grimacing every few steps.

"How are you feeling?" You asked in lieu of saying let me see you. But he understood.

"I think I've beat my record." He said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, towel still clutched tightly between his hands.

"Steve," you said quietly, carefully, and if the house wasn't so eerily silent, he wouldn't have heard.

But he did, and that was enough. Steve clenched his jaw before reluctantly throwing the towel over the chair in front of his desk. And the sight clenched your heart painfully. His torso was an array of colors, blacks and blues staining his pale skin, highlighted because of the hot water from the shower; a few wounds so harsh that it was visible they'd drawn blood when done.

Steve squirmed under your gaze. You wondered if he was expecting some kind of scolding, it pained you to think about it.

"My god, Steve," was all you could say over the lump in your throat. You extended a hand for him, silently asking him to come closer.

He took it, sitting down beside you with that familiar hunch to his shoulders. His hand was warm against yours, holding on tightly.

You shuffled closer to him, raising one hand to brush away the strands of hair covering his eyes. Tenderly, because he deserved nothing less. "What happened to you?" You kept your voice quiet, the only lighting into his room came from a lamp on his desk, and from the pool outside, you didn't feel like breaking the peaceful bubble.

Steve pursed his lips, his eyes taking on a brighter shine as water collected on the bottom lid. He didn't look up, solemnly focused on how his fingers played with yours. "The mall burned down."

You sighed, tilting your head to try and catch his gaze. "Did the mall also beat you up while it was burning down?"

A teary chuckle escaped Steve, but a frown soon took its place. He shook his head; "it's complicated."

You squeezed his hand. "You can talk to me."

"I can't," he choked on his words, "I'm sorry, I can't. I wanted to, but it's too dangerous, I can't-"

"It's alright," you shushed when sobs started to cut through Steve's words. You brought both hands up to cup his cheeks, brushing away the falling tears with your thumbs. "You don't have to tell me now. It's okay."

Steve nodded, his hands coming up to grasp at your wrists while he leaned into your hold. His heart was loud against his ears, his lower lip trembling with each ragged breath he took. One never realizes how much he's missing something until he gets it. Steve would happily drown in your comfort.

Eventually, he calmed down enough to ask the one thing he needed to know the most; "how- why were you there tonight?"

With a last brush of your thumb over the damp skin of his cheeks, you lowered your hands, biting onto your lip. "My mother called, saying how she'd be staying at the hospital tonight because Starcourt had burned down, and…" you looked up at Steve, heart on your hands and parted lips as the words laid on the tip of your tongue, "I was so scared, Steve. When she told me, my- my first thought was you. If you were okay or, if you got hurt."

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling to chase away tears of your own and then back at him; "I just needed to find you. And I'm sorry for the way I left things when we last spoke, I should have handled it differently, you- you deserved better." You chuckled humorlessly, "I said so myself, didn't I?"

That made Steve smile. He was all cuts and bruises, eye swollen and lip split; and you loved him so much it hurt. He chanced a hand up to your jaw, holding you carefully. "No one's better for me than you. No one cares for me as you do." His gaze moved to your lips, only a fraction of a second. "Why'd you do it?" He asked.

Steve's eyes held nothing but affection. You felt safe with him, safer than you ever did before. "A while ago, before we met, I trusted someone," you glanced out his window as you recalled it, "and they broke that trust, they- they used me. Got what they wanted and then just… vanished. It made me feel like a trophy, for a game, the ones that get discarded right after it ends."

You found Steve's gaze again, he was listening intently. There was a hint of anger on his features, but you realized it wasn't for you, it was for whoever hurt you. You took a deep breath, and continued; "I got over it, sorta. I promised myself I wouldn't give anyone else that sort of power, you know?"

Steve nodded, his hand on your cheek was mindlessly playing with the hair behind your ear. "I understand."

"It was safer that way. Lonelier too." You explained. "But then you came along and… all my rules just went straight out the window." You smiled, ducking your head onto his hand when you felt warmth coming to your cheeks.

"Maybe I could be the lucky exception to those rules then?" Steve chuckled, this time it was his eyes searching yours.

"I think you've been the exception since the first time I saw you covered in blood." You bit your cheek to contain your smile, gravitating closer to Steve as your hand ghosted over his waist.

Before you could close the gap between you, Steve looked you in the eyes, sincerity overflowing his blown pupils; "I hope you know, I'd never hurt you, ever."

You nodded, resting your forehead against his, your noses bumping together. "Promise?" You breathed out, your lips grazing his as you spoke.

You felt the shape of his smile, "cross my heart."

With a hand behind your head, Steve pulled you into a kiss, one that you both melted into, clinging to each other as if this was your last day on earth together.

Your hands made a mess of his hair and his arms closed around your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer.

Maybe you did keep your promise to him, maybe his happy ending was always meant to be intertwined with yours.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated so I can keep bringing you these stories. <3

Steve’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @tiaamberxx @alexisaflop @alicetweven @just-love-reading @katsukis1wife @frostandflamesfanfic

Let me know if you wanna be added to his taglist.

[cartierre]

ICED OAT LATTE | ma11

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU marcus armstrong x fem!novalak!reader (fc: sabrina carpenter)

side note: this is a bit on the shorter side but otherwise it felt like just dragging it out for nothing. there are two twitter threads though so i think that kind of makes up for it?

♡ liked by clementnovalak, marcusarmstrong, screamingmeals and 17,347 others

tagged: screamingmeals

y/n_novalak my segment on screamingmeals "y/n's coffee corner" launches this week! try out different kinds of coffee with me, send me suggestions how you like to drink yours and let's have a little chat together! we're going to start off strong with my all time favourite: an iced oat latte 🧊☕️

view all 82 comments

user1 watch y/n become the next emma chamberlain

user2 i don't like coffee but maybe y/n can come up with a way for me to somewhat enjoy it ⤷ user3 y/n should definitely do an episode on how to get into coffee as a beginner!

screamingmeals we never knew coffee could be so expensive ⤷ y/n_novalak i won't settle for cheap coffee beans

clementnovalak first you stole my best friend and now you get your own corner? ⤷ y/n_novalak go cry me a riverrrrrr ⤷ user4 y/n and clem being siblings, part 1933829

user5 i love an oat latte, but warm instead of cold!

♡ liked by clementnovalak, felipedrugovich, marcusarmstrong and 16,283 others

tagged: marcusarmstrong

y/n_novalak i'm the proudest girlfriend on the planet right now. to see marcus race here in st. petersburg makes my heart bloom. happy indycar debut babes! (psa: giving the coffee a 6/10 because it was overpriced)

view all 72 comments

user6 ugh i cannot they're literally perfect for each other ⤷ user7 i'm so glad clem introduced them to each other

clementnovalak for the record: i am still a bit salty you didn't come to my race this weekend ⤷ y/n_novalak should i hold your hand the next time since you're such a crybaby? ⤷ clementnovalak i'm telling maman that you're mean to me

user8 i never know if y/n and clem are being serious or not with their banter ⤷ user9 i have a brother and lemme tell you we're the same

marcusarmstrong with you by my side, i feel like i can achieve anything comment liked by y/n_novalak ⤷ y/n_novalak stop it i'm getting emotional

user10 *crying in single*

♡ liked by clementnovalak, marcusarmstrong, screamingmeals and 18,293 others

tagged: screamingmeals

y/n_novalak we're going into round two! this time on "y/n's coffee corner" we're going full traditional: we're taste testing the cappucino. a classic. the cappucino shines with a foamy top and lots of aroma. you can never go wrong with it. (spoiler alert: it's not marcus' favourite 😱)

view all 67 comments

user11 y/n needs to start a whole blog about coffee

user12 marcus doesn't like a cappucino? 🚩🚩 ⤷ y/n_novalak that's what i was thinking ⤷ marcusarmstrong i'm sorry

clementnovalak the way you only put a heart on yours and marcus' coffee and i got a blop of nothingness is actually hurting my soul ⤷ y/n_novalak you're always mean to me you don't deserve a heart

user13 i have the same coffee machine! comment liked by y/n_novalak

user14 i'm more of a latte person myself, but you can never really go wrong with a cappucino!

user15 back when i wasn't allowed to drink coffee, my mum always gave me her foam on her capuccino because i was so sad that i couldn't get one myself

♡ liked by clementnovalak, marcusarmstrong and 15,948 others

tagged: clementnovalak, marcusarmstrong

y/n_novalak visiting this dickhead this weekend in jeddah because he cried about me not attending his last race

view all 74 comments

user16 imagine being stressed because you cannot decide whether to visit your brother or boyfriend at different places for races ⤷ user17 she's living every motorsport fan's dream

user18 the lipstick stain is so real. men will never understand.

clementnovalak you made it sound like i begged you to come ⤷ y/n_novalak did you not? your messages say smth else ⤷ marcusarmstrong actually he cried because i wasn't able to come ⤷ clementnovalak that is correct ⤷ y/n_novalak okay since when is it "gang up on y/n" day?

user19 marcus using his free weekend to support clem is so sweet!

user20 i just know y/n was exhausted after a whole weekend with clem and marcus comment liked by y/n_novalak

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up. 

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. 

Until he showed up. 

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences. 

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you. 

Well…externally, at least. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame. 

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there. 

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan. 

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.” 

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass. 

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage. 

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips. 

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast. 

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior. 

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that. 

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed. 

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face,  recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down. 

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?” 

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it. 

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.” 

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face. 

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing. 

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion. 

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words. 

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips. 

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.” 

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship. 

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”  

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought. 

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable. 

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side. 

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.” 

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go. 

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away. 

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.” 

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead. 

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.” 

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows. 

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.” 

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips. 

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?” 

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart. 

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists. 

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.” 

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks. 

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?” 

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.” 

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes. 

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh. 

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes. 

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?” 

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else. 

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation. 

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.  

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before. 

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part. 

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?” 

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.” 

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand. 

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.” 

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful. 

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy. 

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting. 

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.” 

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket. 

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man. 

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?” 

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him. 

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due. 

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on. 

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker. 

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow. 

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence. 

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that. 

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant. 

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head. 

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.” 

“Shush!��� Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours. 

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you. 

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this. 

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat. 

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.  

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.” 

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.” 

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.” 

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth. 

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him. 

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back. 

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?” 

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”  

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air. 

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone. 

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat. 

What in the hell is going on? 

That’s when the bearded man speaks. 

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other. 

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat. 

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?” 

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.” 

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression. 

“I’d get on that, Son.” 

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope. 

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you. 

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen? 

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays. 

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!” 

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…” 

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp. 

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits. 

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling. 

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting. 

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine. 

But he remembered it. 

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face. 

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today. 

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk. 

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful. 

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment. 

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves. 

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much. 

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?” 

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower. 

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment. 

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

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[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 (?)

[eoieopda]

If you’re comfortable, could you write a a drabble about Jungkook and reader being in a relationship, where reader is self-conscious about her body in comparison to his? And even though she doesn’t think she’s pretty enough for him, he thinks she’s perfect as she is?

tw: body talk / body dysmorphia / negative self-image / reader doesn’t understand that she is capable of Hot Girl Shit™️ at any & every weight. Image below is Jungkook bewitched by reader’s mere existence. (will proofread later, am so sleppy)

UPDATE (12/27/22) Anon requested this drabble from Jungkook’s POV. Read it here.

It was irrational and you knew it.

Jungkook had seen you naked more times than you could count, but virtually none of those moments happened outside the context of sex. He’d seen you bare, sweating, splayed - and yet you felt so much more exposed by simply changing out of your work attire in his presence. Somehow, this kind of nudity felt different. More intimate. Vulnerable.

He wasn’t with you that morning when you had to jump to pull your trousers on, and you were thankful - because that’s something you hadn’t needed to do until recently. He didn’t witness your attempts to make yourself smaller just to close the two buttons at the apex of your high-waisted pants. He didn’t know how many times you twisted and turned in front of your full-length mirror; or see how your body looked different - unrecognizably so - with every new angle.

But he was with you now, and his upsettingly lean frame was stretched across your bed while he waited for you to finish. Steel-cut abdominals pressed flush against the comforter, sharp jaw propped up on the heel of his hand. Even through the fabric of his t-shirt, you could chart the topographic map of his shoulder muscles, and the decidedly unfair curves of his biceps. You couldn’t fathom it - how he had the audacity to look that good without even meaning to. He was gorgeous and it was offensive.

You, on the other hand, were not chiseled from marble. You’d felt bloated all day; and the only reason you hadn’t already ripped yourself free from your trousers was that you didn’t want Jungkook to notice the imprint your waistband likely made on the softness of your stomach. You knew he’d never point it out. He wouldn’t otherwise react in any way that might hurt your feelings. He was, above all, unfailingly kind.

That understanding didn’t quiet the tiny voice in your head, though. It kept whispering that the spell would break eventually, and he’d soon realize that the princess had always been a frog. And once he did, he’d find someone better matched - who wanted to be in the photo rather than take it. Someone that made sense standing next to him.

Quickly, you wriggled out of your trousers. Instead of bending down to grab them off the floor, you stayed upright - unfolded, comparatively smooth - and kicked them in the general direction of the nearby hamper. When you glanced back over at Jungkook, he was looking idly at you - but you didn’t get the impression that he was seeing you. Judging by the odd expression on his face, his mind had wandered far away and left his body behind with you.

After determining that he wasn’t paying much attention to you, your blouse came off in record time only to be flung somewhere in the vicinity of your trousers. One of his old hoodies - not as loose on you as it was on him - was tugged on before the conditioned air could find its way to your bare torso. Still, you shivered.

Then, at long last: sweatpants. Second only to Jungkook, the most successful, long-term relationship you’d ever had was with the shapeless, paint-stained, and faded sweatpants you’d stolen from him several years ago. A security blanket that accompanied you through four years of university, and the subsequent pursuit of your advanced degree. If it turned out that you couldn’t keep him, you were hellbent on keeping them.

Swallowed whole by your clothes, you sighed with relief. And then you saw the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. So he had been paying attention.

Ugh.

Without a word, he rolled over and flopped onto his back with his arms outstretched at his sides. Upside down now, his eyes trained on you and crinkled as he silently communicated his wishes. His smile widened when you obliged, shuffling to the side of the bed and slumping into his waiting arms.

In a fraction of a second, he rolled back over until he straddled you with knees bent on either side of your thighs. The sudden change in position caused you to gasp, which only prompted his grin to spread further. Leaning down, he cupped your face is his hands and peppered silly, speedy kisses over every plane of your face.

Your giggles flew out of you in droves as you tried and failed to withstand the tickle of his lips on your skin. They buzzed with his laughter, and the barrage continued until both of you were breathless and giddy. You stared at one another without speaking for several moments until:

“I have a question and I need you to answer honestly, okay?” He asked, suddenly serious. His brows furrowed as he chewed pensively on his bottom lip.

You swallowed, nodded, anticipated.

“How are you so perfect?”

His eyes narrowed as they assessed you; and you couldn’t find the punchline in them anywhere. There wasn’t a trace of jest in his expression. Instead, he looked as if he was seeking a dissertation on a topic of great importance. Like he was waiting on some scientific justification for a blue sky, or the Northern Lights. Puzzled - and puzzlingly genuine.

Your mouth opened without hesitation, but you had no response to offer. It closed in defeat just as quickly.

He reached down to grab your hand, and then placed a soft kiss over each knuckle as he spoke, “I just don’t get it. How does someone this beautiful just exist - walking around, day by day - like it’s no big deal?”

Reduced to a puddle, your bashful whine bubbled over and dragged out the syllables of his name with it. “Jungkook, what has gotten into you, baby?”

Before he answered with words, he leaned down and captured your lips with his. The awkward tension you’d stored in your muscles evaporated on impact, and it stayed gone, even when he pulled away to run his thumb over your cheek.

“Sudden, acute love sickness, I think,” He feigned a frown, then he kissed you again. “I hear it’s incurable.”

You leaned melodramatically into the palm resting against your cheek and gasped, “Oh, no! What can possibly be done to help you?”

He tapped his chin with his free hand and hummed; his forehead creased under heavy thought. “You’ll have to stay by my side for the rest of my life -“ He held up his hand to silence an objection you’d never make, “Doctor’s orders! And I think the occasional sponge bath would -“

“Jungkook!”

(A/N: Read Jungkook’s POV here.)

[s3raphimssins]

i need soulmate AU Dazai x fem!reader

The soulmate can be match up however you'd like, btw if you like angst you can make it ansty but I'd like the ending to be fluff!!

Tysm!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷summary: when all hope is lost in the midst of the darkness there is light...but what if that life was a person?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷pairings: Dazai x fem!reader (soulmate au)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷warnings: angst/fluff, mentions of torture, mentions of killing, abit of gore?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Felix's note: omg! I love this i was going to make a soulmate AU this is perfect! I hope you like it! sorry i took too long I was giving midterms <3 heart divider by: @cafekitsune <3 w.c: 1.1k

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

it was weird.

was it an ability? a disease? who knew. There was this thing going around in Yokohama about soulmates. There were a lot of symptoms and one by one you felt them. All of them.

┊┊.number 1: the closer you are the warmer you get.

you heard people outside the agency through the window talking about how cold they were feeling all the time. Saying its sad that their soulmate has to be so far. But you. You were always warm. While they were wearing sweaters to protect them from hypothermia. You were doing the opposite.

"what wrong angel, need to take your mind off me~" Dazai teased.

"you wish" you sighed and went back to your report. "and for the record I have a name so consider using it."

he chuckled and strolled away. You felt a warm feeling when he talked to you. Nothing out of the ordinary. This was going on since months. Nothing you couldn't brush off.

┊┊.number 2: you feel their pain. physically.

"OUCH!" you hissed.

Immediately Naomi came to help "oh my gosh whats wrong are you okay!?" she held you for support. "is it the soulmate thing?!"

"did he just get punched in the gut or something?!". You couldn't help but feel cold. Dazai was missing for a few days now ever since he went out. The agency could care less. You could care less. But you couldn't help but feel drawn to him. His silly jokes. His teasing. The day felt empty without hi. Maybe you should go looking for him. He's Dazai after all. Probably got all busted up by the mafia. (yes, yes he did)

┊┊.number 3: the first thing they thought about when they saw you appears on your arm and only goes away once you fall inlove with eachother

"look at hers!" the agency were busy pointing to other peoples arms which was clearly readable. You looked with them. Amazed by this. Also distraught by some things that were written. You checked your watch for the time and...wait...was this there?

'pretty eyes'

you turned red and desperately attempted to cover it with you sleeve and sat down trying to calm yourself. Kunnikida noticed and asked "are you okay?"

"yeah, yeah im fine" you hid your face in your hands. until Ranpo screamed.

"her soulmate thinks she has pretty eyes!". Ofcourse you couldn't hide it. Everyone gasped and some laughed. They ran to you to see the imprint up close. Dazai stood in the back looking at a mark he got not too long ago 'flirt'. He had already figured it out. He figured it out ever since he felt warm around you.

He loved you. But did you love him? Was he your soulmate? This thing tells you your soulmate but never guarantees them being your soulmate? He didn't deserve a soulmate. After all hes done. He deserved to die alone. You had another soulmate. And he would be left alone. Just like he thought. He sighed turned around and left.

┊┊.number 4: your dreams are their memories.

you woke up with a tear stained face. Breathing heavy. A nightmare. A very bad one. You were in the mafia? But you have always been in the agency? You weren't the one getting tortured but. You were torturing them? You've been having these nightmares alot. Sometimes the boss was manipulating you. Sometimes you were killing.

Why were you having these dreams. You would never kill someone. That innocent man had such a traumatized face and you killed him in the most brutal way ever. You made him bite the stairs. You smashed his jaw. And shot him thrice. A mafia traitors punishment. But why were you seeing it? Who would do such a thing? This is why you swore to never join the mafia.

┊┊.number 5: you feel what they feel, but this time emotionally

you always felt drained. You hated this? You aren't like this. You never felt anything now. There was this constant guilt in your chest. You never felt empathy now when you were on missions. You were distressed that you weren't feeling anything. This isn't you. Why was this happening. Oh. Your soulmate. That made you sadder at the thought. The thought that your soulmate goes through this everyday. You want to see him. Hug him. This is terrible, someone feeling like this. Who could deal with this?

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

A month had passed like this, Everything was the same. Except Dazai had changed. He didn't flirt with you, he didn't even talk to you. He even avoided talking you with him on a mission. Why is he acting like this. Its really bugging you.

Now that you thought about it. You did the same. Avoided him. Never spent time with him. Never offered to do anything for him. It was like now you two had the same personality and did the same thing. It was a silent mutual agreement that happened you don't even remember when. Did it even happen? Why did it happen even if it did.

Now you crossed eachothers paths like you don't know one another.

Like right now. You were outside getting some stuff and he was out to do you don't know what but you saw him walking infront of you. Without a hi, without a hello, no how are you you walked right past eachother. Just like you always di-

┊┊.number 6: and when things will be lost a red string will connect you two that will never break.

You turned around and looked at him. He did the same. Your eyes pen wide. His breathing stopped. A red string on your pinky that connected to his finger. You looked at the string and looked at him. He did the same. You dropped whatever was in your hands and ran to him and hugged him. He didn't say anything but hugged you back. Those dreams were his memories, those feelings were what he felt, you felt warm because he was near. He was the one who thought you had pretty eyes.

"im so..sorry..." you whispered in between sniffles.

he smiled and pat your head soothing you hair and kissed your forehead. " You don't have to be, im sorry too"

"if only i could i would absorb your pain and return it to you as love -louise kaufmann" you said and smiled at him

"its you...it was always you" he whispered.

and thats why with pain and suffering comes rest in the end.

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

[peregrineggsandham]

[Now on YouTube!]

The full version of my interpretation of Myla's song ("Bury my mother, pale and slight..."), based on the tune she hums. Sung by me (at 2am) (with a cold). I'm… actually pretty proud of how this turned out!

Context: When the city was condemned, were the miners still in Crystal Peak left outside? Did they wonder what happened to their families left within? Did they sing for them? For the knight and dreamers whose memorial they may once have seen? For the desperate hope for a brighter future? Even just a chance to mourn?

Additional Context: The really fun thing about rounds is how one by one the voices inevitably die off until there is only one remaining. :)

(I really didn't expect so many people to want to hear the whole thing! Many thanks to The Embraced One and Camellia Flingert on Youtube, whose recordings of Crystal Peak ambience provided the perfect background noise/pickaxes/ominous rumbling.)

Full lyrics under the cut.

Ma-na-na, ni-ne-na, ye-mi-ye-ta Ma-na-na, ni-ne-na, yo-na-la (Ke-ti-ya) ma-na-na, ni-ne-na, ye-mi-ye-ta Ye-le-ki, ye-la-ka, no-na-na ye-le-ko

[Chorus:] None shall enter, none shall leave, the king has sealed our kin. But we yet breathe, unite and grieve and sing for those within. Gates will open; we take hope and mourn ‘till morning comes. Soon the knight will bring the day – it’s this the crystal hums!

Oh, bury my mother, pale and slight, Bury my father with his eyes shut tight, Bury my sisters two by two, And then when you're done, let's bury me too!

Oh, bury the knight with her broken nail, Bury the lady, lovely and pale, Bury the priest in his tattered gown, Then bury the beggar with his shining crown!

[Chorus]

Oh, bury the traitor marred by pride, Bury his daughter at her lover’s side, Bury the sage and his sons all three, But save by their grave a space for me!

Oh, bury the smith and his blood-soaked art, Bury the writer with a broken heart, Bury the fool with their shield stained red, But ask them thrice to be sure that they are dead!

[Chorus]

[As a round] Oh, bury the teacher in her hallowed hall, Bury the watcher in his tower tall, Bury the beast in her silken cave, Then bury the one who dug their graves.

Ma-na-na, ni-ne-na, ye-mi-ye-ta Ma-na-na, ni-ne-na, yo-na-la (Ke-ti-ya) ma-na-na, ni-ne-na, ye-mi-ye-ta Ye-le-ki, ye-la-ka, no-na-na ye-le-ko

...

This started as a ditty to sing while chopping wood and ended with three separate ambience loops, boss scream cameos from the Radiance and the Crystal Guardian, and the realization that the official soundtrack has a perfectly good cover of someone going na-na-na to the tune of the main theme already, why not throw that into the chorus somewhere quietly while we're at it…

[jamiekb]

Exploring the new Welcome Home Update

So here's my journey through the new update and the little details that it has, this will be a very long post and of course full of spoilers.

Look at the new design for the loading screen, so Christmas-y! I particularly love the antlers on Home's chimney.

Looking good Wally! And now we have new little doodles that seem to go with the holiday.

Ok so according to the admins no more bugs so wonder what will be different this time. Onto the news page then

Also I'm really digging the new background

Ok starting the FAQ now and some questions and answers are interesting. So they've been receiving more material covered in goop. They kinda adress in universe the move of the website, due to malicious material and in the code of the page.

And there is one new hidden message in the answers (I think) "The numbers are so hard to read. Sometimes I can't see them" So do we have to look for numbers now?

Took a detour through the stickers and they have new ones! There is Wally making a Home out of snow, sleeping Julie, I think Frank singing Carols to a butterfly, Poppy with a Jello thing, Eddie with a ton of presents to deliver, Howdy with some relatives, Sally as the star of a Christmas tree and Barnaby with a snowman.

Also with the "Welcome Home" banners two are a bit more desaturated now. And now that I think about it there are some stains in the main banner too

Neighborhood

Anyway unto the Neighborhood! Looks so cute although I'll be honest the clock tower is a bit weird and the trees feel a bit more intense at the edges or maybe that's just me

Eddie seems quite normal though now apparantly he has a mother, I'm confident that didn't use to be there. Is it weird that other than Wally hes the only one that didn't add anything new to his home for the season?

I think Howdy's description also changed a bit but nothing alarming. His store now seems to have signs welcoming his family for the holidays.

Checking Barnaby's description they seem to all have a bit more background info, since he apparently left his farm life to come to Home. Ok what does "Barnaby’s middle initial was often rotated in terms of what it stood for" mean???

Poppy is so cute! Is she holding cupcakes decorated like the characters or did she already do that? Ok but her new details feel very interesting: she claims to be able to fly but it's never shown and she never leaves her house to the point of being excluded from some events (like Wally's Homewarming party I guess)

Sallys is fine. She's besties with Poppy I guess and she can shine??? How do you make a puppet shine?? Were they roommates maybe?

Oh Julie got quite a backstory. Named siblings, she has paws and used to live in the forest on the outskirts of Home in a cave with her family. And she hibernates that's too cute!

Great my dear Frank still gets no background info (which is very interesting) but he goes get forced heteronormativity.

Ok and Wally is kinda similar, no background info just very dedicated to Home. And I''l see about coming back to the As above so below page since I can't seem to click it, might just be me. You can still see the goop at the doorstep though

Merchandise

Ok so first off the Merchandise page has a different background to the rest, some colorful static and took a bit to load.

oooh they even changed the layout for the phone since you could hear Wallys call, that's such a cool detail

Maybe I'll go back and see if Eddies or Sally's stories have been changed in the audio or transcipt but I'll stick to the new stuff for now. Now that i think about maybe Sally's doesn't have the bit where the transcript couldnt understand it.

Finally reached the wish book and I love it so much, this is so much work all around! My favorites are the Frank and Wally pillows, Eddie Dear Lil' Mailman's Kit, the Home Clock and specially the tree skirt! I now have to make those cute neighbors

Oh my god the record has the perfect Santa voice. And.. interesting that the ad cuts off when we get to Eddie. I'm not really surprised thought it would do something when it got to him or Frank, still suspicious.

Homewarming Story

The sound editing for all this new items is amazing!

I love the bit of the characters tripping up the narrators, this one just hasn't been able to get it right.

Hey is it me or in this one they've been a bit more insistent that Frank is a bit too literal but in a not so good way, not that much more intense but can't help but notice it. Seems a bit meaner

The return of Walliford!

Good to know Home uses he/him I guess

excuse me the fuck was that sound distortion???

and then it ends kinda abruptly, so that's that...

Where's my Eddie by the way, they didn't ask him and didn't find him while out on the town. I better hear him at some point or I will riot.

We have a code!

Ok so I was skimming the rest of the material before choosing what to listen to next and saw the cereal and craft at the back! So I guess now I have to find all the little drawings in the page and see when come from that

So I did listen to a few more songs, nice to see Eddie and Frank interacting as always, and noticed that in the transcript pages there are some entries for Mistery Audio, which are actually three of the previously hidden videos so that's interesting

Also not all the pages have four drawings some only one, so I've been trying to keep track which symbols i found where in case it matters. Still don't know what they're for just going around collecting them

Ok nvm I was doing things out of order and now that I got to media can see they are mentioned there

So after finally getting all the little things and going back to tumblr cause honestly I didnt really get what to do, I'm guessing it leads to a website, since one of the pages just has www as the code, so I'll try that I guess since I saw that there is a secret website somewhere. If it takes me too long I'll just look it up

Secret website

Nvm I'm too impatient at this point and I think i was missing a few letters so I just looked it up

Ok so that's interesting, so this person is kinda like the one behind the scenes talking to us along with whatever had infected the website before. They mention how the curator got sick (???) but is better now and that they'll try to update this website with the weird things they find

So the phone is one, like the weird glitched audio from Wally. This audio is interesting cause it plays out technically in real life but Wally speaks as if they are living out their lives...

And then moving on to the commercial they are speaking again of being compelled to know more, to see and wait. I'm sure some is curiosity but that can't be all

ohmygod this is more than 20 minutes long, the effort it must have taken Clown and team is monumental

that little animation is so cute!!!

fast forward many commercials and we have Eddie!!! And even a whole hand helping Poppy or something.

god the tobacco comercial of course they would have one

My poor Eddie boy is so anxious and depressed, why is no one talking to you bud? Like not getting him a present is a thing but not even Julie called him to play... and now is he's spiraling and even mad, that's unusual for sure. Also what's with the perspective of his videos, everything is a commercial or in the case of the secret videos it's interactions with other neighbors. This is more like the secret videos that we're seeing from someones POV, but not even that, we're observing him not looking through his eyes

Oh my poor Eddie is certainly going through it, who let them expose him to The Horrors? The horror aspect of this ARG sure has started to pick up speed, even I picked up some anxiety from that last segment

Also I did notice that Frank eventually dropped the Mr Dear for Eddie when he got more worried, almost like hes more worried than for an act that he has to put up huh?

So that was the newest Welcome home update. I can say it was everything I hoped for and more!!! The team behind it really gave it their all. From VAs for the audios to all the visual and graphic artists for the commercials its all so wonderful

[the-solitary-child]

Figueroth Faeth. Cheer Captain of her Middle School. The outgoing girl who went to every party and was friends with everyone. The bubbly girl who always wore pink and had a big smile on her face, the girl with the perfect mom and the perfect dad, who wouldent want a badass ranger as their mom and a sweet man who always greets her return home with a kiss to her forehead and a warm hug?

Figueroth has friends! Yeah sure their sometimes a bit mean, and they make comments about how she (and others) look but she has friends !!!

and at some point during winter break she starts getting these migraines, and at first they only last a few hours and then they last for days, and she gets forced to step down from the cheer team since last time she went to practice she ended up passing out because of how bad the migraines got

and yeah she got pity looks from her friends, and a few of them stopped talking to her as much as they used to but it was all fine because these stupid migraines would go away, its just part of puberty! right?

then her horns grew in. that was part of puberty too, right? growing horns? and a tail? why did her parents look at her like that? why did her mom turn and started apologizing to her dad, who in response just stood there looking the angriest hes ever looked in his life

she went back to school that following week, migraine still throbbing in her head, horns out for everyone to see. and all her friends ignored her.

she was looked at like a monster, like a freak, like the troublemakers her and her friends had giggled about in the past

In just one week, Figueroths life was turned upside down. No one wanted her. Not her friends, not her teachers, not her team, not her mom, who looked at her as if she had been the one to betray them, and not even her dad— Gilear. Gilear looked at her with a hatred she had never seen before.

Figueroth cried a lot from then on. She cried in her room with the door lock as her mom and d..Gilear, argued downstairs. She got tired of crying quickly and instead became angry.

She became angry at everyone and everything. She ripped the pop posters off her walls and painted the walls black with some shitty-probably-expired paint she found. She ripped up her pink girly clothes and threw them out, opting for clothes with rips and stains on them, ruined like she was. She sold all her her pop records, opting to buying a bass guitar with the money she had left over.

Figueroth Faeth was gone. No one wanted her. No one needed her, all she did was being misery and bettayal.

Fig is the one thats here now. Just Fig. No last name, because Gilear Faeth is not her father, It’s just Fig.

[pxrxcxa]

Born B*tch

Paring | Dom Eddie x Sub female reader

Series Summary | Eddie’s a cocky outcast with soft heart and a dominant side, a perfect mixture for the cold hearted ice queen to fuck out her frustrations with.

What to expect | No use of y/n, Porn with some plot (kinda), Slight enemies to lovers, Mean reader, Cocky Eddie, Dom Eddie, Sub reader, Eddie playing the hero, fucking out frustrations

Post warnings | Fem oral, M oral, Consent kink, Belt usage, Spitting, Slapping, Voyerism, Choking, Face fucking, Begging, Cream pie, Unprotected S, After care, bullying, drug use, swearing

Word count | 4.4 k

Authors Note | *play slim shady*, yes I am back, I was never truly gone. Shoutout to those that read this, if you’ve been a follower of mine, just know I appreciate you and I’m back for you. Ghosting reason here 💗🫠

(yes the monster dog is is Dart - enjoy the Easter egg)

Any & All comments/reblogs are most appreciated - Love, P. x 🌿

_____________________________________

“Did you fucking see that?”

As I rounded the bleachers, the smell had tipped me off to the presence of Hawkins High oldest student before his grunt of shock and swearing had. My hand shot up to cover my nose from the swirling clouds puffing from the corner of his mouth, the fabric of my shirt pressed against my lips as I followed his line of sight.

I blinked through the new onslaught of tears brought on from the stinging haze of the weed, mixed with the stained ones against my cheeks, at the distant figures darting through the trees that outlined the edge of the school field.

“It’s just some middle schoolers messing around.” I coughed, quickly wiping at the corner of my eyes as I watched the dark hair of Nancy Wheelers brother, disappear after his friends.

“No I swear it was some sort of monster dog… whatever.” Eddie Munson shook his head and snapped his jaw shut as he listened to how crazy his own words sounded, dropping his joint to the soft ground beneath him as he squished the red hot cherry to ash with his shoe.

“I see you’re working hard to pass your second attempt at senior year.” My tone was surprisingly icy, even for me. Eddie pushed himself away from under the bleachers, striding out into the full sunlight until his dizzying height was towering over me, his face full of contempt. I’d turned away as he’d closed the distance between us, but I caught his glimpse of surprise as he noticed the splotches on my cheeks.

“I didn’t think my attendance record was any of the ice queens business.” His voice drawled off as I snapped my neck back to face him, expecting him to lower his gaze.

Eddie stared me back down unflinchingly, and suddenly I was filled with embarrassment that he didn’t shy away and my tears were on full display. Not that I’d asked for the reputation of being a cold hearted bitch, but I had grown accustomed to it after being branded with the title in my freshman year.

I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked me in the eyes and not flinched or looked away eventually, and here he was with a smirk playing around on the corner of his lips while I tried and failed to hold back tears.

“Piss off Munson.” I spat, twisting away from him as I wrapped my arms around my chest. I’d never had an actual conversation with the outcast metal head before, everyone else seemed to think he was dangerous. No good. Bad news.

It made me realise how shallow and single track minded everyone in this town really was. Did they really think that this soft haired, wide brown-eyed boy who collected bullied freshman to protect them, was some kind of devil worshiper who would sacrifice them if they even dared to look his way?

If I hadn’t of been so consumed with my anger towards Steve Harrington, I would have been surprised at how much attention I apparently paid Eddie, that I’d somehow seen past the drug usage and cut off vest to the kind soul beneath it, considering my acknowledgment of his existence never extended past coincidental looks in class.

“Only if you tell me who pissed you off first…” Eddie dug around in his jacket pocket until he pulled a cigarette from the depth of it, keeping his eyes on mine and taking longer than necessary to light it as I contemplated his question.

I traced the outline of his frame as he bent his head low to the flame, taking a deep breath as I tried to even my voice. Eddie shook his hand that gripped the lighter as I fought back the foreign urge to tell everything to him, narrowing my eyes at him like it was his fault I was strangely comfortable around him.

I couldn’t see how telling him would be a bad thing, he loathed Steve and his idiot friends even more than I did, and I was sure the whole school would hear about it by lunch, Eddie included.

“… Steve the hair Harrington asked me on a date, when I told him ‘no’, that asshole Tommy has made it a fact that I gave them both blowjobs behind the boys toilet before school this morning.” I paused to let it sink in, admiring the way Eddie barely flinched.

“At the same time.” His couldn’t contain his reaction this time, his eyes widening as he coughed on his cigarette smoke and pounded his chest.

“Even took it upon himself to spray paint it on the sign so everyone could see it when they walked in.” My nails bit deep enough into my palms until I wrenched them open with a gasp of pain, suddenly regretting my decision to say something, almost like I didn’t want to disappoint Eddie.

“… And did you?” His voice was filled with curiosity and his eyes watched me with judgment before his hands flashed up to his chest, backing away from me like I was a dangerous animal.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Of course not.” I scoffed, pissed at myself for thinking he’d have more sense than the rest of the sheep at our high school.

“You’re a virgin?” He grinned, attempting to ease the tension as I blushed without permission.

“I’m not a whore, but I’m definitely not a virgin.” I grunted through my teeth. Eddie’s smile widened impossibly further at my admission, nodding to himself.

“You seem frustrated, wanna roll up and relax a bit?” I waited for the disgust to flare up since I’d never touched weed before or had any interest to do so, but my snappy retort died on my tongue as the sunlight glinted off the chain around his wrist, catching my attention to how strong and deft his fingers looked as a whole body shiver rolled over me. I swallowed hard as unwarranted thoughts of how I could get my frustrations out, ran rampant in my mind.

“I’ve just never seen you show any emotion before.” He shrugged, taking my silence as a no. Eddie breathed in a long draw of his smoke as I rounded on him, shaking my head free of thoughts I’d never expected to associate with Eddie Munson, but I shoved whatever feelings were fluttering between my legs to deal with later. If what he’d said had come from anyone else, I wouldn’t have even thought twice about it being a dig at me. But his voice was genuine and his carefully guarded face hinted at concern for me.

But fact that we’d both been slammed with unearned reputations, didn’t save Eddie from my false one. I only faltered on my surprise that Eddie had seemed to pay just as much attention to me as I had to him, before my harsh words broke the space.

“Not all of us have smoked away all of our brain cells to the point we had to repeat senior year Munson, some of us are still smart enough to have an emotional range.” His wall went up faster than mine ever could, a glare of loathing sliding into place on his handsome features.

“Yeah, and not all of us were born bitches.”

I could feel his eyes on my back the entire time it took me to cross the field back towards the orange bricked school building, hating my reputation - and the way I undoubtedly deserved it - for the first time ever.

___________________________________

The feeling of a hundred pairs of eyes on me had never bothered me before, whatever whispers and rumours spread behind my back, rarely made it to my ears. But my anger had been poked and prodded by everyone and every interaction today, so by the time that Tommy. H, Steve and his normal crew walked past me at my open locker at the end of the day, whispering Whore loud enough to be heard by everyone at either ends of the corridor, I snapped.

I slammed my locker hard enough to break it off its hinges, twisting around to face them with my lash of words burning on the tip of my tongue. It slipped into loud laughter as Tommy tripped backwards over Eddie’s outstretched ankle, crying out in pain as Eddie reached down to yank him to his feet.

“Sorry about that dude, didn’t see you.” Eddie’s teeth flashed brilliantly under the fluorescent hallways lights, but his eyes were cold as he brushed non-existent dirt roughly off Tommy’s shoulders. Steve tugged his ass of a friend away from his grip as they half jogged down the hallway, muttering the exhausted insult of ‘freak’. I didn’t blame them, considering Eddie had had to lean away from his locker and extend his leg halfway across the hall to trip him over.

His amused smile followed them until he turned back and caught my questioning eye, nodding at me like I owed him some kind of thank you.

I pressed my lips together and returned the slightest nod, it was as much appreciation I could offer, considering they had forgotten about me and their bullying in their rush to escape Eddie. I’d dropped my gaze from his, but I heard him slam his locker shut a little too forcefully, flooding shame through me that he’d stood up for my honour in his own way and I’d brushed it off like it was nothing.

My skin prickled as he stormed past me, close enough that the tail end of his jacket brushed the bare skin of my legs, by the time I’d swallowed my own pride and emptied my books out of my arms, I looked up just in time to catch the glimpse of the handkerchief in his back pocket disappearing around the corner of the back exit.

I didn’t think it through before I let my legs carry me after him, my panties dampening in success as my body’s urges outweighed my logical side. I swore under my breath as I caught the door swinging back, slipping through it as I peered after him striding back towards the bleachers.

His long legs strode across the entire length of the field in seconds as I sped up to catch him, waving away the clouds of smoke that drifted behind him and clung to my clothes.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie rounded on me like he knew I’d followed him, no sign of surprise anywhere on his face as I rocked back on my heels, fidgeting with the waist band of my shorts.

“You offered to smoke with me right?” I glanced over my shoulder to see that the car park was thankfully quickly dwindling of lingering students.

“Sure.” Eddie’s voice was thick with contempt, and low as his eyes followed the curve of my legs. “But I’m not giving you what you actually came for if you smoke that.”

My stomach flipped and then dropped, the slightly false confidence slipping. I hadn’t perfected the art of seduction, but I hadn’t counted on Eddie’s unfaltering confidence either, I barely knew why I thought fucking out my frustrations with the school freak was going to be anything but a bad idea, so I couldn’t see how he’d know it’s what I’d followed him for.

I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat as Eddie narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side, waiting to see if I’d push through.

“Why not?” I cringed at how small my voice sounded, submissive.

“Because consent is important to me. Especially with the kind stuff you’re into.” He let me escape from his gaze and he flicked the butt of his cigarette away, pausing for a moment to give me one last chance to back out.

“You have no idea what I’m into.” I took a small step forward towards him as a glimpse of the real me broke through for a moment, shielding us further from any prying eyes as I slipped into the shadows of the bleachers. It was all Eddie seemed to need, he moved faster than I did to close the gap between us, his ring clad hand encircling around my throat like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“I can tell exactly what you want.” His fingers tensed around my skin threateningly, sending a tingle to spread across it like fire, the corners of his mouth pulled up at my reaction. I could practically hear his ego inflating as I leaned into his hold.

“Do you want this?” His grip loosened ever so slightly and he stroked the underside of my jaw, his brown eyes prying into mine for the slightest sign of hesitation.

I nodded, hearing the last of the back firing engines roll out of the car park. My knees began to shake from anticipation, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and press my lips against his plump ones, only just now noticing how perfect they were. My gaze moved across the rest of his features, narrowing my eyes at how well they fit together.

Eddie really was handsome, him being an outcast had to be by his choice, because if it wasn’t for the whole satanic rumours and mid lunch outbursts, I was sure he’d have his pick of girls.

I scowled at the thought.

“Say it out loud.” Eddie’s fingers dug into my throat until I struggled to breathe, choking on my words.

“They’re already spreading stories that I’m a whore. I want to give them something to tell.”

Butterflies swirled in my stomach at the look on his face, moving down between my thighs as the truth rung in my words. Eddie’s free hand weaved through my hair as he trapped me against him, his rough clothes rustling against my body as he walked me backwards, slamming me against the cold metal of the bleachers.

He tasted of tobacco and weed, and a hint of mint toothpaste as he forced my mouth open with his, breathing me in deeply as my hands felt around me blindly for something to hold onto. I gripped the exposed bars that held up the seats above our heads, Eddie’s groan drowned out mine as he gripped the back of my neck, allowing him more access into my mouth as he pressed every hard line of his body against mine.

With each inch his hands closed around my neck, the more he took control, smiling against my face as he felt me give myself over to him.

“I bet you’re fucking soaking, show me how wet you are.” I shuddered against Eddie’s touch as his fingers swiftly moved from the side of my neck, pressing down my skin as he cupped the sides of my breasts, he paused there as he pinched at both nipples until they were embarrassingly hard under my shirt.

Eddie bit down on my lip and pulled back with a smirk as I trembled and whimpered, arching my hips up against his hand as he traced his fingertips along my waistband, teasing me as he watched me beg for him.

Eddie angled his legs against mine as he allowed me to grind down on his cock, as hard as I’d ever seen any boy and dripping with enough pre cum it had stained through his jeans. I moaned at the pleasure the feeling of my clit pressed again him shot through me.

At the slightest friction between our bodies, I could feel the wetness between my thighs double, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please Ed-“ He cocked his head closer to my face as he left light bites under my ear.

“Please what?” I could hear the grin in his voice, thick with need but he had his in control, I had become completely undone. I couldn’t even the remember the reason I’d followed him out here. Only the feeling of his body on mine and how it wasn’t enough.

“Please touch me.” I gasped, shivering like I was in pain. His hollow laugh was lost in my moan of ecstasy as his firm fingertips dipped beneath my shorts, finding my clit with ease as I rocked my pussy against his hand. Eddie let me ride his fingers until I was gasping his name, feeling them slip between my folds as I dripped onto them.

“Fuck” Eddie’s groan was almost animalistic as he ripped his fingers from me and dropped to his knees, pinning my hips against the sharp poles behind me with his arm as he tugged my shorts and panties to the side. I barely hard time to knot my hands in his hair and melt against his tongue before he was hovering back over me, leaving me shaking after just a few wild licks against my dripping folds.

Eddie gripped my cheeks hard enough to make me cry out as he tilted my head back.

“You need to know how good you taste.”

I opened my mouth as he angled his with mine, spreading my tongue flat as Eddie spat the mixture of his saliva and my arousal onto it, he devoured my groan as he forced his tongue into me, swirling it around as my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

My clit was throbbing with need as he planted kisses down along my neck and across my collar bone, exploring every inch of my skin like it was a map he was trying to memorise.

“Turn around.” It wasn’t a question, his long fingers gripped the tops of my arms until they overlapped as he flipped my body and shoved me forward until I was leaning over a support beam, dropping his hold to my hands as he wrenched them together at the small of my back.

I whimpered at the pain, but not enough for him to stop as he pressed his hard boner against my ass. I bit my lip as I struggled to look over my shoulder at him, melting at the raw and passionate look that had completely taken over his soft face. The clink of metal sounded in the afternoon air as Eddie loosened his belt, tugging it through his pant loops before wrapping it around my wrists.

Eddie’s hand tugged at the base of my hair, forcing me to look through the gaps of the bleachers as he pointed out the blazing sun that shone against my flushed face.

“It’s gonna be a pretty sunset. But not as pretty as you.” I felt my walls flutter at the unexpected compliment, bending my knees so that my ass pushed even further back into him.

A silent beg for him.

The muted sound of his zipper coming undone made my goosebumps crawl across my skin, it felt like an eternity before he pinched both my shorts and pantries to the side again and I felt him nudge his length against my entrance. The first inch slipped in with ease, coated in my wetness as I gasped out in surprise.

“Fuck me, you feel good.” My moan echoed across the empty field at his praise, wiggling back onto his length. Eddie laughed as he pulled back, a stinging pain landing across my back as his palm slapped against my ass.

“You like this big cock?” He voice faltered as his slid further into me, loosing his composure to his own desires. But feeling and hearing him come undone above me, drove me wild.

“I uh - Eddie - please.” I lost all coherent thoughts as nothing but Eddie’s dick and his fingers that found their way back to my clit, took over.

He found my soft spot easily, before even using his whole length. Tears sprung to my eyes as Eddie’s moans grew deeper and faster, matching his thrusts as he kept up a pace that had my legs shaking. I stopped breathing as Eddie’s cock fucked me so hard that black spots danced across my vision.

I didn’t know where my body began and his ended as he slid as far as he could inside of me. The sounds of pleasure from each others body morphed into a melody that I was sure could be heard throughout the whole school, fuck, the town even.

“You are so fucking sexy.” Eddie ripped himself from me without warning, using my hands trapped under his belt to pull me up right and then down onto the hard concrete beneath us. Eddie allowed me a second to meet his eyes, waiting for me to open my mouth slightly before his shoved his cock down my throat, his entire length dripping in my arousal until I was choking on it, crying from the lack of air as he fucked my face.

The sounds from where our bodies were connected was enough to make even a girl like me blush, within seconds my jaw was aching and the tip of his cock brushed my back teeth. Eddie hissed as he pulled back, letting me breath as he wiped the fallen tears with his rough finger. As I gasped for breath, Eddie’s eyes flashed between mine and I gave him the slightest nod as he lined his fingers up.

Eddie pulled them a few inches away from my cheek before bringing them across my face, hard enough to sting, not enough to leave a mark.

“Take this cock like a good girl.” Whatever makeup that had survived so far, was now smeared across my chin and running down my face as Eddie forced himself back down my throat, throwing his head back as his loose curls swirled around his head from the cold breeze.

“I bet everyone’s wished they could fuck this mouth, especially with the shit you say.” My lips tightened around his pulsing cock at his words, earning a deep moan from him.

I groaned for some sort of release as I ground against nothing, blinking up at him through my lashes until he leaned down to unhook my hands. I pulled back to breathe as my aching fingers darted between my thighs, sighing in pleasure as I found my clit. Eddie gripped my cheek as he told me how pretty I looked on my knees, rubbing my skin beneath his thumb as he guided my mouth back to his cock. It was harder than it was before, red and aching for me as it glistened in the setting sun.

My free hand cupped his full balls as I felt him go impossibly harder in my mouth, twitching against the back of my throat as my own fingers hurtled me towards the edge.

My fingers circled around my clit until my knees were shaking, blubbering around his cock as I felt and heard him get closer. Air rushed beneath me as Eddie tugged me to my feet, gripping me by the backs of my thighs as he wrapped my legs back around him and slid deeper inside of me, using the cold metal bars behind us to keep me upright.

I cried out from the loss of pleasure until his hand smacked mine out of the way and rubbed between my folds faster than I could have, keeping a matching pace with his cock as he buried his face into the crook of my neck.

I was too far gone to care about any damage to his jacket I might have been inflicting, gripping on tightly to his shoulders as I came. I came harder than I had before with any other guy, falling to pieces in Eddie’s arms as he pulled himself just far enough that the tip of his cock sat between my folds, drenching me in his orgasm and his moans of my name almost deafened.

The sweet tinkle of late evening birds drifted between us as my gasping breaths slowly evened out, the reality of what just passed between us crashing down on us the further the ecstasy washed away. Eddie softly disentangled himself from me, gripping onto my knees to keep me steady as I shook.

I was barely aware of him as he pulled a skull patterned handkerchief from his back pocket and pawed softly between my thighs, cleaning me up as his face filled with concentration.

I kept my hands on his shoulders, loosening my grip since I could see indents from my nails, as I watched his tongue sit between his lips. I was revelling in the blissful aftermath as I felt embarrassment and vulnerability creeping at the edge.

“Are you okay.” His voice was gentle but it still caught me entirely off guard, he kept his eyes off of mine like he was allowing a private moment to myself.

Eddie intertwined his fingers through mine as he helped me down, subtly tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket.

I was still shivering, but for a reason I wasn’t able to admit even to myself as his eyes trapped mine and he cupped the side of my face.

“Do you need anything.” Eddie pressed his lips to mine as they begun to tremble, holding me softly but tightly to his chest, he pulled back but kept his hold around me as he felt me relax in his arms, my heartbeat slowing to a normal pace.

“You’re so beautiful.” He kissed into the top of my hair, ignoring my limp arms at my side as I seized up and panicked at his words, unable to form a response or proper thought.

“You know, I wish I didn’t trip Tommy over.” His statement brought me out of my shell.

“Why?” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest as I tried to pin my legs closed around his body but he slid them open again with ease, almost like he didn’t even think about it. I was unsure where this anger was coming from, this entire thing was just about sex, about fucking out everything that had pissed me off today. I didn’t know how, considering I could count the amount of times I’d spoken to him on one hand, but he’d fucked me perfectly, exactly how I needed it.

Eddie cracked a genuine smile, entirely different than the ones I’d seen, he laughed loudly as he smoothed the narrowed lines between my brows, muttering that I was cute when I was mad.

“I should really let this whole thing keep bothering you, because I’d really like to keep helping you get over your frustrations.”

_____________________________________

Tagging some babes that might wanna read this 💗

Eddie tag list } @mavex @fckyeahlames @harrys-tittie @sl-tfor-joseph-quinn @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @chickennug90 @miss-momma-drama @luceneraium @eddiesgffff @sammararaven @nightless @dotslabyrinth @relocatedheads @princessbubblehoe @muggleluna @sagittariughs @gloryekaterina @e0509 @urlivingdeadgirl @crimsonsabbath @lem0nb0iii @lelenikki @bebe0701 @bratckerman @the-tacos-unite-blog @extravagantplant @plethoravellichor @justmesadgirl @corrodedcorpsess @fanfictioniseverything @maximizedrhythms @sleepygery @ms1oftheboys @brittanyyydamnit @xsecretsirenx @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @aaaasdfghjjkkllll @figmentofquinn @daydreamerblues @hellfire-puppet @wonderful-outcast @drakensmainbitch @iamaslutforcoffee @emolooswrld @tayhar811 @alana4610 @princesscutie23 @msgexymunson