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inkedells · 11 months

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look at me a little more | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

A/N: first of all, SMUTTT so much smut up ahead. holy crap this is the longest thing i've ever written (pathetic, i know, blame the commitment issues) enjoy lovies!! also lmk if you want a part 2 maybe possibly!?

m!dni | requests open.

summary: dbf!neighbor!joel accidentally drenches you (virgin!reader) while washing his car and you can’t help but notice the way he eyes you up. it’s only once he’s in your bedroom, fixing your closet door as an apology, that you realize the best person to rid you of your virginity and teach you precisely how to please yourself and others had been right in front of you the whole time; it's getting joel on board with the whole idea that's the hard part.

word count: 5.5k

tags/warnings: SMUTTTT, virgin!reader, dbf!neighbor!joel faces moral conflicts (to fuck or not to fuck!?!?), porn with plot, sooo much tension, dirty talk, use of pet names, blowjobs, handjobs, cumplay, reader eats joel's cum, grinding, making out, oral sex, no!outbreak au, reader's innocent in the sense that she doesn't really know how to do a lot of things when it comes to sex but still has a ton of desires

masterlist

There was a certain shame that came with being infatuated with your dad’s best friend.

You were sitting around on the porch on a hot summer afternoon, wearing your shortest cotton shorts as you sipped the juice box brand you had loved since you were a little girl. Legs crossed, foot tapping the air, and most importantly, eyes absolutely trained on the ripple of Joel Miller’s biceps as he washed his car.

You didn’t know why you liked to stare at him so much. But you did know it was wrong. Immoral. Eyeing up someone in their forties? What was wrong with you? That was your dad’s best f—

“Hey, Mr. Miller!” You called over, shutting down every ounce of doubt in your mind.

He turned around without hesitation, and when he did, you waved. The first time you’d done that, he had to work a little harder to figure out the source of the voice, eyes searching in random directions before finally settling on you. But now, it was like he knew exactly where to look—And, well, that was all it took for you to decide you would be spending the next hour washing a car if it meant spending time with Joel.

So you settled your juice box down on the wooden floor of the porch and skipped over to his house. He must not have heard your footsteps behind him over the sound of the hose, so your simple tap on his shoulder resulted in him whipping around, hose in hand, as he consequently drenched you.

You yelped, breaking out into nervous laughter both from shock and how cold the water was. Joel fumbled to turn off the hose as he began profusely apologizing. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry—”

Then he properly saw you. From Joel’s perspective, your clothes were reduced to translucency, practically melting into your skin.

But you didn’t know that. You never fully grasped just how vulnerable you had become from his accident, so when you caught him averting his gaze as quickly as he could, you were a little confused.

“You—Uh—I,” Joel stumbled before clearing his throat, “There’s clothes. Inside. Sarah’s. You can, um, you can go and… y’know. Change into them. Walkin’ all the way back to your house doesn’t seem like a… viable… option.”

By then, a blush had already risen to your cheeks just from how delicately Joel was treating you. As if you were something he had to be careful with, like if he didn’t think long and hard about every word coming out of his mouth, there would be consequences.

“Lead the way.”

Joel gave you a firm smile before swallowing the lump in his throat and motioning for you to follow him as he walked. Once he had the front door open, he let you go in first. Even as you carefully walked past him, you could feel his eyes staring at you.

“Up there,” Joel gestured, “Um, first door on the left. I’ll… be outside.”

As he explained, you subconsciously scanned over the planes of his body—probably a habit you picked up from the multiple weeks of watching him work. But then he was turning to leave, and you could tell he was still really tense. You didn’t know why a simple accident had him so tripped up, but you had the urge to alleviate his worry.

“Hey,” You called, arms wrapped around yourself in an effort to stave off the cold. He turned around, concerned until he saw your soft smile and relaxed a little, “On a scale of one to ten, how sick and tired are you of washing that truck?”

There was only one way to break Joel out of his nervous state; you had to make the situation lighthearted; you learned that from years of watching him hang out with your dad.

He searched your eyes for a beat, eyes completely unwavering, before muttering, “Like a fifty.”

You both breathed a laugh at that. For the briefest moment, you thought you noticed Joel’s gaze flitting to your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could do a double take, his eyes were glued to yours again.

“So then,” You started, regathering yourself and pushing away whatever your brain was conjuring up, “How do you feel about replacing one lousy chore with another?”

“What kinda chore we talkin’?”

“Well, my closet door’s all screwed up. And you know, instead of apologizing for soaking me by way of expensive concert tickets and a brand new car, like how I know you were planning on doing—”

“—Oh, of course,” Joel sarcastically remarked, playing along as you quickly noticed the worry on his face faded into a crooked grin.

“Well, I really think I can just settle for the closet door fix. Go ahead and save the brand new car for when you break my toaster.”

“Okay, okay,” Joel laughed, “I get it. Go change, then you can lead me to this broken closet door.”

Sarah’s clothes definitely belonged to a fourteen-year-old. Not your taste, but then again, if you were fourteen like her, you probably would’ve dressed like that too.

You couldn’t settle on a top, all of them were either too small or bore a graphic design too childish for you. You did find a pair of stretchier shorts that fit alright though, so you decided you’d just pick up one of Joel’s shirts from the pile of clean laundry you saw sitting atop the washing machine downstairs.

When you made it out the front door, the hose was away and his toolbox was resting on the ground by his feet. Joel was drying up his car with a cloth, and when he heard you hop down the steps and subsequently turned your way, you weren’t exactly expecting him to completely stumble at the sight of you in his shirt.

“Oh—You, uh, I thought you were gettin’ Sarah’s clothes?”

“I was, none of her tops fit so I grabbed one of yours from the laundry downstairs.” You absorbed Joel’s cryptic reaction and began to worry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I really should’ve asked—”

“—No, no, it’s fine. Really. Doesn't matter.”

Joel picked up his toolbox, then the both of you began walking over to your house. It wasn’t that far away at all, probably a couple of hundred feet at most, but he opted into small talk anyway.

“Um,” Joel began, “What’d you come over for in the first place? Didn’t really get a chance to ask ‘cause of this whole… debacle.”

You giggled at his old man vocabulary. Debacle.

“I wanted to help with your car, but looks like those plans got derailed.”

He breathed a polite laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess it turned out that way.”

Before an awkward silence could fall upon the both of you, your brain settled on something to bring up.

“Hey, my dad’s having that July 4th barbecue the day after tomorrow. You’re coming right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, honey.”

Honey? Honey. Honey honey honey honey—

He cleared his throat. “Where is your dad, anyway?”

You were both standing on your porch now, Joel’s eyes raking you over as you fumbled with the front door.

“Um, I think he’s out working.”

“Great.”

Great?

Before you could ask him what he meant, Joel realized what he had said. “Wait, no, not great. I don��t—I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You pushed the door open. “Hey,” You brought a hand up to his chest and patted it, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep assuming all your mistakes are colossal and worthy of that much panic.”

His shoulders seemed to relax a little at that—you weren’t sure if it was your hand or your words that did it.

Eventually, you both found yourselves in your bedroom. You were sitting on the edge of your bed as you watched Joel work. Kneeling on one knee with a screwdriver in hand, he fumbled with one of the closet door’s hinges as he muttered little things to himself under his breath.

“Thanks for this, Mr. Miller.”

He turned to you, nodding as he seemed to process that he was in your bedroom. Your bedroom.

“So,” Joel began, as he dug through his toolbox, “Is your boyfriend visiting too? Or, y’know, girlfriend. Three months is a long ti—”

You softly smiled. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”

He turned to look at you again as he turned a screwdriver, this time scanning you over. “Hm, I don’t believe you. Sweet thing like you? Single?”

“Oh, stop,” You blushed, shooing him off.

Joel stood to his feet, dusting his hands off on his thighs. “All fixed. Next time you ne—”

“—I’ve never been in a relationship before. Actually.”

Joel stared at you for a moment before diverting his gaze to the ground. “I, um…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You don’t wanna know about my completely nonexistent dating history,” You lightly smacked your forehead, “Wait, it’s existent if we count the boy I dated for a week in fourth grade.”

Joel laughed, sitting down next to you on your bed. “It’s okay. I haven’t really dated anybody since Sarah’s mom, either. Long-term, anyways.”

“Yeah, well at least you’re not a virgin.”

Joel seemed to tense at that, and you immediately regretted saying it.

“Oh gosh,” You cringed, hands gripping your head, “I really just say anything, don’t I?”

Joel chuckled, head hung between his shoulders with his eyes squinted shut. You eventually laughed, too, simply because—and you realized it sounded stupid—Joel’s laughter was contagious.

“Alright, alright,” Joel beckoned, “Lemme be serious for a second. C’mere.”

You slumped down next to him, staring up at the ceiling before turning to make eye contact.

“That’s not something you have to worry about. You got time, honey, you’re in college. All that crap about late blooming isn’t real. It’s about whenever you’re ready, and whenever you find the right person to do it with.”

You smiled up at him softly. “Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel. Just Joel.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. So you stayed like that, searching his eyes for something you didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

“Joel,” You echoed, repeating his name back to him, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I, uh…” Joel trailed off, his gaze flitting down to your lips. “I…” He tried again, but it went nowhere.

You exhaled, and almost immediately, his hands cupped your face as he leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips.

It was warm, and gentle, and amazing, and you didn’t know if you could ever let him stop kissing you with how delightful the scruff of his beard felt against your skin.

He did break the kiss after a few seconds, though, and it left you breathless. “Joel…”

His muscles seemed to visibly tense as he mistook your speechless state for confusion. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why—”

“—No. No, I liked it,” You smiled softly at him, “I, um, you know. Wouldn’t mind if you kissed me… again.”

With reassurance that you weren’t absolutely appalled, his limbs relaxed. He leaned forward again until he was kissing you. Slow at first, languid. But then it turned fervent and desperate, breaths being exchanged into one another's mouths as lips slotted together like fingers intertwined—so perfect, as if they were biologically designed to do so.

It wasn’t long until he had your back flat against your bed, and you felt his growing hardness dig into your hip.

“Y’know what that is, don’t you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“You know why it’s there?”

You shrugged.

He gripped the fabric of your—no, his—shirt as his voice rumbled, “You prancin’ around in my shirt did that.”

Without a second thought, you clumsily palmed him there through the thick fabric of his jeans and reveled in the consequential shuddering moan he let out

“Joel, I don’t… I don’t think I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay, honey, I’ll teach you.”

Propping himself up with his elbow, he placed his hand atop your own and guided the movements of your open palm. Things like pressing your hand further into him so as to increase the pressure between his legs, and encouraging back-and-forth motions that had his hips rutting and his breath hitching.

Once you got the hang of it, he removed his hand from your own. You felt his hand snake down your neck, then the side of your torso.

“I trust you,” You whispered, fingers playing with the happy trail peaking Joel’s pants, hoping to absolve him of any guilt or doubt.

But the second Joel’s fingertips grazed the waistband of your shorts, he froze. He was staring off somewhere to the right, so you followed his gaze until you found what he was so disturbed by.

A framed photo on your nightstand, one of you standing next to your dad on vacation in Maui.

You understood immediately; that picture was an astute reminder of exactly who’s daughter Joel was about to debauch.

Your hand fell away from his crotch as he leaned back on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair with worried eyes.

“Joel?” You whispered, but then he was completely backing off of you as he muttered curses under his breath. “Hey, no, come back. What’s wrong?”

It was a dumb question. You knew what was wrong. Even though you were well beyond legal, it seemed to mean little in the situation—the facts were, if he touched you, it was betrayal.

“This is…” Joel panted, standing to his feet and raking his hands through his hair, “I shouldn’t have… Fuck. Fuck. I have to go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

That night, your lights stayed on and you didn’t close your curtains.

You stripped yourself of Joel’s shirt first, going excruciatingly slow in case Joel happened to be watching through his neighboring window. You occasionally shot glances at his window on the off chance that the window illuminated, but you quickly realized if the two of you made eye contact that wouldn’t be good either. You’d gotten all the way down to your underwear before you spotted his light flick on from the corner of your eye.

So you did the first thing that came to mind; You turned your back to your window. Panties halfway down your legs, torso bent with your knees straightened as you slowly shed your clothing. Hoping. Hoping for him to avert his attention ever so slightly and accidentally catch you like this. Hoping he would think of it every time he talked to you.

Without ever making eye contact, you would never know if Joel actually saw anything, and he would never know you hadn’t actually “forgotten” to close your curtains.

No pressure on either of you.

You went to sleep with a hand shoved down the front of your panties as you thought of all the things you wanted Joel to do to you.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Jesus. What time was it? You stretched until sleep left you and opened your eyes as wide as you could (not very wide at all). From what you could gather, the sun was definitely up. You, however, did not have the willpower required to read off of your phone screen 5 seconds after waking up, so you answered the phone without reading the contact.

“Hello?” You groaned, voice gruff from sleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

You knew that voice anywhere. Almost immediately, you shot upright and cleared your throat as you rubbed your eyes. “Oh, hey Mr. Mill—uh, I mean, Joel,” You breathed a nervous laugh before remembering his question, “No. No, it’s okay I was like, basically awake already, um, so… what’s up? Why’d you—Why’d you call?”

“Right, so just to preface, I understand things are not... ideal... between us right now. But to be honest, you’re the only person available who I trust with this, and… let me just explain. I got called into work unexpectedly and Sarah’s gonna be home alone. Lately, she’s been getting into these rebellious fits, and I just don’t want to risk another situation where she sneaks out at night to meet up with her boyfriend again.”

“Sarah and rebellious fits? Really?”

“Yes, believe it or not. So do you think you could just hang around my place for, to be honest, a long while? It’s looking like I’m gonna be home really late tonight. Oh, and I can pay you.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re not paying me.”

Joel exhaled appreciatively through the phone. “Okay, well I’m home right now if you wanna come by and eat some breakfast. Least I could do. I gotta leave in like thirty minutes by the way, so. Take your time but also don’t take your time?”

You smiled, hoping he could hear it in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Oh god. There it was again. You thought you might actually pass out, but you quickly turned off your racing brain enough to mutter a small “mhm” before abruptly hanging up.

Okay. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, who was this close to absolving you of every ounce of innocence in your body… just asked you to watch his daughter. What could go wrong?

When you got to his house, he had left already (you definitely took too long in the shower). He did leave out a plate of food, though, along with the message, “Thanks again. Enjoy the pancakes,” scratched out on a post-it note.

And boy did it turn out to be a long day. Sarah wasn’t that much of a handful, she mostly took care of herself. The hard part was lunch.

You attempted to cook something for the two of you, but it only ended in disaster when you left the quiches in the oven for too long. Then you decided Penne a la Vodka couldn’t be that hard, and you couldn't be more wrong. A whole box of pasta was ruined because Sarah didn’t realize the pasta went in after the water boiled, not before. Eventually, you both just accepted defeat and ordered Panera Bread.

Later, Sarah popped into the living room to let you know she was going up to her room to take a nap, and you figured you’d do the same on the couch.

The last thing you read was the time on the cable box; 7:37.

Metal clanking. The turn of a key. The creaking of a door. The blaring siren of an alarm system.

“Jesus—Fuck. I thought I told her to turn off the alarm at 8.”

And Joel’s voice.

You jolted awake, blinking wide as you moved to sit upright on the couch. The time on the cable box was 11:50.

Soon, the alarm stopped, and not long after, Joel’s figure came into view. He was wearing a denim button-up with work pants and work boots.

“Hey,” Joel called, setting his things down next to the kitchen island.

“Hi,” You replied, “How was work?”

Joel gave you a polite smile before pulling open the refrigerator door to retrieve a beer. With his head still poked inside the fridge, he replied, “The usual.”

“Well, what was the usual li—”

“—Were you asleep?”

“Uh…" You cleared your throat in an effort to stall as you debated whether or not you would lie. "Yeah, I was. Sorry.”

Joel took a swig of his beer, staring at you from across the room for a minute before blurting out, “The usual is busy. Extremely busy and tedious. But, um, how was Sarah? Hope you weren’t asleep too long.”

“Nope,” You lied, “I Wasn’t asleep long at all. Sarah was great. We had a bit of trouble with lunch, but everything ended up fine.”

“Good. Good. Well you can head out now, thanks for taking care of her.”

No. You did not want to "head out." You rose to your feet. “Joel?”

He looked around as he swallowed his beer. “Uh, yeah?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you. About yesterday.”

He peered down at the ground, swishing around the bottle in his hand. “That’s—That’s okay, honey. I think it’s best we forget that happened.”

“What? But why?”

Joel crossed the room and sat down next to you, leaning back against the couch while you sat back down on the edge with your elbows resting on your knees.

“Come on,” He started, “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why we’re… this… is impossible.”

“Joel, I—”

“—I’m sorry. You should get home now.”

You turned around to face him. “Joel. No one has to know.”

“As I said, I’m sorry. I handled yesterday… terribly. There were a million different ways to go about that, and I somehow chose the worst one. But we don't work. We can't work.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, but you tried to push the feeling down.

“Hey, hey,” He lulled, the hardness of his attitude falling away as he noticed the sad shine in your eyes, “Don’t cry.” He pulled you against him, rubbing your shoulder firmly.

“Joel,” You mumbled in a small voice, sniffling against his denim shirt with a frown.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to justify what he was quickly realizing was inevitable. You were an adult, somebody else independent of your father. It was your choice who to get involved with, just like it was his. This was mutual.

He knew he would regret it later, but your innocence and desperation allured him to the point of no return.

“It’s late,” Joel began, voice gentle as he offered you one last out, “You should go home. You need sleep, you’re not thinking straight. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“No,” You replied, removing yourself from his body so you could look him in the eye. “I don’t want to leave. I want you to… I want you to do what you said you’d do.”

Knowing exactly what you were talking about, he redundantly asked in a whisper, “And what’s that?”

You wiped a stray tear as you clumsily moved to straddle his lap. Almost automatically, his hands found their way to your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the slivers of skin peeking between your cami tank top and the waistband of your shorts. But it seemed at some point his consciousness realized what he was doing because his hands suddenly dropped to his sides. And, well, you just wouldn’t have that, so you grabbed hold of his wrists and returned them to where they were settled on your hips before you rested your own hands on Joel’s chest.

“You remember, don’t you?” You shifted in his lap, “You said you’d teach me.”

“How to have sex.” He said it more like a confirmation rather than a question.

You blushed at his blatant use of the word. It was like every fifth thing coming out of his mouth was sending your brain spiraling. You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, sex. Blowjobs, orgasms, literal sex. All of it.”

Silence for a beat. “I have one condition,” Joel warned.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“The second I suspect your dad is onto us, that’s it. It’s over. No more messing around, none of it. I can’t lose my best friend.”

You nodded. You probably shouldn’t have agreed so easily, but you didn’t actually think you and Joel would ever get caught.

“Okay, then,” Joel whispered. “Good. What do you wanna do first? Start off easy.”

You looked around the room nervously, careful not to make eye contact as you spoke. “Like. I dunno. Maybe for right now, I could just… touch you. Touch it, I mean.”

Joel nodded, and when your breathing began to grow the slightest bit uneven from nervousness, he noticed and rubbed your upper arm reassuringly. “Hey. Relax. Climb down and sit right there on the ground between my legs, and I’ll show you where to start.”

And so you did. Joel peered down at you with heavy lids as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and thus began your first lesson.

“Unbuckle my pants.”

With shaky hands, you removed his belt and undid his fly. You couldn’t explain why, but as soon as you caught sight of the bulge in his boxers, your mouth watered.

“What…” You began, “What now?”

“Whatever feels comfortable.”

With a light, feathery touch, you delicately traced a singular finger along the outline of his cock. Joel shivered at the contact, hands shooting to grip the sofa. Touching it felt different this time, more intense because you could feel every ridge and vein; you blamed it on the much thinner fabric dividing your fingers and his cock.

Your breath shuddered before speaking, “Can I take it ou—”

“—Yes, God, yes.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling downwards until his cock sprang free. It was thick, long, and wet at the tip, and you found yourself instinctively leaning further into it.

“Okay,” Joel sighed shakily, “Now just form a circle with your fingers and stroke it.”

You did as Joel said, and when your fingers finally made contact with his cock, you sighed at how velvety the skin was there. Soft and smooth, except for the trimmed hair surrounding the base. You stroked him steadily, biting your lip as you watched the wetness leaking from his tip spread down his shaft.

“Twist at the tip, honey, twist at the—Yeah, just like that. So good, you’re doing so good.” You couldn’t help but smile when Joel tilted his head back from the pleasure of it all.

With Joel still reeling from the contact of your hand, you took his momentary refusal to look down at you as an opportunity to surprise him a little.

You leaned forward and kitten-licked his tip, and it had him finally making eye contact with you as he whispered, “Oh, do that again.”

And so you did, adoring the look of pleasure strewn across Joel’s face.

Joel offered you a quick, crooked grin. “How’s it feel?” He asked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip as your tongue played with his tip.

You pulled away for a moment to respond, “How’s what feel?”

“Licking a man’s cock.”

You let the spit that had gathered in your mouth drip down onto his length. “I have the urge to do more with it.”

“Like what?”

“Like put it all the way in my mouth.”

And so kitten licks turned into long stripes up his shift, which turned into eager suckling on his tip, which turned into forcing his cock down as far as it could go without making you gag.

Joel’s hand gripped the back of your head, but he never pushed you down. Whenever you did accidentally end up gagging, he petted your hair, mumbling encouragements as best he could through the blinding pleasure. Things like, “Yeah, honey, doing so good. That’s it. Just a little more. Mhm.” And his affectionate nature, his gentleness, his reassuring words—he was exactly how you hoped he would be like. Not to mention, the general hotness of it all had your hips canting down against nothing, in desperate search of relief.

“M’close, sweetheart. Take it—Take it out.”

“I don’t wanna,” You replied in a hoarse voice as you jacked him off.

“You’re not ready for that, honey, just take it out. Take it out.”

You reluctantly complied, removing him from the tight heat of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin as you stroked him rapidly.

“Joel, I… I think I’m wet.”

He moaned a curse at that, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths as his orgasm approached him. “Jesus f-fuckin’… Tell me more.”

“I need you to touch it for me next time. Please. Maybe you could… Maybe you could put your mouth on it like how I put my mouth on you.”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I’m cumming, don’t stop stroking it,” Joel moaned, hot white spurts shooting up and all over your hand as you stroked him through it.

With his breathing still labored, he panted out in a high voice, “You’re lying. You’re f-fucking lying. Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“This isn’t—You’ve done this before. No way you made me cum this hard and it’s your first time.”

“Well,” You breathed a nervous laugh, “That’s flattering. But you’re my first. Trust me.”

When his orgasm fully subsided, Joel lay slumped against the sofa with his legs spread wide. You remained between them with your head resting on his thigh as you just stared at his cock. Took it all in, every curve, every vein, and inevitably, the cum that spurted itself over the surrounding area.

“What are you doing?” Joel chuckled, petting your hair as you smiled.

“I’m… I don’t know really. I just can’t stop looking at it.”

But then curiosity got the best of you, and you began to drag your fingers through the mess at his base. It caught Joel off-guard, his entire body stiffening as he watched you.

“What does it taste like?” You asked quietly as you examined the cum on your fingers.

“Oh my god,” Joel groaned through his labored breathing, “I swear, if you do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll be hard again in five seconds.”

“I’ll take my chances,” You joked, bringing your finger to your mouth and licking it clean, ultimately wincing at the taste. “It’s like, bitter. And salty. And kinda sweet. But mostly bitter and salty. To be honest, it’s kinda nasty but I can see myself getting used to it.”

“Wow,” Joel sighed, “You just really know how to set the mood. Make things real romantic.”

“Oh, shut it,” You huffed, playfully swatting his thigh before getting up and plopping down next to him on the sofa as he got to work stuffing himself back into his pants despite the mess he made—that was a problem for future Joel.

“Gonna miss you, little Joel,” You joked to his crotch.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Joel chuckled painfully with his fists in his eyes. “I’m never letting you near ‘little Joel’ again.”

“Mm, no, because I just made you cum so hard you thought I was lying about being a virgin.”

He sighed at that. “You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

You both laughed at that; In fact, you both were laughing a lot. And at everything. In your head, you blamed it on the ecstatic high of being in each other’s presence this way.

When the mutual laughter died down, Joel looked at you for a moment, admiring you. Then, slow and hesitant as ever, he leaned in to kiss you.

“Do you taste it?” You whispered, breaking the kiss as you fought another giggle.

“Yes, actually. Wait, don’t say it please, this is actually a nice moment—”

“—Your cum!” You loud-whispered.

Another sigh. “My cum.”

You eagerly kissed him back after that, swearing off mood-breaking jokes for the rest of the night. Eventually, you even became too tired to kiss, simply letting your forehead rest against his. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand snaked up your leg and inched under the leg of your shorts, using force to push your legs open wider.

“Need me to take care of this?” He asked into your mouth before letting his kisses travel down to your neck.

“Joel,” You breathed, breaths beginning to come out in rapid succession as your hips gyrated in response to how dangerously close Joel’s hand was to your pussy. “I… I’m tired.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do a thing,” Joel breathed, removing his hand from beneath your shorts in order to pull down the waistband. “It’s a yes or no question. Just give me a yes or a no.”

Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes and stared at the little bit of empty space left between you and Joel. The throbbing between your legs was bad, but it was something about the delayed gratification of saving things for later that stopped you from saying yes. “No, I… I think that’s it for tonight.”

Joel withdrew his hand, reassuringly cracking a brief smile. “Hey, uh, spend the night. It’s way too late, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but what about Sarah?”

“I came home super late, you fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

You thought about it for a second before agreeing. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you. But I’m taking the couch.”

“What? No—”

“—Joel. I’m taking the couch.”

He looked at you skeptically but then agreed. “If you change your mind just let me know.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Joel squeezed your leg before getting up and making his way to the stairs. “Goodnight.”

masterlist

A/N: strikethrough means i can't tag you, check your settings

taglist:

@basicoccult @myhusband2cool @fleuraimer @chunguk @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucufifluclu @pintsizedsunshine @s1eepy-bear @daddysuperduperlonglegs @worhols @evyiione @criesside @saph-cyare

@gswizzsstuff @baloobalee @gessmiller05 @trynasurvivelol @yazsos @marchai @pompii @alyssa1216 @daddy-din @msmagix4 @blooming-bubs @huffle-punk @whorrorain @iliketoeatstrawberrypocky @onlineplant @totallynotastanacc @hiddenbabynyc @thedoctorofpoop @kamcrazy123 @afterglowsb-tch13

@redplaidedandcladed @simping-soldat @martyluvsu @mingiast @teddybonkers1960 @brittmb15 @ellswilliams @laurasunsole @senaar-ika @whore4ellie @harrysbitvh123 @atremises @silkiers @bbyanarchist @pawnshopbluess222 @https-hann @cassiesolos @xanqels @jawgrinder

@daylighthrry @victoriamay1357 @jeezkiddo @its-spooky-these-days @pedro-luvr @chibimosa @sagethephantom @loathsome-gargoyle @alejaa-a @greenclues @june-julie @spenciesprincess @donttamethebeasts @alec0 @djarinsimp

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keeksandgigz · 6 months

Text

my guy

eddie munson x fem!reader

Eddie being your personal handyman and stupidly in love.

cw: 2k words. no warnings just two kids being absolutely smitten for each other. tooth rotting fluff. teeny allusion to smut. Eddie being a flustered mess bless him. 18+ mdni

AN: this is literally the most low stakes thing i've ever written i just started cheesing at the idea of eddie cheesing at being called your guy

The sputtering of the washing machine startles you.

Huffing, you put your book down on the couch, rising from the depth of the cushions in which you had settled yourself into after finishing your chores and go assess the issue.

"Shit," the floor is wet and you shudder at the feeling of the cold soapy water getting into the bottoms of your socks as you slowly make your way to the washing machine to unplug it.

You try your best to dry the floor, wincing at the feeling of wet socks on the linoleum floor, cursing under your breath at the cold feel of the fabric against your skin.

Despite the floor being dry, your washing machine was broken, and you couldn't afford to buy a new one. Fortunately, your neighbor, Eddie had been your own personal handyman ever since you mentioned in passing that your sink was leaking a bit after moving into your place a couple months ago. The day after he was at your door, toolbox in hand. Your sink was fixed in less than a couple hours.

You knock at his front door, three precise, well timed knocks. Your mind cannot help but start counting just to see how long it will take him to open his door.

One, two, three, four, five, si--

The rattling of the door handle distracts you from your counting. Eddie's eyes are wide as they stare at you. His hair is tied in a low bun and he's fidgeting with a guitar pick in his hand. He must have been playing.

He's really quiet for a second, then clears his throat. "Oh, um. Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, nothing much? just wondering if you're busy right now" your tone always softens up with him around.

He looks around his apartment, almost as if he needed to remember if there was anything he should've been doing.

"Nope, don't think so. Why?" He leans against his doorframe, and he's cute in the way his pitch perks up, his smile expands just a bit to let a few crinkles form around his eyes.

"Well um... my washing machine broke and I can't afford to buy another one. I have a really important interview tomorrow morning and I need a clean dress shirt to wear. I thought I could get my guy to take a look at it and assess the damage?" you lightly punch your fist across his chest and he blushes a bit. You can tell by the way he starts blinking a bit faster that he's flustered.

"Your- your guy?" he stutters, almost as if he heard nothing else aside from that.

"Yeah, silly. My guy, like, my handyman" you smile at him, and if someone could get even more nervous, you're sure that Eddie just did, because he lets out a breathy laugh.

"Right. Your handyman guy, of course" and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a bit.

"So... can you do it?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, no of course, sweetheart. Gimme a couple minutes and I'll be right over to you" he says smiling.

You head back to your apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow you with his toolbox, and Eddie feels like he’s lost every sense of reason when he enters and becomes surrounded by your scent.

The fabric softener you use has taken over every corner of your house, but he’s not complaining. Taking one last sniff for courage, he steps into the kitchen, where you’re sitting at, waiting for him.

“Alright, can I take a look at your washing machine?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it’s right this way” you lead him to the laundry room, and Eddie’s suffocating. You’re everywhere.

He kneels in front of the machine and opens its door.

"What's this interview for anyway if it's got you actin' so nervous?" He says from inside the washing machine. He's fidgeting with the rubber at the opening, the hose.

"It's for this job at the school. I applied to teach at the middle school, but I'm not sure if they'll give it to me" you say, panic settling in. He's taking too long, you're done for. No clean shirt, no job.

"Nah, sweetheart, there's no reason why they shouldn't. You're incredibly smart, from all the books I've seen you read, your apartment is all books, you nerd" he starts laughing, and then stops.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you a nerd." He takes his head out of the washing machine. "I just- I know you're gonna do great. And if you don't maybe you can become my apprentice, would you mind passing me my flashlight?" he gives you a half smile.

Reaching for his toolbox you pass it to him.

"See? You're already perfect for the job, you're hired" he says, making you laugh. He smiles proudly to himself, and he's happy that you can't see him from inside the washing machine, because he's sure he's bursting with joy at the sound of your laughter.

"Thanks, Ed. I'll consider it." you say, and immediately after you hear a oh shit! coming from inside the machine. Concern washes over your face.

"Ed? What's wrong?" you say, as you carefully step closer towards him.

“I know what the problem is." He takes his head out again The rubber thingy that helps you close the thingy is broken” he says, like you understood what he meant.

“For a handyman you sure have your way with words” you laugh, and he doesn’t even care that he’s made a fool of himself by forgetting what the rubber gasket was called. Because he’s made you laugh.

"So how do I get this rubber thingy fixed, mr handyman?" you ask, voice still amused at how flustered he is.

"Well, I'd need to go down the hardware store and get a replacement, but it's 8PM, so I can't do anything about it now, sweetheart. Sorry" he says, and it breaks his heart to have to say no to you.

"Oh, okay." your voice sounds sad, it hurts him. "Thanks anyway, Eddie. I'll stop by the hardware store tomorrow morning before my interview if you wanna stop by in the afternoon and finish this?"

He thinks about it, about the interview. About how much you said you want the job.

"Wait, I have an idea. What if you wash your clothes in my washing machine for tonight? So you can have your shirt ready for your interview, then tomorrow I can go and get the gaskets to fix it. It's called a gasket, not rubber thingy" he says, playing with his hair.

"Ed it's fine, I can go get it" you say, trying not to blush at how gentle and kind he is "I'll take you up on your offer of using your machine, though. Thanks, Ed. You're too nice" you say, reaching for the basket of wet clothes on top of the dishwasher.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Y'know I take good care of my clientele" he says, smug smile on his lips. You giggle and fake a gasp.

"Are you cheating on me? Are you being someone else's guy?!" he laughs and goes along with it.

"Well, Mrs. Davis did ask me to fix her bathtub, after learning from someone that I fixed their sink" he said, a fake accusatory stare at you.

"You should get paid for this, Ed. You've already fixed my sink, my door hinges, helped me change my lock and now my washing machine. Soon the whole complex is gonna ask you to do their maintenance" you laugh.

"I do it out of the kindness of my heart" he says, taking a dramatic bow , then rises and leans against the washing machine. "Really, though, I don't mind doing it. I enjoy being helpful. I don't want your money, sweetheart"

"No, Eddie, I insist. I need to pay you, especially after you said you're getting the rubber thingy for me, what was it called again? A gusset?"

"Gasket" he says smiling, pointing a cheeky finger at you. Then the air becomes a bit tense, he stiffens up. You see him takes a deep breath, he's suddenly nervous which puts you on edge. Did you say something wrong? Then he speaks up again. "Tell you what, as a payment for my services, I pick you up Friday night at 7 and we have dinner. What do you say?"

Shit. You would not have pegged him for the type to be that smooth, but he had you. He liked you and he was sweet to you and he wanted to take you out to dinner. It helped that he was cute. There was no hesitation when you nodded your head yes.

"I say that's a great idea, Ed. I'll let you know how the interview goes. Should we go to your apartment?" you say. You notice the quizzical, borderline alarmed, look on his face.

"So I can wash my stuff, I mean" an awkward laugh escapes you as he motions for you to lead the way.

His apartment is the same layout as yours, but rather than books, his walls are filled with painted figurines, guitars, notebooks and DnD game sets. A true nerdy den.

"Um, the washing machine is down the hall. We have the same one, let me know if you need anything, okay?" he says, heading over to the couch, setting his toolbox down and picking up his guitar.

His laundry detergent is strong. The thought of this load of washing smelling like him makes your head spin.

After you've started the load, you head out of the laundry room and head over to the couch, where Eddie is. You swear his eyes glint a little when he sees you.

"Hey mr. handyman." you say, plopping down next to him "Keep playing, I'm just gonna watch you." You smile at him.

His face is concentrated, tongue darting out of his lips every once in a while. Cute, you think, a silly quirk that makes your mind travel to places that it should not even dare to go, you haven't even had your first date yet. God, you wanna kiss him.

He plays some aggressive guitar chords, one after the other, music sheets scattered on his knee, balancing precariously as he taps the rhythm with his head, his hair falling out of its confinements with each bob of his head.

"I hear you play sometimes." You interrupt. He raises his head, his hair has all fallen out of the bun and lays on his shoulders.

"What?" he says weakly.

"Sometimes, in the afternoon, because you're so respectful, I hear you play. And I- I just stop whatever I'm doing and listen to you and- and it's so cool. Your playing is so cool" you stop your ramble, because now he's staring at you and he's making you nervous. He's closer, and closer, and closer. And he's kissing you.

His lips are soft, albeit a bit too wet from all the times he's licked his lips to focus. His hand is on your cheek and it's big and warm and his breath is on you and you just melt into him. Soft kisses, quick kisses.

After what feels like hours, your mouth is open and you're reaching for his shirt, but he stops you, a puzzled look on your face. "Let's save this for another time, sweetheart." He says, and you can tell he's struggling to say no to you "I wanna take my time with you. Maybe after our date?" he gives you a sly smile and you think you have melted into the cushions.

"Can we cuddle, then?" you say shyly and he opens his arms for you to fall in, you take a deep breath. He's warm and smells nice.

"For a handyman you kiss really well" you say, laughing a bit. He jerks his head and quirks an eyebrow.

"How many handymen have you kissed?" his tone is dramatic and you know he's joking.

"None that I am aware of, but y'know, it could be a side job" You giggle.

"I thought I was your guy!" He says with a whine, and he makes you laugh like no man has ever made you laugh before.

“Maybe you can be my guy for real then” you say, smiling, finally holding eye contact with him.

“Yeah, I can be your guy, sweetheart.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut

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bitchlessdino · 4 months

Text

nobody's home (m)

Pairing: neighbor male nanny!seungcheol x afab maid!reader Genre: smut, fluff towards the end Word count: 3.8k tags: working class au, mentions kids, big dick!Seungcheol, reader wears skirt and thong and panty hose, dom!seungcheol, brat!reader, rough sex, rough hair pulling and head movement, spitting and swallowing, heavy degradation kink, window sex, overstimulation, name calling (brat, slut, mr. choi), choking unprotected sex, breeding kink, cream pies Summary: Seungcheol and you have never crossed paths for long, but boy have you imagined it. Too preoccupied with your jobs working for some of the richest families in the city, you've sacrificed your grueling hours when you could've been fucked your brains out all this time. However, big risks come with big rewards when the holidays arrive. Then there's nobody home to stop you. author note: horny, horny, horny, that was the entire process writing all of this. i feel like i pulled this out one of my deepest most darkest horny moments bc why am i so into writing every part of this and thats so rare?? i enjoyed this alot, please enjoy guys and happy new year! its almost 2024 thats insane!!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @goblinvern @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @cottoncheol @embrace-themagic

You haven’t worked for this family all that long. Only long enough to realize the cute male nanny living in the house next door.

You've caught glimpses of him a handful of times on the lawn, overseeing the kids as they bask in the fresh air. His eyes sparkle like stars that lit the night sky and his smile outshines the opulence of this entire block of one-percenters. Witnessing that radiant smile aimed in your direction brightens your day each time. Without fail, you exchange polite greetings, accompanied by smiles and pleasant small talk, forming a delightful routine in your interactions.

As the housekeeper, you’ve had plenty of encounters while getting groceries, lawn or backyard parties, and windows. Lots of windows. You’d peer through when you’re cleaning, see him glance back at you, maybe sending you a wave as he’s mid-feeding the kid veggie tots. Your interactions with him were typically very brief and fleeting.

Now, there were no excuses. The holiday season is around the corner, and families in the neighborhood will soon be heading to the Alps, tropical destinations, or somewhere along those lines. That meant you’d be all alone in their mansion, much like someone else in the neighborhood.

You learn about it by seeing him at the grocery store. Trying not to get distracted by the loose-fitting dress shirt tucked in the waist of his trousers, you notice the little one he cares for rolls through the aisles full of toddler swagger in the shopping cart. You would gush at their delightful giggles if you didn’t find their caretaker so mind-numbingly distracting.

With his broad shoulders, sturdy arms, and consistently solid build, you too would trust him with something so delicate and needy of attention. It was such a natural choice. However, the nearest option you had was, well, yourself.

He mentions that his employers preferred to keep their vacation exclusive to family, providing him with paid time off to use as he pleased. In turn, you mention being offered the same form of compensation, and am eternally grateful for such leniency. His expression sparks in piqued interest, briefly glancing at you before storing the hot chocolate package away in the cart.

“Does that mean you’ll be away for the holidays?”

You muse at his question, fingers taking over your basket handle as he ponders on your response. A glimmer of optimism in his eyes beams in your direction, with a dimple etched deep in his cheek as he splays a hopeful smile. To which you answer jesterly, "Well, I hadn't implied that."

He softly chuckles, nudging you at the elbow, obviously trying to banger a proper answer. “Then tell me, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a big house all alone during the holidays?”

His compliments delight you and warmth festers in your chest, greedy for more. "I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"

Seungcheol doesn’t have a moment to react as the child in the cart regains their energy. He shifts his gaze away momentarily and soon you escape his line of vision, seamlessly blending in amidst the bustling crowd of grocers.

Returning to the residence, you linger by the largest window, offering a perfect view of Seungcheol dining during supper. It's a familiar scene, replaying like clockwork at the same hours each time. His silhouette in the warm glow of the neighbor's dining room becomes a sight with more to be desired, and you imagine a world where the divide doesn't exist. Staring in his eyes, you picture your entanglement. The heat of your bodies weaving together like threads in a tapestry, each bonded tightly, with only the power of shears to tear you apart.

His eyes reflect the same intensity, mentally undressing you down to the skin, making you his perfect canvas. He ponders the texture of your skin, your hair, and the sound you make when he tenderizes your flesh with his teeth. He wonders how full you feel between his fingers, or how sweet your nectar tastes. He can only envision the favor, the sensation, the warmth; holding the fantasy close to him like a secret taken to the grave.

That day would come soon enough.

Anticipating each passing hour of every day, you are elated by the promise of bidding farewell to your employers at the airport. You assure them of returning to a pristine home, meticulously cleaned from every nook and cranny. A grin, so expansive it borders on pain, graces your face, and there's a noticeable spring in your step as they fade into the depths behind the security checkpoints.

Without a moment's hesitation, you rush home, eager to connect with a kindred spirit just a few cobblestones away from your work residence. Judging by the expression in his eyes, it's clear he has fulfilled his responsibilities and bid farewell to his employers as well, eagerly awaiting your arrival. He grins at you, pleased to see you approach him.

“I see it that they made it to their flight safe?”

You hum in confirmation. “You would be seeing correctly. How did your family make it?”

"Quite smoothly," he answers nonchalantly, the dimple on his cheek sinking into a subtle but contented expression.

A palpable wave of relief releases from the depths of your lungs, and a chuckle escapes as you observe Seungcheol displaying a similar reaction. Even in the subzero temperatures, you sensed the fire of his gaze, unraveling your logical resolve and liquefying you into a puddle of your own arousal. In the depth of your gaze, he discerns your hopeful anticipation, one that matches his. “So, what are the plans for the rest of their absence?”

The corner of your lips can’t help the way lifts, smiling slyly back at him. “I’m sure you have some ideas.”

You thank the heavens every day they never reinstalled those security cameras. Utilize their vulnerability, you invite the neighbor’s nanny into their home, and the automatic door locks behind him. No use in holding back, he claims the lips swiftly, tasting need and rebellion on your tongue in a rough liplock.

His lips full and plush, they part to speak, but not with words. His tongue aligns with yours, only to tangle in incoherent mumbles that escape in between, yet communicate with you in perfect fluency. Much like the intimate gazes you share from the windows multiple times a day, the fervent kiss unfolding spoke more than the audible language ever could.

His hands work around your body, shoving off your coat and cardigan, abandoning them on the hardwood to slip his fingers beneath your shirt. A shallow breath leaves your lips and you rush him against you, planting yourselves against their pristinely white wall. The texture of the plaster digs into your backside, abrasive against your flesh and Seungcheol locks you in place by holding your thigh against his side.

“You don’t know how fucking bad I wanted to do this to you,” he growls into your kiss.

You let out a sultry chuckle, fiddling with his earlobe between the pads of your fingers. “You can say it out loud. Nobody’s home.”

He scoffs. “I said, I wanted to—“ he slams his hips against you, his cock bursting at the seams against your torso, “—fuck the living shit—“ he does so again, digging your sobbing clothed cunt with his solid thigh, “—out of this stupid, pretty cunt. That loud enough for you?”

You moan through your firm pressed lips, grinding against his steel hard thighs. “Just the perfect amount.”

In admiration, your hands roam over his body, and shamelessly rips off his dress shirt, hearing the buttons skip against the cool tile. He grunts at the sensation of the frigid air enveloping his broad stature as it pebbles goosebumps on his upper arms. Returning your savage gesture, his hand fingers through your hair and dragging it back to pin your head on the wall behind you, fisting handfuls of your locks. “That wasn’t very nice of you. Could’ve asked for permission at least first,” he snarls, baring his front teeth.

“Can’t help it,” you grin, “you just look so good without it on. I bet you look without anything on.”

His chest presses flat against your body without even space to breathe and his unyielding gaze bore into you. He aligns his conceited grin against your lips to smash it brusquely—as if thanking you—pulling at your bottom lip between his perfect teeth. “I’m sure it’s all you think about when you see me.”

Quickly, he maneuvers you; twisting your heel and guiding with a hand on your waist, he forces you against the unyielding surface of the wall and trails that same hand over your chilled spine.

You softly gasp at his touch, feeling the flood of your clenched walls seep through your underwear and layering your inner thighs. His chilling, velvet voice beckons, coating the inside of your ears. “But I’ve dealt with brats, you know that. Let me show exactly what happens when you test the limits of my discipline.”

Seungcheol lifts the flap of your skirt, barring the shape of your cheeks protected under a layer of pantyhose and caressing its plush cushion. Then came the flat palm of his hand coming against you at full force. You jolt upon contact, clinging to the foundation of this house to recover, yet mewl at the arousal erupting inside you. A sound emerges from the depths of your throat, vaguely sounding of his name as well as plead.

“You like that, don’t you? A naughty little brat you are,” he chuckles sinisterly.

You push your back against his hips, finding the mold of his cock readily and fitting between the rounds of your ass. His soft groan follows, his erection rubbing against the pantyhose. “God, you really like that.”

“I want it,” you whine impatiently, backing your hips on him, and crushing his length, “give it to me.”

“What kind of authority figure would I be if I gave into one of my brat’s demands?” He strikes your cheek again, stinging lingering dully as your flesh had barely recovered from the last hit, and drool leaking out of the corner of your lips. “Not a very good one,” he answers.

“Please, Seungcheol...”

He does do again, if not harder, and each strike collides with both cheeks. “You’ll be referring to me as Mr. Choi now, brat.”

You never knew his surname, but upon discovery, you notice how smooth it rolls off the tongue. How delicious it sounds out of your swollen lips.

“Mr. Choi…” You breathe out, your cunt vibrating at the notion of his power.

He hums pleased, rewarding the back of your neck with a gentle peck. “Good job. What is it you want?”

“Please, Me Choi, I want your cock inside me…”

He clicks his tongue. “Do you, now?” He chides, “Are you going to behave from now on?”

You nod gingerly. “Yes, just give it to me, please…all of it…”

“Mmh, since you’re being so polite. I guess positive reinforcement is in order.” Seungcheol’s hand caresses your hips, reaching for the curves of your ass in confident determination. The soft caress of his rich voice proceeds, “Let’s just get these out of the way.”

He ruthlessly tears the sheer material of your pantyhose, exposing your skin and the red lacy thong that hardly holds you up. You erupt in a startled gasp, welcoming the cool embrace of the air ventilation on your blistered skin. His voice drops to a lower octave and his groaning dissolves, melding into a soft sigh. “What a pretty little holiday gift for me. Only took me a moment to realize I have to unwrap it.”

“I thought of you when I decided the color,” you admit in feigned innocence, “you seem to like the holiday colors.”

“I do. Darling of you for noticing,” he praises with a hint of tease, “and my, does it suit you. Maybe there is hope for a brat like you.”

You hear the draw of his zipper, following the heavy drop of fabric to the ground. Slightly turning your head, you see he kicks the clothes aside and grins upon inspection of his full-length lining up between your legs. Your knees began to wobble, parting your feet for a more stable stance, and you swoon with your head against the wall. “You look so big…”

The head of his cock rubs against the lace, precum leaking from the tip and creating a small mess on your already ruined panties. You hear a smile in his scoff and feel the snap of your underwear before his tip breaches your molten warmth. He whispers, “Wait until you feel how big it is pushing in and out of that pretty wet cunt of yours…”

“Mmh, Mr. Choi…” Your breath halts as his girth parts your entrance, stretching your walls until it is Seungcheol and your lubricating arousal. He seethes in relief, letting your welcoming embrace around him soothe his intensifying erection and he bucks his hips, having you adjust to his size.

You rest your forehead on the wall, feeling him bury himself inside you. “Shit…yes, Mr Choi…”

“Such bratty pussy.” He spanks both cheeks once more, watching the recoil of your flesh. “My perfect bratty little pussy…bet you’re so used to misbehaving. It won’t be like that around me.”

He took one deep, languid thrust, automatically groaning, “Fuck,” then released his hips.

You immerse in his plunder of your voice, letting it ache in need as you repeat his name. Meanwhile, your internal temperature rises with the collision of his lap and your ass growing harsh and unforgiving. Pinning your wrist together single-handedly, he lets his other grip reclaim your hair, dragging your body to him for his own use. “You feel so fucking good around me.”

He tenses his torso to take sharper strikes, pulsing deeper and quicker. Your hand slides on the solid surface in front of you, pushing yourself against him as you take every inch. Your jaw drops low, echoing a hollow whine, devoid of incoherent thoughts and instinctive response.

Seungcheol lets go of your wrists and instead sandwiches them between your back and his chest. He finds the front panels of your shirt and tears it apart similarly you did with his, echoing that familiar sound of buttons being abandoned on the ground.

“Because you deserve the same thing to happen to you,” he softly mutters, only to cup your cladded breast hungrily, squeezing your flesh to the point it spills out of the material as his teeth kiss your neck, “and because I couldn’t stop looking at these when you’re walking around that see-through blouse by that window we share.”

Thinking about the fact that you share something made his intention all the more intimate, and you cling to his body like saran wrap due to the simple fact. You melt as he marks your body with bites, the stinging resonating on your goosebumped skin. “I wear that because of you,” you manage to squeak, “only because you wear that t-shirt that clings to your body during the summer. How it got damp from sweat fixing that broken bookcase. God, is it satisfying to rip your shirt off.”

“That window was always the culprit, hmm?”

He pries you from where you stand and drags you to the referred structure with you giggling after him. There he bends you over the dining table placed strategically in front of it, while your ass points towards the glass screen. His spanks come flying, tenderizing the already raw and blistered skin, “This damn window you always linger by.”

His nails dig into your kneaded flesh and he fits his cock right where it belongs, plunging back inside you as he secures your head against the table. “The way I wanted to fuck you on this exact table, spank this cute fucking ass,” he roughly tugs your head up, watching your tits bounce as he ruts in you like a damn dog, and meets your warm wide-eyed gaze, “Spit in that slutty, brat mouth.”

Your lips part without delay, death gripping the edge of the mahogany, and your tongue slings out enthusiastically. He breaks out in an amused grin before it melts back into a smolder, gripping you closer until he hocks a hot load of salvia in your mouth, forcibly closing your jaw with his hands.

“Hold it,” he commands, seeing the subtle frown on your face as you obey. He smiles sinisterly, hands on your hips as he slams you towards him, watching your head bob at the harsh rhythm. He places his palm over the column of your throat, teeth clawing your cheek. “Now swallow, you slut.”

He feels the shift in your throat as it goes down, relishing that light gasp of breath leaving your lips, “Good slut. You’re finally learning.”

His power, his strength, his cadence were inexplicably captivating and you succumb to his every whim. It only intensifies as you drink in his delectable lips, so soft in contrast to the abrasive snap of his hips, hitting in a spot so sensitive you don’t even predict it coming.

Your moan resonates through the entire first floor, palming the dinner table as you ride out your high in teary anguish as Seungcheol’s pace doesn’t seem to falter, in fact, it seems to have grown angrier. Furious.

“You fucking slut,” he spits, rubbing your overstimulated clit in the thick of your climax, squeezing the tears out of your eyes. You clutch his forearm in desperation, writhing uncontrollably. “S-Seungcheol—“

“Misbehaving again, I see.” He pulls out of you to flip you on your back. He watches at your hot cheeks expel heavy pants, sweat filming your entire torso, and eyes rolling to the back of your head. “You’re still conscious; you haven’t had enough just yet.”

Dragging by the arm, he takes you against the tempered glass, chilling your bare spine. He lifts your legs off the ground and holds them on either his side, stuffing himself back into you. Your heat drips around his cock, and he catches it in his thrusts, pressuring you to feel every inch of his cock rammed inside.

Your ass and the pads of your fingers press against the glass, smudging its once-pristine sheen. “Mr.Choi…”

He strokes your cheek, fondness in his eyes before it lowers to your throat and closes around it. Then his eyes penetrate through you, eying you in a dark allure as he robs you of breath, and catching the daze in your eyes as he ponders in thought.

“What are you thinking dirtying up the thing you took so long cleaning with your fingerprints and cum, hmm? Marking your claim on the house you've spent all day and night on looking perfect? A house far from being yours? How does it make you feel?”

“…Exhilarating,” you sigh shallowly, staring back at him with a smile. Your arms loop around his neck, finding security and embracing his vigorous nature. “Like it’s all worth the painstaking labor to make a complete mess of it.”

He groans at your answer, reconnecting your lips in what feels like an eternity, and cradles the side of your face endearingly with one hand still around your neck. His lips devour yours, swallowing your moans, jerking his hips, and savoring the velvet of your walls clench around him so deliciously.

“You were just as worth the wait. Made my job so damn hard thinking your pussy wrapped around my cock, made me fucking blank out most of my day. Not a good move for me, but–really–I blame you,” he slams you against the window before quickly returning to his rhythm pace.

“You and your perfect body—” He grinds up into you, relocating your sensitivity and you whimper, “—Your sexy fucking voice when you greet me,” and he finally, makes notice of your face, using that hand that crushed around throat now gripping your chin, “—or this beautiful face that I couldn’t wait to see contort when I push my fucking cum inside.”

Usually, you know better than to let that kind of thing happen, but after the long duration of having only distant contact, his offer becomes tempting—alluring even—that you knew someone had to physically pry you off of him until you were filled with his seed. “Well, you’re so good with kids, wanna make some of your own?”

Seungcheol beckons closer, grinning mischievously, “Should I? You want me to put my babies in you? Fill you up with cum?”

You mewl at the thought, bringing his warmth closer, “I’d be so full…taking your fat cock and all your hot cum inside me…it’d be a dream, especially knowing how good you’re taking care of us, especially me.”

“You’d want that, hmm,” driving himself into you until you're lost in your own world again—losing the grasp on reality—and he persists. “You want my cum making a mess of you and this house just so I could put some babies in this pretty cunt? Hmm? That what you want?”

You nod mindlessly, anchoring yourself to him until he finally lets up. When he does, you feel the power surges through you as if you’re fresh new battery, the electrical current being the cum he shoots up into you. You let yourself ride this high, rocking into his hips, and soon your weight takes over, deducing you to a puddle. He takes his final pumps, cooing softly at your lips as you share a kiss, then drops you back on the dining table, letting you catch your breath as the cum spills slowly out of you and stains the floor under your feet.

He stands between your legs, tracing over the texture of your thighs, and his other hand claims your waist, meeting your face with a tired but tender smile. “Hi.”

You softly chuckle, resting a palm on the back of his neck. “Hi,” you repeat back.

“So dinner?”

You playfully roll your eyes, bordering his hips with your legs. “Are you offering to cook?”

“My job requires me to, so yes,” he traces over your jaw, drawing in closer, “Wouldn’t want to feed my clients burnt Mac and cheese with their frozen Dino nuggies.”

“True,” your arms lock at the elbows around his neck, “But what else can you make besides Mac and cheese with Dino nuggies?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” He answers vaguely.

You finger through his hair and notice how his perspiration has left him mouthwateringly disheveled, quietly contemplating how to stretch out this vacation time. Your solution: never leave each other’s side.

“I’ll tell you what. We can think about what to eat…after a shower. “

You retrieve his hand, tugging him in your desired direction and he follows graciously with a knowing grin. “We can do that, but we both know that shower will end up more dirty than clean.”

“Good thing I’m an expert in keeping a clean home, now it’s your turn to clean my home.”

His dimple graced his cheek, visibly interested. “My pleasure.”

2K notes · View notes

honestsycrets · 8 months

Text

playing house | single parent au: mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader

❛ pairing | mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader; single parents au

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | gabi's on a hunt to get a mami. miguel doesn't really need help with it. or, Miguel trades mechanic work for love.

❛ tags | explicit, mechanic!miguel, first grade teacher!reader, some mention of hurt, heavy themes of voyeurism (both ways), single parents, unhygienic sxconditions, Spanish not translated, very domestic fic, f!reader, protective miguel, very light mutual jealousy.

❛ request fulfilled | Miguel is a single dad, Reader is his daughter's kindergarten teacher, and he is both very obviously crushing on her and very reluctant to say it. Fortunately, his daughter isn't! "Did you know my papi likes you?" Cue flustered Miguel. + BROOOO mechanic!miguel is hot please tell

❛ sy's notes | flashback to that one time a car fell on my tio. 😅

The job was a simple part replacement. A fizzled-out chunk of metal that would cost any single mother more in labor and puff costs at any mechanic shop. But not with Miguel, who was known around the barrio for his begrudging care. He’d do any job Lyla brought to him for any madre around who needed him.

He wrung his hands out on his stained top and lifted his head out of the hood of an old but faithful car. After a click and a lock, he turned his eyes toward the dusty cover. Syncopated beats trill from a radio ring background static that he’s long since zoned out to focus on his work. He wiped his forehead and looked at the trampled grass underneath a cheap plastic pool.

“Gabriella, bring me the manguera,” he called out to his little girl, who looked at the hose in her little pool bobbing with poppy bright toys. The older she got, the worse her loneliness became. Not due to any ill-doing of Miguel who always tried his best to be present. For some reason, Miguel couldn’t bring himself to date in anything but short bursts.

“Papi, look across the street. New neighbors!” Gabriella cooed delightfully. She splashed out of the pool with the long emerald green hose in hand, bobbing over on her long skinny legs. “It’s a girl. A pretty girl! And she’s looking right at you!”

Like that was a new occurrence. Miguel turned his hand over his sun-bright daughter’s short, sodden braids that whipped just over her shoulder. She stood in place, bouncing delightfully over newcomers. There were many viejitos in the cul-de-sac, but not enough kids.

“¿Y qué, mi vida?” he asked her. His hand shipped free from her hair. “She’s probably taking in the barrio.”

“I think she is! You!”

He threw a glance over his shoulder only to find your prying eyes eating him up from across the street. You speak to a pair of movers-- but your eyes slipped away from theirs, where he stood with his little girl. The hose dumped water onto the street. Water that he’d usually be extra concerned about wasting. Today, he was more interested in a game.

His dirty white t-shirt is matted to his back, soaked in the sweat of the day. He gripped the bottom of his t-shirt on either side and tugged it over his head. It pulls on his well-corded arms, protesting its release from his body. Miguel slipped it over his shoulder and proceeded to release bits of sweat from his thick hair. An adorable gasp fell free from your lips, replaced by your hand over your lush lips, snapping back to attention.

“You’re right, Gabi.”

He took the sputtering hose from her and cracked a begrudging smile. Gabriella waved eagerly-- and to his surprise, you waved back. If it wasn’t the hot sun beating down your face, it was the embarrassment on your face. You settled the sunglasses on the cute crook of your nose. With that, Gabriella helps him wash the car until her most hated part, drying it with old towels and bits of Miguel’s ripped old shirts.

“Hola!”

“Coño,” Miguel cursed in surprise, turning around to face you. In your hand was a clear plastic bag stuffed full of the filled corn husks, warmth steamed its sides. Miguel glanced down at the bag in your comparatively soft hands, drawing his sweaty shirt over his cut muscles to wipe away the sweat that slicked his dusky skin.

“I brought you and your lindita tamales.”

“Tamales!” Gabriella cooed, her hands cradling a limonada. They made it together, like clockwork every Sunday. “I love tamales!”

“Don’t old neighbors bring new one’s food?” Miguel bit out, a bit annoyed. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate food, it would save him countless bright-ass early meals dragging himself out of bed to make Gabriella something with school right around the corner. He’s annoyed at that star-bright smile you have whipped across your face. It stirred excitement he thought he killed a long time ago. “Or are you just a show-off?”

“I teach first grade at the school across the street,” you ignored his snark and looked none the more bothered by it. There’s some magic in a woman that didn’t feed into his shit. You provided Miguel with a name that felt familiar to all the orientation packets he received just this week. “Ya tú sabes, umm, at Carillo’s.”

Of course.

“That’s where I go!” Gabriella beams. “I’m Gabriella O’Hara and I’m going to be in first grade, right papi? This is my papi. His name is Miguel.”

Damn it all. Miguel slaps his sweaty shirt on the top of the car. You kneel down, offering her up the tamales instead of Miguel. He blinks through his sudden irritation, realizing that he’s fucked now. Gabriella grabs the plastic bag, giggling delightfully over them.

“Then maybe you’ll be in my class, Miss O’Hara.”

When he checks her orientation paperwork-- there it is. He suddenly felt the pressure of the ordeal, of the pretty next-door neighbor who wore flowy dresses and apparently, loved muscles. His eye darted out to the window, the movers zipping off in a whir of color, leaving you just there, spinning around in the driveway of your new home, nearly too sun-bright.

Maybe it’s tied to being a father, but Miguel notices little things you do. Some are ineffectual. Others are dangerous. You leave your bedroom window wide open as you change. Miguel sat outside on Gabriella’s swing on his second cup of coffee for the day when he noticed it for the first time.

You come in from your shower and scurry about your room nearly naked. Then, cupping your breasts between your hands, you whirled around for a set of underwear. From this far, he can’t quite make out the color. It might be red. Not a poppy red, but a deep, soothing red he recognizes from his dead wife’s wardrobe.

He wasn’t sure why you wouldn’t just change in the bathroom, but in any case, it was… dangerous. Any freak walking by could see you changing. Mimi’s room had very well-used blinds and yours did not. He turns his attention back to the newspaper on his lap. Nueva York stalker confesses to stabbing murder in five-year-old cold case. He scrunched his nose at the news and drank a coffee that had long since gone cold.

Sometime later, your front door swung open. Mimi busted through, a little girl with long black twists and black eyes that held a similar excitement for the weekend. It was her papi time. Gabriella doesn’t have that luxury, two homes full of warmth. Just one, with a papi who loved her more than life itself. Miguel hopes it’s enough. He left his newspaper on the bench as you settled her in the car, making his jog across the street.

“You should buy blinds,” Miguel said the second you shut the door. You jumped, your hand on the locket on your chest.

“Ay dios, it’s just you. You shouldn’t walk up on a woman like that, Miguel,” you laughed. “Especially not a single mother.”

“You’re painfully oblivious. Buy some blinds for your room. It isn’t safe.”

Dry as his tone was, it was laced with concern. If there was no one in your life to tell you what he thought was obvious, he would. “You saw me? How much did you... see?”

He responds with a dull stare, his gaze falling to the red strap of your bra that set slightly off-kilter along your slight shoulders. You sucked in a breath to calm yourself, your heart beating at a rapid pace behind your modest shirt. You reached up to hide the strap. A frown marred his contrite features.

“You look beautiful in red,” he found himself muttering, pushing off of the back of the car without another word. He beat himself up for that-- stupid, stupid response. Because of course you know you look gorgeous. He didn’t need to say it out loud.

“Gracias, papi,” you called after him.

He hoped he was not flung into the creep category after that winning display.

You bought blinds for your window and a swing for Mimi’s new, sturdy tree. Its long arms offer some reprieve from the heat, casting a shadow on the small house. It wasn't long before you spent days on heaps of homework from the kids and a glitter-bright pen to grade spelling tests.

It's nice to have a little bit of company as he works on cars and yard work, even if you watch him like a voyeur, blushing if he notices, gasping if he plays into this new little game. At some point, he voided his shirts altogether. It’s not long before Gabriella has a game of her own to play.

“Psst, Lyla. Vente, Lyla.”

Gabriella sits boredly in the shop after school. Sometimes in his office, other times in the shop during breaks. One of his technicians, Lyla, sat on an upside-down bucket by Miguel’s side as he worked on a car. This time, it was a stupid simple fix. The idiot ripped off their bumper parking too far on a curb. Lyla sat in gold coveralls, undoubtedly grinning behind that black mask slapped across her face. He didn’t need to look away from the clips he was applying to know they were both up to shit.

“Yeah?”

“Papi has a crush on my teacher. I think she could be my new mami. If--”

“Miguel has a crush?” His other tech, Peter chirped up with a hunk of sandwich in his fingertips. How was he always slacking off and eating? Miguel didn't know, but he was. “I can't believe it. He hasn’t had a crush since Tem--”

“I don’t have a crush,” Miguel responded. “Less scheming, more homework, kid. She told me you’re behind on schoolwork.”

She does so well on spelling tests, Miguel, you told him at parent-teacher conferences. But she never turns in homework.

Gabriella was not behind because she was stupid. She was behind because she was a stubborn little child who, Miguel knew, was trying to set him up. Lyla abandoned the bucket to walk over near Gabriella’s unicorn table, pulling out a microsized table and looking down at the stupid simple homework. Single-digit numbers were a painful waste of time to a kid who loved math.

“She’s single?”

“Yup,” Gabi chirped, scratching away at her coloring page with a fat purple crayon. “Mimi told me.”

“No boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend. I double-checked. And get this, she said she would come help me with homework.”

“Lyla.” Miguel shoved the opposite end of the bumper in place, securing it carefully. Lyla was bent down by Gabriella. So Papi has more time to see her! Gabriella whispered. He may not know what you’re saying, but he knows it’s bad by the way she looks at him. As though she were a cat might with a glass it was about to shatter on the floor. “You can go home now.”

His daughter doesn’t need any more of her devilish attributes.

“You fucked it alright, mujer. What did you hit?”

Miguel twisted a bit of the sidewall between his fingers to gauge the depth of the hole. Never mind that the back passenger wheel whistled away until it ran flat. It wasn’t the first time someone brought him a car that was fucked. It was the first time you had.

You never asked him for anything, not at the price of your pride. You simply… made it work. Just like Miguel made childcare work by leaving his shop to pick Gabriella up and leaving her bored as fuck every weekday until he could close up shop.

Today, Mimi and Gabriella were inside, playing with dolls after a warm dinner of arroz blanco and fatty pork chops. He wasn’t much a fan of your sickly sweet platano, but he tried it tonight after Gabriella hounded him. Don’t be rude, papi! He’s gotten used to coming home on Wednesday to dinner. It’s something that he realizes he’s missed: having someone to come home to.

“A pothole,” you murmured shyly. His forehead rippled into wrinkles, holding the chunk of broken-off rubber between his fingertips. He rubbed the exhaustion out of his dark eyes, minding the nervous twiddling of your fingers.

“A pothole,” he repeated after you. No matter how many times he considered it, it did not fit. His body was ripe with aggravated energy. He’s too tired for this. The shit he’d seen in his shop and you expected him to believe that you hit-- a pothole? “Qué mierda.”

Miguel set his hands on his hip, rolled on his heel, and stepped back to inspect his future work. His body thrummed, a tightness pulling with the sight of your shy smile. The truth tittered on your luscious little lips.

“I may or may not have hit those rocks by Doña Díaz’s casita.” One look around the street revealed the chunky, pointy rocks you referenced. Miguel flicked the bit of rubber onto the top of the car and looked at you. You were guilty as the day was long. “They weren’t that far off the curb before! I know that it’s bad. Do you think you could-- fix it?”

“You’re going to have to replace those two,” Miguel gestured. “What, did you not see the massive rocks on the side of the road? What were you doing? Eres una mama, you have to pay attention, por dios. You could have been hurt.”

Your eyes darted to the wheels. The nervousness was strong, nearly all-consuming, bidding you to shut up. Though it was a good question, the shame that flecked your eyes was enough to cause Miguel to move on. He knew you were likely inattentive, your mind hovering somewhere else than the quiet cul-de-sac.

“I… had a bad date, Miguel. I was upset and dizzy and… Don’t tell anyone, please.”

The pain of being a woman. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his large hand warm on your slight shoulder. A pulse of warmth rushed through his hand as you leaned in, your cheek plastered to his stained top. He smelled of oil and sweat, but somehow, you find it comforting. Your hands come over his back, tugging on the dark coveralls.

“It’s alright,” Miguel sighed. He'd tell you not to pick shit men-- but sometimes, as he knew, that didn't matter at all. “I’ll have it fixed.”

“I don’t have that much money, Miguel,” you began. “I have to take care of the kids, my house, Mimi. I…”

“No te preocupes. You can do something else for me.”

You drew in a small, choked breath. The type that settled in your chest and did not leave. Not until Miguel’s arms wound over your waist to soothe you through the pain and pressed a kiss that lasted entirely too long to the top of your head. It’s the first time he wants another.

“She is dating,” Peter said. “You know what that means? It means you’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one!”

"I'm not concerned about it."

The one, Miguel shook his head as he paced past the car he was propping up. He never heard anything more ludicrous. There was no such thing as the one. There was only a range of possibilities to pick from. At any point, life can happen. Then your one is gone-- and you’re left with only the memories and a body to bury. Still, as he clambered underneath the car, he found that he quite didn’t like the thought of you out with anyone else... especially not men who may or may not spike your drink.

“You should ask her to a date. Like, more than playing house with sticky kids and lasagna.”

“She’s never made me lasagna.”

Peter sloppily suckled on his fingers, the juice running down his thin wrists. “Then what was lunch?”

“Pastelón,” he answers bitterly. “It’s… plantain lasagna.”

“Okay, I thought you didn’t like--”

“I don't-- I eat it because she spends time on it.”

Peter sucked in a breath, eyes wide. He’s about to say something terribly unuseful, something like how Miguel has it bad. Miguel knows he does, half-formed images of what a family could be every day he went to pick Gabriella up, homework done, and happily fed. A feat in itself.

In place of that, though, were the car’s melded, mechanical squeals. He has but a moment and a half-formed plan that goes up in smoke the next second that it falls on his arm. He hears Peter’s half-formed, panicked shout to Lyla and recalls the flurry of steps and medical attention sometime later.

Admittedly, he did tell you to be careful.

When he wakes up, so does everyone else. Lyla chastizes him with her hands balled up on her hips, Peter sobs almost twice as much as Gabriella does until the two are dead asleep against his bed. Miguel’s eyes have rolled way too far.

“Is he finally asleep?” you peep into his heavy hospital door with a ginger knock of your knuckles. Miguel throws a look at Peter’s squishy face, half slumped over.

“Hermosa, I thought he’d never stop,” he grumbled.

“You scared him.”

Tch. Miguel watched you pick up Gabriella, settling her on the stiff pull-out bed. He foggily asked you what time it was, close to the end of visiting hours. He’d need to arrange something for Gabi with Lyla taking care of the shop. It itched at his throat.

“Gabi too. Should I…”

“Take her home for me,” he grumbled. “I’ll be back tomorrow. It’s just a broken arm.”

“You coughed up blood, Miggy. You could have died if Peter wasn’t there.”

Miggy. You finally used the nickname somewhere between Wednesday dinner dates and a car slumping on him. Miguel throws a growl to the side, using his non-fucked hand to pet the top of Peter’s head. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you were right.

“What happens if… something happens to you?”

“With Gabi?” he asks.

"Sí. With everything."

You nod, looking idly at his little daughter, still in her school clothes. You brought her as soon as school was over, soothed the panic in her voice, the thought of becoming an orphan just because the car had cracked his arm. She wouldn’t have remembered her mother’s death, it was far too long ago now.

“Lyla. Why the face? If you’re jealous, know that was the agreement with my wife before she was murdered.”

You hadn’t known you were making a face, but you were to the trained eye. Some small pout of your lip, tears welling at the corner of your eyes. Miguel shoves himself up on the bed, straining sore muscles. It was going to be a long night. A longer month or two until he was up and running again.

“I’m not making a face. It's just... You were reckless when you're usually so careful. I'm wondering why. I'm sorry.”

"It's fine," Miguel urged you to come closer. "Come here."

You slid into his chair, tentatively sneaking your hand on top of his. Miguel wanted to tell you more. There was not another friend nearly so close, one that would take care of everything and anything he needed. He's suddenly aware of his situation. It would be difficult to make a woman secure that he'd not tied down yet. You clearly care-- based on the insecurity in your eyes.

You’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one.

He doesn't want to miss his shot. He brought your hand to his lips, straining with a pained little grunt. You stood up to help him, allowing his lips to flutter over the back of your hand in a small kiss at his urging.

“Trust me. She’s not a threat,” he said. “You’ll take Gabi with you?”

“Of course, Miggy. Anything you need.”

Securing a relationship would just have to wait.

The first day back, Miguel sent Gabriella off with Lyla. Mimi is off with her papa, leaving you with nothing but time. He finally saw his projects through without Peter loitering over his shoulder, revitalizing cars with bad radiators and fizzled-out air compressors. As if Peter was the boss and he were the employee. The grease under his fingers feels more like Miguel than any squeaky clean shower you’ve helped him take. Yes, you’ve helped him take. He could have asked Lyla or Peter, but why over-extend their lives when you lived in his home for the past month to take care of Gabriella anyway?

He wonders what you thought, stripping him down to nothing, seeing his naked thighs, watching him clean sensitive bits that, as you lied, you were not looking at. He finds it cute, the way you tried to look away, but of course-- you always snuck a look. You’re nosy by nature. He’s never been ashamed of his body, though. For all the work you did, he thinks you deserve a look.

“Miggy,” you slipped through the side door, your heels clicking over a greased-up floor. He hopes you don’t fall, arms deep in the hood of a shiny dark blue convertible. It’s nearly perfect. “I got your message. You said we need to talk?”

“Don’t slip.”

Miguel whirled a wrench into its place, slammed the hood shut, and rubbed the grease on his hands together. Like it will come off his callouses. Miguel meets you half way, offering you his greased up hand. You look down at his hand, then up to Miguel again. He half thinks you won’t take it, but you do, allowing him to whirl you in a spin before lifting you on top od the hood of the car.

“Ay Miggy--” you cursed, looking down at the car. It shone bright, its smooth metal cold under your bare thighs. He pins you in place as you attempt to wiggle off, nearly jiggling your way onto his lap. “The owner will be mad--”

“It’s mine and I’m not.” He explains. “I know what I want.”

“You want…?”

“For the work on your car.” It’s cute how clueless you act, holding your breath as his fingers course past your bare thighs. You barely manage to choke the words out, your hands inching on his. He replaces himself between your thighs. You both know that you more than made up for the few hundred dollars in repairs with the work you’d done for him in a month. Holding your breath, you nod.

“Tell me.”

“I want a night with you.”

You didn’t know what to say, leaning your trembling fingers up to the bits of dark brown hair that accentuated the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes. You met his eyes, trained on your own, challenging you to respond. Words formed in a mishmash of nonsense on your tongue. You take the chance to press your lips on his, your hand suddenly cradling the side of his face for some stability. You were hardly comfortable on his car, but Miguel didn’t seem to care, biding your lower lip to open and let him in. You relinquish, savoring the distant taste of roasted coffee on his tongue, his fingers teasing along your thighs.

“That’s not an answer,” Miguel pulled back from your lips for an instant. He graces your neck with soft kisses, leaving the occasional bite and tug just in case-- he doesn’t need another man thinking he has so much as a chance. Your big man pins you down onto the car like you were weightless, any willingness to inch away tempered by his mass.

“Depends,” you answered. “I want this to be an every night kind of thing.”

“Consider it a trade.” He chuckled against your neck, the heat from his lips traveled across the valley of your breasts. You complied with his desire and let him slip your breasts free from your romper. His mouth closed his mouth over your nipple. His greasy hands melded your breasts between his desperate hands, tongue prodding your nipple fat. Your legs met his hungry performance by pulling him forward, his scratchy belt against your clothed cunt.

“Careful,” he teased. His hand fell to his bulge, unbuttoning his stained pants. You watched him pull himself free, pulling panties and romper alike to the side of your lips. Your lips parted, much like that very first day you met him, sundered by the sight of his cock. This time, fully hard. He doesn’t enter your cunt-- no, he’s patient, slotting himself between your folds for a teasing grind. His dick twitched in response, eager to finally fuck you. “You’ll fall off.”

“It’s your fault. You could have asked over dinner.” He greets your complaint with a nod, flicking your other breast. He envelops the other nipple between his mouth, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin. You take a long breath, hips leaning up against his firm length.

“Like that would be anything new. We always have dinner,” Miguel murmured in protest. “A far better use of our time is soaking your pretty cunt with my cum on this car before dinner.”

He felt your cunt clench at nothing. His hips, thrusting against your mound, nudged over your wet little folds, knocked against your greedy clit. Before you could respond, Miguel popped off your nipple again, “You like that thought? Going to dinner leaking?”

“Miggy, por dios,” you complained. “Stop dry humping and give it to me.”

He huffed darkly, snatching one of your thighs and leaning back. He spreads your lips, inspecting his work. You were wet, but not just wet, soaking his car. Miguel brought his other palm to wipe your wetness away, jerking himself with the fluid. He tests your reaction by nudging the head of his cock against your unprepared hole.

“Miguel,” you bit out, this time a warning.

“Ya te oigo,” Miguel loomed over you, pinning your shoulder back to his glistening car. You don’t debate him on that, allowing him to say whatever he wants if it would just get him inside. Miguel relinquishes control, pushing inside of your tightness. He bit back a groan, pushing past your body’s resistance, throbbing against your core. Your hands fisted his dirty shirt, cunt split wide on his cock, and glad for it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his hands securing themselves on your hips. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before he pulls nearly free, slamming forth just a moment later. Breath punched out of your throat, his cock rocking your cunt nice and full. You loved this-- looking beautiful and full just for him. He knew it too, “Hermosa.”

Miguel held his arm tight around your thigh, holding you flush against his rutting hips. His balls slapped your ass, pulling tight. You were distantly aware of his thumb at your clit, leaning your hips into his thrusts the best you could. You could only squirm to keep yourself upright on his car despite feeling your body sliding into his. His thumb worked in insistent, tight circles, forcing the pleasure to burrow in your low belly, tightening over him. It’s no marker of your performance, you think, hoping he’d give you another chance to be anything but a toy on his cock.

“No, no puedo--” you whined, your hands dipping under his shirt to scratch at his finely cut muscles, knowing you were about to gush.

“Do it,” Miguel grunts in response, his thumb more insistent. You’re not entirely proud of the way you came, creaming his cock desperately. He held strong, smothering his own groans if only for the pleasure of hearing your passionate cries. You come to moments after, Miguel’s thrusts now intent on his own pleasure.

“Come on, papi,” you worshipped. “Cum in me.”

“Fuck,” Miguel complied, his dirty nails causing sharp indentions on your thigh and hip. His sticky cum fills you in a few deep thrusts, each more forceful than the last, and he’s spent. If he was dirty before, he was filthy now. Miguel catches your lips in a lingering kiss, going soft in your body. He knew the second he pulled out your cum was soaking his now-dented car.

His eyes peeled open to find your gaze on him, tracing fresh superficial scratches on his belly. Of course, you are-- you’re a hungry addict. Miguel pulled himself free and looked for a cloth that wasn’t grease soaked to clean your cunt with. You piece yourself together and slide off his car.

“Let’s go.”

“¿Qué?” he zips himself back into his pants.

“You promised me dinner.”

He sighs-- just as long as it wasn’t lasagna.

There’s something attractive about your love of children.

He thinks it’s likely because he’s never had that himself. His mother was a beast of a woman. Never affectionate. At least, not with him. After his wife’s subsequent death, life proceeded in a vacuum. The years passed: first one. Then six. Then he was here, holding a bundle of jewel-bright roses against an uncharacteristically clean button-up, walking down the dull blue carpet of the beige hallway to the pod that usually held the kids. For all the days you tolerated him smeared and slathered, you deserved a good display.

They were usually alight with noise, rambling on about their latest toy or prattling on about a mommy that Gabriella just did not have. The more she grew, the more important it became to have that for her-- maybe it was more for himself. Today, that hall was dead of life.

“Gabi, I hear your papi,” you called from somewhere inside. He hears her subsequent pitter-patter of feet across the carpet, popping out with Mimi from the door before he can open it. Miguel cocked his head, a sigh working on his lips. They whirled the door shut. Gabi bolted to your would-be desk and slapped her tanned palms on the tabletop.

“Maestra, maestra!”

Ah, damn it all. Miguel’s hand hovers around the knob, chewing on the next thought. He couldn’t really blame the kid for what she was about to say, because he knew exactly what she was about to do.

“¿Mande?”

“I have something to tell you, it’s really important. Papi likes you, did you know my papi really, really likes you?”

There’s a pause. Then a slight, amused giggle from Mimi. It’s short-lived as he pulls open the door, loathing this dumb thing called Teacher’s Week that leaves him with a bundle of flowers and instant regret.

“Sí, Gabriella. I know he does. I like him too. He’s so cute.”

If he weren’t so dark, he’d worry about the flush in his face with the embarrassment of being outed by his little girl. He stares at your hands on Gabriella’s, then at the small sea of desks and colorful name tags to break some of the tension, hardening his face to shield it from the embarrassment. Was he really so obvious?

“Hola Miggy.”

You scoot out of your chair.

“Hola,” he sighs, remembering he was holding flowers. He slides them into your hands, hooking his hands on his slender hips. “This is… Gabi wanted to give you flowers.”

“I never said that,” she chirped, bouncing his way. “You said--”

“Gabriella.” Miguel hisses, his tone sharp at her interjection. She goes dead silent by Mimi's side, staring up at him with watery eyes. He jerks his head in the direction of the quartet of desks she sits at. “Go get your things.”

“I think Papi is embarrassed,” you whisper, crouching down to rub her little back, soothing down her milky white top. “I’ll talk to him and make it better, okay? Go with Mimi.”

“Okay.”

Mimi bounded off behind Gabi, stuffing her bag with her colorful work and chunky crayons. Miguel exhaled air, staring at her powdery blue backpack for something other than the complete and utter embarrassment that yet someone else had called him out. If it wasn't Peter, it was his daughter.

Had he been this obvious the whole time?

“Don’t be too hard on her tonight,” He peered down at you, small in the grand scheme of his height and musculature. You pecked a small kiss on his lips, stroking his week-old stubble, just enough to cool Miguel’s teetering nerves. “It’ll be better when she finds out.”

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #miguel o'hara smut #atsv fic #atsv fanfiction #miguel/reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel fic #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse imagine #across the spiderverse fic #spider 2099 x reader

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 11 months

Text

Your Friendly Neighbor

Pairing: John “Soap” Mactavish x introvert!reader

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, horrible Scottish (I tried), Soap mainly goes by John

Words: 3k

Synopsis: Soap comes home from leave and realizes he has a new neighbor…

Based off this post by @fortunatelyuniquepeach check it out. basically just Soap with an introverted/shy/maybe social anxiety reader

You are currently reading part one

Soap didn’t particularly like going back home when he was on leave.

Nothing was wrong with the neighborhood he lived in, in fact, it was picture perfect compared to the shit he’s seen in the countries he’s been deployed to. The neighbors were nice to him whenever he was home, especially since it was a very small neighborhood with only a handful of people living in it, rent was affordable and the place wasn’t falling apart, and the neighborhood was quite beautiful as well as quiet.

For most people, this was their dream place of living. A good neighborhood to bring up a family and perhaps get away from the everyday stress that was life; being surrounded by kind people and the ability to walk to a few local pubs without issue, sounded like it was straight out of a fairytale. A lot of people would kill to live in a place like this.

Soap hated it.

He didn’t hate the people who lived around him, don’t mistake him, but the lack of movement and noise cut through him more than any bullet could. He was used to the chaos of a battlefield, used to the violence of war that killed men without mercy and the constant bloodshed that surrounded him.

The apple pie life just wasn’t who he was anymore.

He always told himself that he didn’t belong in the calm and quiet life of normalcy and believed that it wasn’t for him either, not after what he’s seen. He belonged on the battlefield, covered in someone else’s blood.

“John, you’ve been working out here all morning!” Ms. Brown, one of Soap’s elderly neighbors who watched his flat for him when he was gone, scolded him as she stepped out on her porch. “You just got back.”

“I’m almost done.” Soap smiled up at her as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

He was dirty from the sweat and grass covering him from having mowed her entire lawn the moment he had put his things down in his flat. He had been too worked up and wired from work still but her lawn needed to be done, so instead of taking the rest he needed, he went to work.

“I’ll get your money.” Ms. Brown said and he quickly shook his head.

“S’alright-”

Ms. Brown was gone before he could even finish his sentence and he couldn’t help but frown as he realized that he was going to be forced to accept money he didn’t want. He could never try to justify “stealing” money from an old woman even after he decided to become an impromptu landscaper.

He sighed, wiping the sweat off his face with his shirt before he pulled the lawnmower into the garage. He tried his hardest to clean himself up while sweeping the grass off the pathway, but the cut blades stuck to him like glue no matter how many times he tried to shake off his clothes or smack it off his hands.

Soap would’ve used the hose to wash himself, and nearly did, if he hadn’t been distracted by a car driving by. Normally he wouldn’t have thought anything of it but the car turned into the driveway of the flat that was right next to his, the one that hadn’t had anyone living in it the entire time he's lived in his flat.

He had a new neighbor.

He was expecting someone much older than you, since almost the entire neighborhood was made up of the elderly, but when you stepped out of the car he couldn’t help but stare at you with wide eyes.

You were young, probably the same age as him, and quite good looking, though he was just more focused on the fact that someone had moved in beside him and he didn’t even know.

You were oblivious to him as you walked to the back of your car and opened the trunk. You began to pull out groceries, stacking as many of them on your arms as you can, and dropped them on your doorstep. You were trying to make it one trip, but there were just too many and before Soap had even realized it, he was crossing the street. Before he knew it he was standing behind you.

“When’d ye move in?” He greeted you a little loudly.

You nearly dropped the groceries in your hands as you stared at him with wide eyes. You took him in, looking at the sweat and grease stains covering his clothes along with the mass amounts of grass stuck to him, including in the shaggy mohawk that sat on top of his head.

You looked uncertain and caught off guard especially as he leaned closer to you.

He couldn’t help it. He was too curious for his own good and up this close he could see how beautiful you really were. He tried not to stare, he could see you glancing away from him awkwardly as if you were trying to find a way out of the sudden conversation you were put in, but he was strangely enamored by you.

You opened your mouth a few times trying to find the right words to say as he waited patiently for you to say something.

“...Last week?” You answered in a soft tone as you stared at him.

“Oh, well I’m yer neighbor right next to ya.” He gestured to the other flat. “We share a wall, I just got back this mornin’, must’ve been after you left.”

You nodded as he continued to explain how he could’ve missed you this morning, though you weren’t catching most of it. In fact, you were having a hard time understanding what exactly he was saying and you could only catch a few words here and there, making it so you had to piece together what he was saying.

You stood there and shifted on your feet as you glanced at your flat a few times.

The more he spoke, the more confused you looked but Soap was too caught up in talking to you that he didn’t notice. What he did notice however, was that you were starting to struggle to hold the groceries in your hands so he immediately turned his attention to it.

“Need help?” He offered, gesturing to the groceries in your hands. “Here.”

Before you could really even protest, he took the groceries in your hands, and the rest in your car, and walked towards your front door without struggle. He picked up the ones that you had placed down by the door as well, not at all bothered by the weight of the straps against his skin as he waited for you to let him.

“Do ya like the neighborhood?” He wondered as you came up and unlocked the front door to your flat.

“It’s nice.” You stepped inside your apartment. “Everyone’s friendly.”

You went to take the groceries back from him but Soap instead stepped inside with a flash of a smile, leaving you staring at him completely dumbfounded. You weren’t particularly looking for a chat, especially when you were still in the moving process.

Soap glanced at all of the boxes still stacked in your flat and the disarray of items strewn across every surface. He didn’t really pay much attention to it as he wandered into the kitchen and set the groceries down on the counters, waiting for you as he took in your flat.

Standing inside your kitchen gave him a strange feeling, a better strange feeling, than his entire flat ever could. Maybe it was because he hadn’t really stepped inside his flat or maybe it was because yours looked far more lived in than his. There was personality, your personality, everywhere and he could just imagine you piddling around making a lot more noise than he ever could by himself.

You’d make lunch and maybe sit in the living room, maybe even put something on the telly while you do it, filling up the empty space with life. How often would you do laundry and does your washer squeak the same way his does when he puts a load in it?

He wasn’t sure why the thought of you doing normal things in your own flat made him feel warm on the inside but he quickly pushed it away when you stepped into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about the mess…” You trailed off as you gestured to the many boxes stacked in the kitchen.

“Movin’s a hassle.” He dismissed you, completely unbothered and in fact feeling more happy about it than anything else.

Soap expected you to say something but you didn’t. He watched as you stood in front of him while you fidgeted with your keys between your fingers while you awkwardly avoided eye contact with him. The silence dragged on and expected you to do something about it, to start unloading your groceries to where they needed to be but you shifted on your feet as if you were debating on doing it.

He watched you for a moment, not really understanding why you were being so quiet when he finally came to his senses.

The fact that Ms. Brown had failed to mention to him this morning that you had moved in, said enough about how much you spoke to the neighbors so of course you were going to be a little awkward when he had basically barged inside you home to help you, in good faith, when you most likely had just wanted to be alone.

He couldn’t help the slight burning feeling he felt across the back of his neck before he ran a hand through his shaggy mohawk.

“I’m John, by the way.” He outstretched his hand for you to take with a warm smile. “Forgot to introduce myself when I was helping ya.”

You introduced yourself and very hesitantly took his hand to shake. He didn’t squeeze or shake very hard despite the fact that having your softer hand against his making him involuntarily smile as a shiver nearly ran up his spine.

He definitely didn’t want to scare you off now or make things worse between the two of you when you were going to be neighbors for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t too worried however, if he could make Ghost forgive him for the many times he did the same thing, then he could make it up to you.

“I got excited, ya know? Seeing that I had a new neighbor and forgot that not everyone’s as chatty as me.”

“It’s okay…thank you for helping with the groceries.”

Soap nodded and stopped himself from saying anything else so he could give you the peace you wanted. He went to make his way out of the kitchen, about to give you a goodbye, when his boot connected with a bucket full of water that sat in front of the sink.

His eyebrows knitted together when he looked down to see that there were a bunch of damp towels also sitting on the floor by the sink as well. He crouched down to see that the pipe was in fact broken with a large crack in it.

“I’ve been meaning to call somebody.” You said but Soap tutted and shook his head.

“Ah, no, let me. I’ll pop over, get my tools and fix ya up.” He turned to look at you with a grin without even thinking about it. “Free of charge.”

You chewed on your lip and looked as if you wanted to protest but you didn’t, which made him smile even more.

He rushed over to his flat in no time, unsure of why he was really this eager to help you out, and grabbed his tools. Before you knew it, he was underneath your sink fixing the pipe as if this was his job rather than the heinous shit he has done over the years.

There was a smile stuck on his face as you put your groceries away while he worked. He wasn’t sure why, even as he chatted your ear off about the neighborhood, not expecting you to reply but not wanting to end the conversation with you.

The little hums of interest and short replies from you were enough for him to keep him going. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Ghost but you were much different, a lot warmer and less rough around the edges which was more inviting than his lieutenant but not any less interesting to speak to. There was so much he wanted to know about you, so much he wanted to ask but he stopped himself because he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Got any friends here yet?” He wondered and peered at you from under the sink.

“I haven’t really had the time.” You looked a little unsure, maybe even embarrassed as you avoided looking at him.

“Well I’ll be around for a little while, so we’ve got plenty of time.”

You stared at him with knitted eyebrows and opened your mouth to say something as he checked to make sure the patch job held up even though he was confident it would. He ran the water in the sink and frowned when it was ice cold against his fingers, sending you a quick disapproving glance as if you had neglected to tell him about it.

“Gonna freeze yourself to death with that.” He shook his head and made his way to the water heater.

“You really don’t have to-”

“You’re off your head for thinking I’ll leave you without hot water.”

Soap was quick with fixing up your water heater and made sure to make it as hot as possible without racking up your bills. Seeing the grateful and relieved look in your eyes when tested the water made his chest warm with pride.

He would’ve stayed to chat your ear off more, he didn’t want this to be the only time he saw you or got to speak with you. He hoped that you wouldn’t close yourself off in your flat or only give him short polite answers if he ever caught you outside, he didn’t want that.

He wanted much more from you, a lot more than just being neighbors who occasionally waved at each other and that was it.

“My work here’s done.” He hid his disappointment behind a wink that made you swallow hard. “For now.”

“Thank you so much.” You gave him a small, but genuine smile that had him staring at your lips for a little longer than he should. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothin’.”

“I can’t not pay you.”

Soap chuckled and shook his head. There was no way in hell he would ever think to take your money, no matter how pretty you looked when you gave him a pleading look as if you wanted to burn your hard earned cash on something like this. He could tell that you weren’t going to take no as an answer but he was prepared for something like that.

He hummed and asked for a piece of paper and a pen. When you gave him something, he quickly scribbled his number down on it and gave it to you, stifling a laugh when you looked up at him surprised.

“If ya really want to pay me, call me when ya need help or when ya want to chat.” He offered and you stared intensely at the piece of paper. “No sense in keeping yourself lonely ‘specially here, Ms. Brown won’t let ya.”

“Thank you, John.” You smiled again.

Soap wasn’t sure why hearing his name come out of your mouth made him feel…different. He didn’t throw his call sign around in this neighborhood, that’s what everyone here knew him as, and yet the moment the name slipped off your tongue it was like he had been pulled back into reality.

Suddenly he was all too aware of the fact that he hadn’t given himself a break since he got back. Exhaustion pulled on his muscles and on his mind, there was nothing buzzing inside of his mind that told him he had to keep working.

It made him tense up. He didn’t like that, he didn’t want to stop moving, he had to do something or else he was sure he would fall apart at the seams.

“I’ll see you around, hen.” He kept a smile on his face, hiding the knots in his stomach.

Before long he was standing in the middle of his living room, unsure of what to do.

There was too much quiet in his flat that the noise inside of his head completely took over his senses. It was consuming him every second he stared at the floor while he fidgeted with his fingers as if the stimulation would provide some sort of comfort.

It choked him, making it harder to breathe as he found himself stuck frozen in his own flat as if something had locked him there to torture him until he would eventually find himself too exhausted to even think anymore. He couldn’t even go into his room to get his journal to write down the endless thoughts running through his mind, the dark and disgusting thoughts that made him feel like a wolf among sheep.

He needed something, anything to keep him from spiraling and yet-

A crash from the other side of the wall and the sound of you cursing to yourself abruptly brought him out of his head.

He blinked a few times, the tension leaving his body as he left out a few deep breaths which filled his lungs with air that seemed to go into his veins and cleanse him of whatever dirtiness that had filled them.

You made another noise and he looked at your shared wall, imagining that you were most likely unpacking again. You must’ve dropped something and he hoped that it was nothing valuable but he couldn’t have been more grateful for the fact that you had made some kind of noise.

In fact, the more you moved around in your flat, your footsteps muffled as you walked around, the more at ease he felt because it filled up that dreaded quiet he had come to hate so much.

He’s not sure how long he stayed there just listening to you, but he was sure he looked like an idiot with the soft smile he had on his face.

Being home didn’t seem too bad anymore.

Link to part 2

A/N: Not my best work but that's okay. This might turn into a mini series? Might make it a three parter who knows. First time really writing for Soap so I'm sorry if he seems a little off character, hopefully I'll get better at him <3

Tags: @cathnoneofyourbusiness @lillianastuff @sofasoap

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap x you #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #mw2 soap #cod soap #soap cod #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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radioisntdead · 28 days

Note

Hi can I request alastor x Vox's sister reader? Reader isn't a tech demon like Vox and kinda the opposite of when it comes to technology.

Basically the equivalent of someone who's so bad at cooking they could burn water except with technology. And maybe Vox didn't know they were down in hell and only found out well spying on Alastor and reader accidently does that destroys a tech thing.

You dont have to do it if you'd dint want to and sorry its so long I hope it's not to weird or specific.

Good evening My dear! I may have gone slightly overboard, I had fun with this request!

You know where to find me, I know where to look.

Alastor x female reader, Vox & sister reader

Warnings!!

Vox being a creepy lil tv creeper, implied Radiosilence, Alastor plots to take out the reader at one point, both reader and Alastor are on the Aroace spectrum, Am I projecting a little? Yes

Reader has beef with microwaves, not proof read apologies for any spelling mistakes, Leaning into fanon territory here! Ending a little scrambled because it's 7 am and I am supposed to be up in three hours.

Vox's sister was something he didn't talk about often or at all, maybe a brief whisper of "[Name] would like this"

when he saw something she would like but nothing more, while Vox had managed to live up until the 50's you had died before him, a unspecified illness had taken your life, he suspected it was from you over working yourself but he couldn't prove it, all he knew was that you were more then likely in heaven with the angels, probably doing whatever you please.

He'd like to see his sister again after all the two of you were little troublemakers growing up, sneakily stealing the freshly baked cookies your mother made, spraying the neighbors son with the hose when he shoved Vox onto the ground or throwing rotten eggs at the neighbors other son who tried to pull your pigtails, although you did fight a fair amount, with you chasing him down with a baseball bat after he had broken the head off of your doll one time.

When the war took the life of your father and heartbreak took your mother's years after, when the two of you were in the middle of your teenage years, the two of you only had each other, you had each other's backs, even if you disapproved of your brothers obsession with the up and coming TV technology, it worked in his favor once he landed a job working with it, managing to scramble up the connections to get you a nice job as some guys secretary, it paid well and the guy wasn't stupid enough to mess around with Vox's sister.

To his knowledge you didn't get involved in the field politics like he did, where he trampled over the weak ones, stealing ideas and parading them off as his own when his own ideas were rejected, And the other things he did to get to the top, you were a decent person, a woman far beyond her time one would say.

However unknown to him his sister was causing up trouble in her own right, finding the weak spots of her bosses and exploiting them via blackmail or something amongst those lines, and if they refused to be blackmailed by her? Not even giving her a pretty penny to keep her mouth shut about their affairs? Their deals? Their tax fraud? Well the newspaper would have a field day with the scoop she anonymously dropped off.

Both siblings were doomed to fall below, maybe if they had perished around the same time they wouldn't had been separated, maybe she would've even joined the Vee's!

But they perished separately, years apart.

You met Alastor not long after dying, the deer radio host befriending you rather quickly.

Deer were ironically one of your favorite animals, and you always did prefer the radio as opposed to your brothers television, maybe that's why you foolishly put your trust in a friendship with Alastor, that was repaid with the Radio demon reluctantly falling for your charms, you falling for his,and not with him trying to eat you or making a deal with him and taking your soul.

Vox similarly had met Alastor after he had perished, and they were on friendly terms up until Alastor had, to be blunt rejected Vox's proposal, and then vanished for seven years.

Not once in those years of supposed friendship did Vox learn about you, he didn't even know the radio demon had a spouse, let alone that it was his own sister,

It's not that Alastor was ashamed of you or anything, he simply didn't think Vox was important enough to introduce you too, even when you were considered just a good friend and not his spouse, he considered Vox a supposed, one friend but not to the level of Rosie for example,

Rosie was the first person to know about you

Most types of modern technology would fizzle out or explode in your hands, you learned this the hard way after purchasing a flip phone and it exploded in your hands once you turned it on.

Alastor did NOT let you live that down, saying that it was your fault for trusting in faulty modern technology, eventually after some experimenting with random technology it was discovered that anything from the 2000's forward were practically expensive bombs for you,

Alastor took great joy in snatching up modern electronics and placing them in your hands to be rid of them before taking care of the unfortunate sinner that owned them, either making a snack out of them or taking their soul in a deal.

You didn't mind it much, was it somewhat inconvenient? Yes without a doubt, everyone kept their electronics away from you, you could be talking to Angel and he'd slide his phone far away from you, was that a bit much? Probably but if he pissed you off enough for whatever reason you could just reach over and BOOM no more phone!

Vox being the nosey control freak he was, used his devices to lurk around the hotel, and for plot related reasons managed to sneak into the hotel undetected with a remote control car with a camera the size of a hot wheels, at first he didn't see much, The princess and her girlfriend having a little date, The cat bartender and Angel Dust chatting while drinking, Niffty traumatizing baby bugs, blah blah boring stuff to him,

However he perked up as he spotted the radio demon, in the kitchen for whatever reason, cooking away, coat put to the side, sleeves rolled up, tail exposed, chopping up celery, bell peppers, garlic and onions while humming a tune,

Vox watched in stalkerish excitement as Alastor chopped the vegetables to prep for the meal he was making, it wasn't anything to be excited about but he was anyway,

Vox's expression changed from excitement to displeasure as someone walked into the kitchen, Joyfully calling out for Alastor while holding up a bag of what looked to be groceries,

Alastor turned, tail moving swiftly back and forth at the sight of his beloved spouse you moved forwards, just barely brushing against Vox's little spy car causing it to burst into flames.

Simultaneously causing Vox to break out in a sting of curses while you and Alastor looked at each other in confusion, before your face twisted into one of frustration, assuming you had bumped into some type of kitchen gizmo

"Can I NOT touch kitchen appliances anymore?!"

"Settle down dearest, and put down the produce please."

Vox came back at later date with another hot wheel camera, managing to sneak into the hotel when Angel dust opened the hotel doors to leave, this time Vox was determined to avoid whatever had caused the first device to explode,

There wasn't anything worth wild for him, The princess was scrambling with papers, the king of hell surrounded himself with ducks for some apparent reason?? Alastor was nowhere to be seen, but the person he was with in the kitchen was, sat at the bar listening to Niffty explain fanfiction while the bartender nursed a drink muttering something about being too sober for that.

Vox squinted as he zoomed closer to you, he stared for a few minutes before recognizing you as his sister, you looked different then when you were alive but it was without a doubt you.

Why the fuck were you down here?! And why were you in the hotel?! Did you know he was here?! Probably not considering he had a TV for a head now and went by Vox instead of whatever normal human name he had before.

Vox observed for the next couple of days, catching on that you and most modern technology did NOT mix, you had taken down twenty-five of his hot wheel cameras just by nicking them, you also had weird beef with Microwaves, sometimes they worked for you, and others times they fizzled down and refuses to work for you,

It annoyed you to no end especially when you were trying to eat a microwaved meal behind Alastor's back.

He wondered what would happen if you touched his head at all, would he explode? He didn't want to find out.

You hadn't changed much from when the two of you were alive, maybe more outgoing and confident but you were still the sister he grew up with, he debated on whether he should reach out, what would he say?

'hey sister, it's been a couple of decades I've been watching you? Join the Vees!'

that's not a normal thing to say, Not to mention Alastor more then likely wouldn't let him get near you

He found that you and Alastor were close, too close for his liking, cooking together, the two of you would dance together, Alastor would bite you when the two of you were allegedly alone, and the two of you even shared a room!

Was Vox in denial about the obvious? Yes, yes he was.

On one side there was that sibling protectiveness on the other he was jealous because why didn't Alastor treat him like he did you when they were on good terms?! Why didn't he? Was this why he turned him down on joining the Vee's?

Was it because of you? How long have the two of you known each other? Why didn't Alastor mention you to him? Did Alastor not trust him during their friendship? Of course he didn't, he was a heartless cannibalistic deer with gross deer hooves,

Clearly you were being held hostage or something, maybe you sold your soul to Alastor?

Alastor was clearly using you for his own entertainment like he had with Vox during their friendship, after All Alastor could never love another person, he was incapable of it.

But he wasn't incapable of it, you weren't an exception to Alastor's Alastory-ness, and he wasn't an exception to your you-ness

Neither you or Alastor were big on the whole romance thing,

You, in life didn't care much for it preferring to focus your time and energy on blackmailing folks and saving enough money to do whatever your heart desired and Alastor was similar, only instead of blackmail and money it was his radioshow and murder.

And that didn't change after death, even after you met Alastor.

You honestly couldn't pinpoint when you and Alastor fell for each other, it came slow like a horror movie where a serial killer was coming up behind the victim, no one noticing the killer until it was too late,

It got you first, at first you thought he just got bumped up from a good friend to a close friend, then a best friend and that's why you were so fond of him,

Until you started wishing to do unholy things,

Like holding hands, or petting his ears!

The minute you figured out what the budding feelings that had begun to weave themselves inside you,

you resulted to shoving them down, hopefully hiding them away until they disappeared completely, or until you gaslit yourself enough that they never existed in the first place, that it was just heartburn or something,

but that didn't happen, they just got stronger up until the point where it hurt, until you had to physically distance yourself from Alastor in hopes they subsided.

Alastor on the other hand, had it slightly worse,

For him it didn't hit him in small gaps like it did for you, it hit him all at once,

he legitimately thought he had somehow gotten deathly ill, perhaps he had gotten cursed? Maybe he wasn't as fond of you as he thought and instead hated your guts for whatever reason?

But if that was the case why did he yearn for your presence? Especially after you for some reason distanced yourself from him?

Why did he desire to chat with you? Why did he wish to cook you a meal and have a lovely dinner with just the two of you??

He eventually went to Rosie, his most trusted friend with this problem

his smile was strained when Rosie laughed at his troubles and told him he was, shockingly more then likely in love.

He acted like he was just told he had an incurable disease, like rabies.

Eventually he got to the point where he decided he should just take you out, in a murder way he couldn't afford a weak spot that he couldn't control,

However he couldn't go through with it when you showed up unannounced to his home, a frown present on your lovely face, you acted like a guilty child who had just stolen a batch of freshly baked cookies, you carried two folders and a board, and you asked him to hear you out as he let you inside,

You began to set up what one can only describe as one of those conspiracy theory boards, only instead of a conspiracy it was explaining how you managed to fall for Alastor, that he didn't necessarily have to return those feelings, and why he should let you live after knowing this information.

Thankfully before you could begin setting anything other then the board up and a few skeins of different colored yarn out, Alastor grabbed you by your shoulders and reluctantly told you that he adored you for some forshaken reason.

And that was that, nothing was ever officially labeled until a ring was put onto your finger many many years later, but it was comfortable, you stayed true to each other, you never went further then a light kiss or a cuddle, the two of you would be deemed odd for a couple, sometimes invalidated by folks who didn't know how to mind their own business, but they were usually dealt with quickly.

You adored Alastor, and He adored you in return.

And that was evident as he twirled you around his radio tower, Vox's hotwheel mini camera watching from the corner.

Soft jazz played as you were pulled back into Alastor's arms, a laugh escaping your throat as you smiled at him, taking a quick moment to reach your hand out and hold Alastor's face, planting a soft smooch on him before pulling away.

At that point Vox was disturbed and a peng of jealousy ran through him, one, because no one wants to see their sister doing that to their ARCH NEMESIS, and second of all, Out of everyone in hell, why did he have to choose you?

Yes you were nice, he guessed, but he's seen you be a feral little menace when the two of you were young, Alastor could do better [No he couldn't]

What did you have that Vox DIDN'T? Sure you didn't have a giant tv for a head but you also weren't an overlord like he was, you didn't have the connections he did, you didn't have a whole company that dominated the tech industry, you didn't HAVE what he did.

But you did have what he desperately wanted

You have Alastor's heart,

You get the adoring looks, you get the whispers of pure affection, you get to dance with him, you get Alastor.

No matter what Vox did, Alastor would never look at him the way he did you, he would never give him the look of pure affection, he would never ask him to dance, he would never give him his heart.

And that tore Vox apart.

So If he couldn't have Alastor, Neither could you.

To him, You either needed to get redeemed quickly and go up above or you were going to be joining the Vee's, whether you liked it or not.

Good evening folks! Thank you for tuning in! I know I said Rosie headcanons where supposed to be up next but I ran into some technical difficulties [my writing app crashed and a big chunk of it got deleted so I am not happy about that] anywho, Vox is a funky TV dude and I like the implications that he's lovesick about Alastor,

I need to finish my Vox fic because he's toxic there.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you #vox x reader #alastor imagine #radiosilence

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yourgentlegirlfriend · 1 year

Note

I dont know if your request is still open, but if it is can you make a young reader(maybe 25-26) and Re6 Leon, with reader as his new neighbour? Maybe with reader baking a "nice to meet you" cake or pie and give it to Leon after he came from a mission?

Thank you very much 😘

HI! i loved this and has to write it- i added my own twist to it and am TOTALLY thinking about writing a part two, depends on what you guys think <3

gn! younger neighbor reader x Re6 older leon

DISCLAIMER: This is an 18+ blog! If you are underaged or don’t have an age indicator in your bio, please don’t interact!

Warnings: none actually- yet. but it does switch between reader and leon perspective it should be easy to catch onto

word count: 1,141

“Get! Go!”

You yelled at the group of kids walking toward your neighbor's abandoned house. A sigh leaves your lips as you water the flower bushes in your front yard. Your eyes scanned his yard, frowning at the dead grass and bushes. You look around for a few seconds before you walk over to your hose, filling up your watering pot and carrying the heavy bucket over to his dead lawn. Your hand on your hip as you watered his dead flower bush, your hose that you had dragged with all your light watering at his grass. You’ve never once met him. He comes and goes so frequently that this is what happens to his yard. A dead lawn can make anyone spiral into a depression. You did this same thing every day for almost a month, waking up bright and early to care for his plants. This morning was supposed to be no different, coming home from your graveyard shift at the diner, the sun barely rising. Your hand reaches down to turn on your hose, but your movements are abruptly stopped when your head turns to his house, actually seeing a car in the driveway and the kitchen light dimly lighting through his blinds.

—————

Leon’s body was sore. And mentally, he was too, his eyes barely open as he drove down the street, his fingers impatiently tapping at his steering wheel. He couldn’t wait to lay down on a bed or even take a shower- did he even pre-pay his bills? The negative thoughts overwhelmed him as he pulled into his driveway, sighing as he stared at the garage door. Pulling his keys from the ignition. He stepped out of his car, admiring the soft blue sky. When his foot hit the grass, his eyebrows rose in confusion, looking down to see the beautiful green. Then he saw the bushes. He walked around the small perimeter, noticing the hose lying at the edge of his grass. He followed it slowly to see it led directly to your house. A soft “hm” left his lips as he walked up his porch steps, pushing through his front door.

————-

You couldn’t sleep- of course, you couldn’t. Your black work shirt is covered in flour. Since you got home, you’ve been working on making the best apple pie you’ve ever made. Your fingers were sticky from the homemade filling. After scrubbing your hands for the sixth time, you squeal in excitement as the timer goes off, pushing the oven mitts onto your hands as you pull it open, being smacked in the face with slight smoke.

“Perfect..”

You whisper as you lay the pie on the counter, your nail scraping over the crust. You hoped he liked apple pie or just pie in general. What if he hates sweets? You shake your head free from negative thoughts as you pull new jeans on and a pretty shirt to go perfectly. Swiping on your peach chapstick. You take a deep breath as you look in the mirror, looking down at your watch to see it is eight already. It was super early- maybe he wasn’t even awake. You groan to yourself as you pick up the pie, smiling at the small amount of powdered sugar on top. You walk down your driveway and the sidewalk. Your eyes scan the grass you nursed to health. When did you get to the front door? You stared at the pretty auburn wood, moving the pie against your right arm as you reached for the doorbell, pressing your finger against it softly. Twelve seconds, fuck, he’s asleep. Your body shifts on your feet as you sigh in defeat, turning and walking down the first step before the door creaks behind you.

“Can I help you?”

The deep voice bounces through your brain as your footsteps back, your body turning to him—a kind smile tugging at your lips as you hold the pie out.

“Hi, I'm your neighbor- I haven’t noticed your home in forever, and I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself..”

Leon’s eyes scanned your face, his eyes dancing over your lips and then down at your pie. God did he love pie. He meant to introduce himself, his mouth opening to speak but-

“You’re the one who’s been watering my lawn?”

You blinked at Leon, confused, as you stepped back a bit before slowly nodding, looking back at the healthy grass.

“Well, yes- My garden is as perfect as I wanted it to be, and I thought it would be a kind gesture..”

Leon’s arm leaned against the door frame, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. He looked exhausted, poor thing. He pushed himself off the frame, opening the door wider for you.

“Please, come in.”

You were surprised; you didn’t think he would speak to you. You thanked him quietly before you stepped into his door, looking around the house. Simple, no pictures on the walls, simple kitchen with essential appliances. You laid the pie on his counter before you turned to him, that gentle smile still on your face.

“It’s homemade. Hope you like apple.”

You speak as Leon walks to the kitchen, standing a few feet from you before he puts his hand out.

“Leon, and you?”

“Y/N, It's really nice to meet you finally.”

—————

Beautiful. Beautiful smile beautiful presence. Leon has always had to train himself not to see the evil in people automatically. How could he say no to you? Standing pretty on his porch as if he didn’t watch you baking in your wide-open kitchen window for almost three hours. He reached for his wallet, pulling out a couple hundred in cash, reaching his hand out to you.

“For the trouble of my lawn.”

Your laugh echoed throughout his kitchen as you shook your head, refusing to accept his money.

“Leon, I took care of your lawn as a form of basic human kindness. It was a great distraction for me. I respectfully decline.”

Leon stared at you, his eyes blinking in confusion as he shoved his wallet back into his pocket.

“Here. This is my number. When you know you’re going out of town for work or anything, give me a call or just knock on my door. I’ll clean for you.”

You nodded your head as you wrote down your number on the small notepad stuck to his fridge. You walked past him, waving your hand.

“Bye, Leon.”

———————

It was the best pie he had ever had. Never has he finished half a pie in a single day. He could never sleep after coming home from missions; his body slumped on the couch as he peered out the window, dreading the disappointment in his chest at the sight of your car still being gone. But like magic, you pulled into your driveway. Maybe he liked the simple things in life, the simple things being you. He leaned over, his eyes switching the view to your still-open kitchen window, seeing you throw your purse onto the counter. He hummed to himself as he reached for his phone, dialing your number. Watching you smile as you reached for the phone, pressing it to your ear, following your lips as your voice echoed through his phone.

“Hello?”

Sweet voice.

“It’s me. I just wanted to thank you sincerely for the pie. It's definitely the best pie I've ever had.”

Leon chuckled as he stood up, tilting his phone as he held it to his ear with his shoulder.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, I'm a great cook, and I can make you whatever cake you want.”

Leon’s head nodded as he leaned against his counter.

“Do you want to catch dinner sometime?”

He wished he could see your surprised reaction from his position on the couch, but your stuttering spoke volume.

“If you want to come over tonight- I can definitely make you something really good.”

Leon smiled as he walked to his bathroom, looking in the mirror.

“You this sweet to every guy? Or are you just being nice because I'm old?”

Leon teased as he pushed his way out of his bathroom and to his room.

“Oh, Leon, stop it. I do respect my elders, though..”

You joked, your giggle making his heart race as he looked for a somewhat lovely shirt.

“Nine? I’ll start cooking now.”

Leon tilted back, looking out his bedroom window. to see you digging through your fridge, a smile growing as he nodded.

“Nine is perfect, I’ll be right over.”

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #yourgentlegf #re6 leon #older leon kennedy #older leon plz #leon kennedy fluff

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harrywavycurly · 6 months

Text

Random Eddie Concept: You live next door to Eddie and y’all have said the casual “hello” and “good morning” to each other but haven’t properly met, you don’t even know each other’s names. But over the course of a month or so Eddie has learned that you love your plants, he can always count on seeing you standing on your back patio with your watering can every evening and sometimes if he has his windows open he can hear you talking to them and he won’t admit it but he thinks it’s adorable.

That’s why when he notices your flowers wilting he gets sort of concerned because you love your little make shift garden, but his brushes it off to maybe you’re out of town or something. But a few days later when he’s out on his patio having a smoke and he looks over and sees all the plants have gone completely brown and are slumped over in their pots he can’t shake the feeling that maybe something is wrong, so he just takes it upon himself to get his hose out and spray some water on them from his backyard hoping he’s not disturbing you.

He does this for a few days until he finally gets them to show signs of life again, that’s also when he gets the courage to walk up to your front door. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous but his hand is all sweaty when he reaches up to knock on your door. It all makes sense as to why you’ve all of a sudden abandoned your little garden when you answer the door in a robe that has a spaghetti stain on it with your hair in the messiest bun he’s ever seen but he’s also slightly impressed it’s still sitting on the top of your head, it’s all very clear to him that you’re going through a rough patch.

“Uhm I’m Eddie.” He gives you a soft smile and a little wave as your cheeks get red as the realization of how you’re dressed hits you when Eddie’s eyes look you up and down. “I’m your neighbor and I uh just wanted to let you know I’ve uhm been…watering your plants for you.” He explains as you try to adjust your robe so he can’t see the week old pajamas you have on.

“My plants? Oh god my plants.” Your eyes go wide as you remember all the flowers you have on your back patio. “They must be in such bad shape by now.” You run a hand over your face in an attempt to hide your embarrassment and Eddie just shakes his head at you.

“No no they’re fine really uhm most of them have kinda sorta turned a weird shade of green so I think they’ll be okay.” You let out a sigh of relief. “I just figured I’d introduce myself to you in case you look out your window and see me..I’m also uhm always around if you…ever wanna talk or uh…anything.” You give him a little nod as he rubs at the back of his neck clearly nervous and you can tell he means everything he just said so you just smile at him.

“Thank you Eddie that’s really sweet of you.” He just smiles as you introduce yourself and nods as he looks down at his feet for a moment before turning to head down your front steps. “I really appreciate it.” You add as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“You’re welcome…it’s nice to finally meet you.” He states as he gives you a small wave before he heads back over to his house.

Over the next few days Eddie notices you have slowly began watering your plants again and one day he gets home to find a few potted plants of his own sitting on his porch with a little note that says “Water daily and make sure they get sunlight and if you ever need someone to look after them for you let me know” followed by your name and number.

#this isn’t at all inspired by me and the fact I have been in a funk and not watered my plants in a week lol #eddie munson concept #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson au #neighbor!eddie #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson #stranger things au #my little dungeon master baby

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oh-stars · 2 months

Text

Lilies & Lavender

Lavender

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 712 words | CW: assumed cheating, lavender marriage, nosy neighbors | Rating: G

“Mrs. Grayfield thinks you’re cheating on me,” Robin says as she hands him another bag of soil.

Steve snorts, swiping at his face with the back of his gloved hand to brush off the dirt he knows he feels on his face. “She always thinks someone’s cheating,” he says. He rips open the bag of soil and starts adding it to the new pots they just bought for the porch. “Remember when she made that big fuss about the Levinsons? Turns out, they had their extended family living with them for some time.”

“Yeah, but this time she has, like, actual evidence,” Robin says, grunting with the effort of moving the new lilies they’d picked up that morning. “Tell me again why we’re not putting these beautiful plants in our actual garden?”

“Our flower beds get too much shade,” Steve says. “I want to see how they do in the pots out here first before we commit to rearranging the back flower beds.” He squints up at her. “You were the one who said the porch was missing something.”

She shrugs. “I was more so thinking we could freshen up the upholstery on the bench.”

Steve waves her off. “This is better.” He takes the flower from her and together they replant it in its new home, a massive flower pot that’ll take up a good chunk of space on their porch. “What evidence does she have?”

“Evidence?”

“You said she had evidence I was cheating?”

“Oh!” Robin giggles. “She saw Chrissy leaving the other morning.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “This is why I think Ed and Chris should just move into the place around the corner. Then we wouldn’t have to explain the cars to anyone.”

“But then Chrissy would lose her bay window,” Robin says, “and I am not prepared to deal with her losing that window.”

“I think you both would live.”

“And can you imagine if Eddie has to deal with noise complaints every other day?”

Steve groans and grabs the next plant to place beside the first lily. “You’re right, it's a horrible idea.”

Robin’s quiet while they finish transferring the lilies to their new pots, all eight of them neatly planted in the two pots to frame their porch steps where they can get the most sun possible. “Should we get a divorce?”

“We could, but what’s the point? It’s not legal to marry who we actually want to marry and the benefits we get from being married are too good to pass up on. And personally,” Steve says as he takes off his gloves to actually scratch at his face, “I don’t feel like dealing with the headache of splitting our assets unless we need to.”

“Good point.”

“Plus,” Steve smirks, “if we’re divorced, we can’t use the spouse excuse.”

Robin beams. The spouse excuse is something all four of them use to get out of things, sure, but for Steve and Robin, they like to remind their partners of who they’re actually married to from time to time. It’s the best way to keep their sacred sleepovers – no one can argue that a husband and wife are meant to spend the night together.

She looks at their hard work. The lily pots still need to be moved to where they’ll actually be sitting, the white flowers bright against the terracotta pots. “Do you think it clashes with the lavender?” She motions to the lavender plants lining their flower bed and the paved path that connects to their driveway.

Steve shakes his head. “And even if it did, it’s only temporary.”

“What time’s Eddie coming over?”

“Three. We have to leave by four to get to the concert though. You sure you two don’t want to come with?” Steve asks.

Robin hums. “I think we’ll pass. I want some quiet one-on-one time with her before the anniversary trip, you know?”

Steve nods, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mrs. Grayfield watching from her own garden. He leans over and kisses her cheek. “Sounds wonderful, dear,” he says a little louder. “My dearest wife, would you mind grabbing the hose so we can water the flowers?”

She catches on quick, grin impossibly wider. “Anything for you, darling husband of mine.”

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steve harrington #stranger things #robin buckley #stobin month 2024 #ohstars posting challenge #platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin

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blueywrites · 2 months

Text

the boy is mine (bluey's version)

I saw @carolmunson's writing challenge and was immediately so inspired! what a lovely distraction from some pesky contractions haha. I can't wait to see everyone's interpretations and their takes on our boy eddie 🩵

cw: eddie x fem!reader, established relationship, sfw aside from some lewd innuendos (including an insinuation that his goods make him a man, so traditional 80s-esque views on gender identity)

length: 1.9k

prompt rules: the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer. props included/mentioned (in passing or can hold bigger meaning): a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook. dialogue included (can be manipulated slightly if needed, can be placed in any order): "i ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?" ; "aw, don't be like that. that's not even true." ; "and you like that?" ; "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

to view the full challenge description and try it yourself, go here!

When you arrive at Eddie’s trailer home this early summer evening, you are faced with two surprises. The first is delightful, and the second… well. Let’s just say it is, unequivocally, a very Eddie Munson type of surprise.

The first comes when you rap on the screen door frame and hear Eddie’s greeting float to you not from within the trailer, but from behind it. You purse your lips curiously, and your sandals slap against old wood and then dry, frazzled grass as you descend the porch steps and follow the rasp of his voice.

The Munsons’ trailer backs up against the woods surrounding Forest Hills. As you emerge from the side of the building, you see the familiar piles of junk scattered along the sparse treeline, including the husk of an old Buick which has become a permanent part of the landscape. But where the space between the trailer and that treeline is typically empty, tonight, it isn’t. Plopped right in the middle like some garish plastic zoo exhibit is a blow-up wading pool, and the animal on display is your boyfriend.

Eddie’s lanky legs are spread out in as wide a v as he can get them within the round inflatable tub, and his shorts— which are a pair of faded jeans he’d cut off at the knees— are pitch dark with soaked-up water to his lap. When he sees you, he slides down a little further in the basin, unconcerned about the obnoxious sound of denim-on-plastic as he casually slings his arms over the bulbous sides of the pool.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawls, grinning at your flabbergasted face. “Ready to get all soaked for me?”

Once you’ve recovered from that atrocious one-liner, peeled off your blouse, and, wearing just your shorts and bra, wedged yourself in-between his spread legs, Eddie explains that the kiddie pool came from one of his neighbors. She bartered with him for it; he’d provided her with a fresh coat of paint for her deck railing, and she’d provided him, and thus you, with relief from the oppressive summer heat in the form of a shallow, lukewarm pool of metallic-smelling hose water.

It truly is a delightful surprise.

You wiggle into place, leaning back against Eddie’s warm, damp chest. He holds you pressed into him as if you’d have any inclination to move away, and you hum happily as his hand dips beneath the water to curl possessively around your hip. You feel his torso shift to the side behind you as he says, half-teasing, “I ran out of, like, nice cups. Is this okay?”

You wiggle your toes in the water, making little rippling splashes as Eddie reaches down over the side of the pool and retrieves your favorite cup— thick, plastic, and Snoopy-themed— filled with your favorite drink— three-quarters lemonade made from powder mix, one-quarter whiskey nicked from Wayne’s stash in the back of the stereo cabinet. Eddie’s chuckle rumbles against your shoulder blades as you cradle your precious brew in both hands, taking a healthy sip and chasing the burn with a sweet peck to his stubbly cheek.

Together, you and Eddie lounge contentedly for a while, talking about nothing and sipping your whiskey lemonades until your toetips prune. Eventually, the day’s oppressive heat breaks, and Eddie reluctantly relinquishes his grip on you when you declare you’re no longer hot enough to be sitting soggy in the pool any longer. You don your shirts, squeeze the moisture as best you can from your shorts, and then heft the pool up sideways, dumping its innards out in a river that rushes toward the forest.

As the water laps up against old tires, your boyfriend turns to you in a whip of eager curls, pinning you with a suddenly intense look. His eyes gleam in the deepening auburn light as he asks you, “Wanna see something cool?”

You follow him obediently over to the Buick, standing back a couple of feet as he wedges his fingers under the front hood to pop the clasp. You watch him curiously as he bends at the waist, shifting the hood up just slightly and peering into the dark sliver of space for a moment. He straightens up with a grin. “What is it?” you ask, but he doesn’t reply; he just lifts the lid, letting you see your second surprise.

There, nestled between metal piping and the side of the rusted-out engine, is a large lump of bristly gray fur. Your eyes dart to Eddie, but his grin hasn’t budged at the sight of whatever-the-fuck-that-is. Wordlessly, you watch as Eddie slowly and carefully eases the hood up, prompting the motionless lump to shift slightly in a rustle of surrounding detritus. With each inch that Eddie’s arms extend upward, your concern mounts as the shifting bundle becomes more and more restless.

And then a textured tail pops out.

It’s long and ugly, sparsely furred and, unnervingly, the same color as the bottom of Eddie’s feet. As the car’s hood creaks near the apex of its journey upwards, a head suddenly snaps up just as sharply from the bristly mound. It is large and white, with beady eyes and a pale pink snout that parts to reveal little vampire fangs jutting from the top and bottom of its maw.

The creature’s mouth widens as Eddie’s torso grows closer when he hefts the hood up all the way. As he lifts the stick on the side to hold it in place, his frizzy waves dangle dangerously over the animal. You tense when you hear a high, raspy hiss.

But your boyfriend doesn’t seem to share your concern. With a long-suffering sigh, he lightly chastizes the thing like he’s scolding a small child. “Look, if you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.” He stares it down, and slowly, its mouth begins to close. “That’s better. No need to get your panties in a twist; it’s just me. Well, and her—” he juts a thumb at you over his shoulder without bothering to look. “But she’s harmless, I swear.”

Instantly, you’re affronted by the fact that Eddie would need to assure it of your harmlessness rather than the other way around, and you shoot your boyfriend a glare he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy trying to mollify the creature. From a cautious distance, you examine the— rodent?— and its home, quickly recognizing the deflated floral fabric of one of the throw pillows from the Munsons’ couch. The animal has clearly torn a hole into it and dragged out the feathers inside, using them to line its nest of dried grass and crumbling leaves.

A sudden shift of Eddie’s elbow has the thing scrunching back in a flinch. “Aw,” he coos. “Don’t be like that. I’m tellin’ you, she’s harmless.” Silence follows his proclamation, and you shake your head slowly as he pretends to rebut the animal’s complaint. “That’s not even true,” he argues. “You can’t believe everything you hear, y’know. I have it on good authority; she’s one of the nice ones.”

Eddie finally glances over his shoulder at you, pouting at your continued distance; at his impatient beckoning, you draw reluctantly closer, eyes locked on the small beast inside the old vehicle. When you’re a few paces away, you finally see it clearly enough to place what it is:

An opossum.

You sigh heavily out of your nose, consternated but no longer confused. Of course your boyfriend would have a pet opossum living in a rusted-out car behind his trailer, because why the fuck not? He already feeds the stray cats in the park; why would it be a problem to add another cat-shaped creature to the mix?

Figures.

Now that you’ve identified the lump as an opossum, the veil of mystery falls and it becomes less intimidating. You inch a little closer, glancing down when your bare toes hit smooth, hollow plastic. You’ve kicked the empty carcass of a small round container in the grass, and as you peer down at it, its blue and white label resolves itself into clarity.

“Eddie.”

“Hm?” His mop of hair whips as his chin snaps away from the opossum and towards you, though his gaze remains on the animal as if reluctant to drag away. You wait for his eyes to follow before asking, slowly and deliberately,

“...Did you feed the possum vanilla icing?”

You don’t actually need Eddie to reply to know the answer to that. In fact, you don’t even spare him a glance. Instead, you squint at the animal, which is currently staring into the middle distance between you and Eddie with black, glassy eyes. It feels only appropriate to address it directly, so you ask the opossum a follow-up question. “And you liked that?”

“Of course she likes it,” Eddie cuts in defensively, crossing his arms over the tattered WASP t-shirt he’d hacked the sleeves and hem off of. “Who doesn’t like vanilla frosting?”

The sight of his tight pale biceps and the veins running from his ruddy hands up to the tan line around his elbows is almost enough to distract you. But you valiantly persevere, turning your skeptical squint on him and ignoring his rhetorical question to ask instead, “How do you know it’s a girl?”

Eddie’s head rears as if he’s genuinely taken aback by your question. He gestures widely toward the opossum, flinging his arms and scoffing, “Isn’t it obvious? I mean, just look at her fuckin’ eyelashes.”

You blink up at him, bemused by his logic. “Eddie. You have really long eyelashes. Are you a girl?”

Those aforementioned eyelashes bat dramatically, and then Eddie’s brown eyes sparkle with mischief. His lips curl wolfishly as he pitches his voice low, murmuring, “I think you know the answer to that, sweetheart.” He squeezes the crotch of his damp cut-offs showily, that devilish smile widening with delight when you wrinkle your nose and grunt with disgust.

“Perv,” you snap back, but there’s no bite in it as you dig in your blouse pocket and pull out the small bound notebook and stub of a pencil you always carry with you.

He gets nosy then, trying to look over your shoulder as you start to commit the creature to the page. He plants his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your middle, watching as you carefully scratch down the bugged-out eyes and gaping maw it greeted you with.

The gesture is cute, but in his jostling of you, one of the opossum’s teeth goes horribly jagged. “Eddie! Quit it,” you whine, though your complaint dissolves into giggles when he mouths playfully at your salty neck.

“You drawin’ my little possum?” He murmurs in your ear.

“How’d you manage to make that sound dirty? Actually,” you slant him a deadpan look, “pretend I didn’t ask that. I don’t wanna think about you and that poor possum in any way.”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t tell me you’re jealous of her, sweetheart,” he teases.

His arms tighten in anticipation of your resistance, but you don’t push him away or even groan like he expects. Instead, you hum happily as he holds you tight against him, leaning into his embrace.

You can almost feel Eddie’s happiness like a physical presence as he sways you gently in place, so freely affectionate in a way that you never would have guessed when you first met him. It melts you every time you remember that the walls which stand in place for everyone else crumbled for you long ago.

With that feeling bubbling in your chest, you shoot the opossum a playfully threatening look. “Back off. He’s mine,” you say.

She tucks her head into the straw with a huff, digging in deeper when you squeal as Eddie attacks the side of your face with sloppy, smacking kisses.

Yeah. Eddie Munson is yours, for sure.

#blueywrites #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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dulc3vida · 1 month

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durazno

pope heyward x lamb!reader

content warning: a peach gets violated, blasphemy, the good stuff. 18+ read at your own risk.

2.4k words

Pope Heyward is not a religious man. He’s a man of science. He likes tangible things that can be studied and understood.

No matter how much he tried explaining that to Heyward, it didn’t matter. As long as he lived under their roof it meant he had to put on his best dress shirt and slacks every Sunday to go to church. It wasn’t all bad. Everyone was really nice there and the music was pretty good.

His favorite part of church is you. The preacher's daughter. Always at the front of the choir, soft voice singing “Christ Be Our Light” and other hymns. You’re truly an angel. You always helped lead the kids out of mass into their Sunday school classrooms. You always volunteered with the food bank and at the animal shelter. You even tutored after school at the public library.

It’s a self indulgent fantasy, Pope thinking he could have you in any way. You’re kook royalty, right up there next to the Camerons. Even if social status wasn’t an issue, a girl like you would never go for him. He reminded himself of that fact every time you caught him staring and smiled demurely from across the pews. You’re a nice girl, you smile at everyone.

Pope, unfortunately, always managed to look away before he could catch your eyes lingering and your teeth sinking into your plush bottom lip as you stared at him with curiosity.

After hurricane Agatha, you suggested to your father the church should gather resources to help with relief. You were surprised at his reluctance and you recited bible verses until you turned blue, not taking no for an answer. “Love thy neighbor, daddy. You taught me that.” He held out for a while, but nevertheless he agreed so long as you helped organize.

You rallied the support of all the kooks, gathering donations. They could never say no to you, even if they didn’t necessarily want to help provide aid to the inhabitants of the cut. You got on your dad’s boat with a group of volunteers from church and set sail for the mainland, returning with tons of food and other necessities. It took an entire day for your group to get all the care packages ready and to assign groups to specific addresses.

When delivery day came around, you made sure one specific address was reserved just for you. Your dad made himself clear that he didn’t want you wandering around the cut by yourself but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, you thought to yourself as your bike rode up the gravel driveway of Heyward’s. You prayed the night before that Pope would be there and God answered. Pope was on the dock, spraying some buckets clean with a hose. His striped button down open and his bare chest on display, making your heart pound in your chest. He doesn’t turn around to look at you when he hears you approaching.

“Almost done, Pops. Just got a few more.”

“Hi, Pope.” You greet, lacing your words with sweetness.

Pope whipped around at the sound of your voice. “Hey-Hi.” His face burns as he stutters over a basic greeting. It didn’t help that you were staring into his soul with your big brown eyes like a lost little lamb. “Can I help you with anything?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He almost thinks you’re checking him out.

“No.” You shake your head, soft waves cascading over your shoulders. There is an awkward silence, neither of you knowing what to say until you remember the bags in your hands. “I brought this… For your family… It’s from the church. You know, relief. It’s not much-”

“This is great, thank you.” Pope took one of the bags and then noticed the other one in your hands. “What's that?”

“Uhm… Peaches. For you.” You held the bag out, intentionally letting your fingers linger on his. “My dad went to Georgia last week for a church thing. These are my favorite.” You licked your lips as you watched him pull one out of the bag and dig his teeth into the flesh of the fruit. You wondered what it would feel like to be the peach.

Pope didn't know if he just wanted the fruit to taste good or if it was actually that good because he practically moaned at the taste. “This is the best peach I’ve ever had.” It made you laugh and it sounded like a melody. He could only imagine that you tasted just as good. “Thank-”

The sound of JJ hooting and hollering alerted both of your attentions. “Come on, loverboy! We gotta get a move on!” He called from the HMS Pogue.

“I should go.” You smiled at him warmly. “Bye, Pope. Have a blessed day.” You called out to his friends, waving as you turned to get back on your bike.

“You too, sweetheart!” JJ called back, earning a slap to the arm from John B.

“Don't be a creep, dude.”

“What? I was just being nice?”

Pope watched you swing your leg over your bike, the wind catching your skirt and blowing it upwards just enough to reveal your cotton white panties. JJ nearly broke his neck trying to get a better look.

“Pervs…” Kie rolled her eyes. “That's the preacher's daughter, you know that right?”

“I know.” A smirk spread over JJ’s face. “Church girls are always the freakiest. You know, pent up sex feels? Bet she humps her pillow every night starin’ at a cross-”

“Okay, that's enough.” Pope finally turns around once he is sure his hardening dick isn’t visible. “Let's go.”

“Ooh, peaches?” John B wiggled his fingers together and reached for the bag but Pope yanked it away. “Oh come on, there's at least 12 in there. Are you on your way to be in a math problem?” Pope sighed and tossed one at John B. He turned to Kiara and JJ who were sitting on their knees, groveling like dogs. They each get a peach tossed at them.

“That's what I’m talking about.” JJ bit his peach. “She's totally into you.”

“No, she's not. She's just being nice.”

“Hey, John B? You get any Georgia peaches in your care package?” He looked at the label on the fruit before biting the peach again.

“Nah. You?”

“Nah. Want my advice?” JJ tossed the pit of his peach into the water.

“I really don't-” Pope shook his head, taking control over the wheel of the HMS.

“Try that door. I guarantee it's unlocked for you.”

Pope was usually a sound sleeper. His dreams were never too scary and he was always able to fall asleep once he focused on his breathing for a bit. Tonight was different.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw you.

He couldn’t help it. You invaded his mind the second he stepped into your fathers church. When he raised his hand in worship it was always for you. As far as Pope was concerned, God wasn’t real. You were real. Someone he could genuinely worship and devote himself to completely. Selfishly. You were the lamb and he was the pathetic, cowardly lion.

Pope sat up in bed and looked around his room tiredly until his eyes stopped on the bag of peaches. He wasn’t sure why he brought them into his room but he knew he would regret it in the morning. He got out of bed and grabbed a peach before lying back in bed. He pressed a finger against its center, obscenely digging his finger inside and pulling out the pit.

Juice dripped onto his chest and onto his chin as he sucked all the fruit off the pit before tossing it aside, moving the peach down his boxers. It was a tight fit and it made him screw his eyes shut. It didn’t help.

All it took was 3 strokes and the image of the faint outline of your pussy through your panties and he was biting his hand to muffle the sound of his orgasm. He set the peach on his nightstand feeling the need to take a cold, cold shower before he went to bed.

In the morning, Pope felt guilty. Pope is not a religious man but something about what he had done made him feel the need to seek penance. He needed to face some kind of punishment, even if it meant confessing that he fucked a peach to the thought of the preacher’s daughter.

The only spot in the world where you could truly be yourself was the confessional. No one came to confess as much as they needed so it was only really ever used on occasions that called for it. You liked coming to the church on the days where no one was there except your father doing paperwork in his office. It was the perfect place to read books your parents wouldn’t approve of. From medieval torture methods to smut. Anything mildly taboo that you could sneak out of the public library. You always returned the books and repented.

Today, you were halfway through A Certain Hunger when you heard the doors of the church creak open. You peek out of the door and immediately close it. Pope is making his way towards the booth.

He steps inside and closes the door, not daring to look towards who he thinks is the minister. Instead, he closes his eyes. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” Pope inhales sharply when there is no response. He takes it as permission to continue. “I gave into temptation and lust. I… I…” Pope didn’t know how to describe it. “I… committed a sex act… with a peach. I feel incredibly guilty and it’s not the act that I feel most guilty about but who I was thinking about during it. I feel like I violated her in some way and-”

“Was it me?” Your soft voice made his heart drop. He thinks he’s hallucinating. It was silent for a minute before you repeat yourself. “Were you thinking about me, Pope?”

Pope took another moment before responding. “Yes.” He was mortified at your silence. “I’m really, really sorry-” He was cut off by the sound of your door opening and shutting. His mind raced with the possibility of you running to your father ready to tell him what a sick deviant he is.

Instead, the door to his side of the confessional opened and you closed the door behind yourself.

“Hi.” You practically whispered, a smile playing on your face that you were trying to hide. “Did you, really?” He nods, afraid to speak. “I’m sorry.”

Pope has to blink a few times to digest your words. “Why?”

“I was tempting you.” You confess, thinking on everytime you would give Pope a coquettish glance or your bold move wearing a skirt you knew would show your panties off with one breeze. He stared at you inquisitively. “I’ve been trying to seduce you. I’m sorry I led you to sin.” You knelt before him. “Recently, I have been overcome with lustful thoughts about you. I… I use the thought of you for pleasure.” Your confession was sending all blood in Pope’s brain straight down to dick. “I don’t think you deserve any penance.” Your voice quieted to a whisper before you carefully reached to touch his bulge. Pope made no move to stop you.

“What are you doing?” He questions, voice strangles at the feeling of your hand rubbing against his dickprint. You looked up at him, the same way you look when you take the body of christ into your mouth.

“Paying my penance.” You slip your hand down his pants and stroke his already hard cock. His skin is soft and it’s a little bit curved. Your mouth waters at the feel. You do what you read in your books, pumping your hand up and down slowly. You were enjoying this.

Pope’s breath gets caught in his throat. “Wait… Are you sure we should do this?”

“I can stop if you want…” You pulled him out of his pants, admiring how pretty his dick is in your hand. “But, remember Pope… The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not be in want. Neither should you.” You sink your mouth onto him and he feels like he is in heaven. “We can always repent. Love covers a multitude of sins and God loves us.” You reassure him, taking him back into your mouth.

Pope feels like he’s on fire from his head to his toes. His head rests against the wall as you bob your head up and down his length. He’s not a religious man, but this is the closest he has come to truly feeling God’s presence. He looks down at you and you are already staring at him, mouth full as you choke down as much as you can. You gag around him and come up for air, gasping as you kitten lick his tip before taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it.

You look beautiful. Your eyes never left him. Your hair stuck to your forehead from sweat and your eyes were all watery and glassy. You even had your heel between your legs, rocking back and forth on it. You moaned and it sent vibrations all through his cock. He wanted to worship you the same way you were worshiping him. He was praying for the strength to stay silent as his eyes roam the walls, staring at the intricate cross motifs carved into the wood panels. He had never felt the watchful eye of God until now.

It was truly a miracle he lasted as long as he did because it didn’t take much longer before he was trying to pull you off. “I’m gonna-” He panted out, breathing becoming ragged. You didn’t want to come off though. You forced yourself down until your nose touched the base of his cock. You could feel him pulsing as it all shot down your throat.

Pope almost screamed when you kept sucking after he came. You came up, pressing kisses against his dick. Neither of you spoke while you put him back in his pants and then nuzzled his leg, wanting attention like a needy lamb. He pet your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Did you throw the peach away?” Pope shakes his head no. “Can I have it?”

this was unhinged and very self indulgent :p hope u like!

#pope x lamb!reader #pope heyward #pope heyward x reader #lamb!reader #smut #religious themes

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toxophilitis · 2 months

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The Widow's Horny Family

CHAPTER FOUR

If only what?

If only Susy’s parents weren’t so aloof, she thought. If only they relaxed and were more friendly. Buy they acted as if they thought they were better than others in the neighborhood. Not better, actually... they just didn’t seem to want anyone close to them.

It was a shame, Peggy thought, because both were good looking. But Peggy knew looks had nothing to do with a person’s sexual nature. A person did not have to be beautiful to be interested in fucking. In fact, she recalled a woman she and her husband had enjoyed. The woman wasn’t unattractive exactly, but she was certainly eager.

But she didn’t think this was the case with her next-door neighbors. She was almost certain they seldom fucked.

After she had dusted and straightened a few things, she went out into the back yard, pulling the hose out and setting the sprinkler going on the flower beds. She walked along the fence separating her yard from next door, looking at the flowers there. Glancing over the fence, she stopped in her tracks.

Susy’s mother was in the back yard, lying on a blanket.

Peggy would never have believed it.

The woman was on her stomach, her head resting on her folded arms, dozing in the sun. She also had on a bikini, one of the skimpiest bikinis Peggy had ever seen. In fact, she had not seen one like that in any store.

The woman was named Grace, a name that Peggy felt perfect for her. It was associated with old maids and people with a puritan outlook. But Grace looked anything but puritan now.

Peggy could see the cheeks of the woman’s ass and her long slim thighs. From what she could see, Grace apparently had nice-sized tits, too, from the bulge about her chest. The woman had rich dark hair, but it was usually up in a severe bun. Now it fanned about her head.

There was something appealing about the woman, Peggy realized, seeing her this way. She certainly didn’t look like the aloof, cool, detached female she had always seen before. For just a moment, Peggy considered calling out a greeting just to see Grace’s reaction, but decided that would be mean.

Grace lay with her feet toward Peggy, and Peggy looked at the curve of the woman’s ass, realizing that her ass swelled up very lovely.

From what she could see, Grace had creamy smooth flesh on her ass, and her thighs certainly looked beautiful. Grace shifted, and her legs parted. Peggy almost giggled when she found herself seeing the dark cunt hair swirling from the tight crotch of the bikini. She was sure Grace would die of shame if she knew someone was looking at her this way.

The sound of a door closing came to her, and she looked away from Grace. She saw the lovely girl come out of her house and skip to her mother. Peggy watched as Susy squatted at her mother’s side, saying something. Peggy saw the way Susy squatted, and gasped when she realized the crotch of Susy’s panties was fully exposed. She waited, thinking. Grace would certainly snap at her daughter, but it didn’t happen.

Susy stood up, smiling, and walked back into the house.

Strange behavior, she thought as she turned to go back into her own house. Perhaps those people next door weren’t as icy as she had been led to believe.

It was close to noon, and she wondered what to prepare for Donny’s lunch. He could have sandwiches, she thought as she opened the refrigerator, and a Coke.

As she fixed his lunch, she couldn’t get her mind off Grace, off that exquisite lovely body the woman tried hard to conceal. And of course Grace had to have noticed the way her daughter squatted. There was no way she could have missed seeing. Yet she had said nothing, in fact, had actually smiled at her daughter.

Very unusual...

Donny came in almost an hour later after she had fixed his lunch. The bread had dried out, and she had to prepare another.

“Mother, guess what?” he said excitedly.

She sat across from him, watching him eat. His eyes were bright, shining.

“I wouldn’t even try,” she smiled.

“I’m gonna fuck Susy!”

Peggy’s breath caught. “You’re going to what?”

“Susy said I could fuck her,” he said again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, honey,” Peggy said. “Not a good idea at all.”

His face fell. “Aw, Mother... she told me I could.”

“Donny, I’m not trying to stop you from fucking some hot-ass, but Susy... well, think about it.”

It was obvious that he wanted to get his cock into that cunt. She understood his feelings, but her misgivings were strong. There must be some way to turn his desire from Susy, but she didn’t know what more to do. She had fucked him, sucked his cock, allowed him to feel anyplace on her body.

So what more could she do?

Looking at her downcast son, an idea began forming in her mind. There was no doubt that Donny would enjoy it. He would love anything, she knew.

“Honey, why don’t you spend an hour or so this afternoon with me?”

“Sure, Mother,” he said, brightening a bit. “You know I will. What do you have in mind?”

She gave him a lewd wink. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

They went into the living room, and Peggy slumped to the couch, her ass almost hanging over. She spread her knees and began fondling herself, rubbing her hand lightly up and down the crotch of her panties. She saw Donny’s eyes start to burn with desire, and the front of his shorts began to protrude with a lovely swelling hard-on.

“Take it out, darling,” she murmured with a husky voice. “Take your beautiful cock out and let Mother see it.”

Donny shoved aside his shorts and exposed his cock and balls. Peggy loved looking at her son’s cock so much, and, as she gazed at his prick with hot eyes, she slipped her panties off. Her son’s eyes turned glassy as he watched his mother moving her fingers about the thick cunt hair and puffy pink pussy lips of her fiery cunt. His cock throbbed and swelled into intense hardness, his prick head so deliciously lovely, his sweet balls below. Spreading the lips of her hairy cunt, Peggy rubbed at her swollen clit, then dipped her finger into her pussy. She watched her son with smoky eyes as she openly fingerfucked herself. Then she pulled her finger from her cunt, lifting it and letting her son see the moisture clinging to it. Then Peggy plunged her cunt-wet finger into her mouth and thrust it back and forth, sucking and licking the juice of her own pussy from it, making soft, mewling noises.

Her son was gripping his cock tightly, his fist jerking up and down as his excitement increased from what his mother was doing. Lifting her right leg, she bent it at the knee until it touched her tit. Shoving her hand beneath her creamy ass, she fucked a finger into her cunt once more, then a second finger entered the tightness of her asshole.

“Oh, wow!” Donny gurgled.

“Mmmmmm, feels good,” Peggy whispered throatily as she fucked a finger up her cunt and asshole. “I love it.”

He stood up and started toward her, still gripping his cock. Peggy lifted her other hand to stop him.

“Wait,” she said. “Take your shorts off!” Donny was halfway across the room. He stopped where he was, shoving his shorts down and stepping out of them. Peggy stated at her son, her eyes raking up and down his naked body. His cock stood firm, almost at a forty-five-degree angle to his stomach, his balls growing tight with eagerness. “Now come to Mother,” she moaned.

Donny approached, his eyes on her cunt. Peggy opened her blouse so her tits were exposed, her nipples very hard. Pulling her skirt to her waist, she scooted her ass farther yet to the edge of the cushion. The round cheeks of her ass writhed slightly as she shoved her legs wide, her pussy hair framing her pulsating cunt beautifully. “Honey, wouldn’t you like to give Mother’s cunt a kiss? YOU haven’t even kissed my pussy, baby. Kiss it for me. Kiss my hot cunt, darling!”

Donny did not hesitate. She was elated as her son dropped to his knees without so much as a sound. He ran his hands along her creamy thighs, about her hips. He stroked the thick hair of his mother’s pussy, then her puffy cunt lips with his fingertip. He stared at her inflamed clit, and Peggy placed her hand on his head, urging his face between her thighs.

Her son’s lips touched the wetness of her cunt, and Peggy whimpered with bubbling pleasure. She lifted her ass and wiggled her crotch into her son’s face. Donny ran his hands behind her hips, curling his fingers about those firm, luscious ass cheeks of his mother. His eyes bluing with excitement, he opened his mouth and pressed his lips against her seeping cunt, his tongue fluttering.

“Oooo, yes, yes!” Peggy wailed as her son’s tongue licked swiftly about her steaming clit. “Lick my cunt, Donny! Oh, I love to be tonguefucked!”

Her son’s tongue rapidly stabbed into her pussy, his hands holding her ass tight. Peggy squealed with intense delight as her son began fucking his tongue in and out of her fiery, wet pussy. She lifted her ass and began to make grinding motions into his face, her green eyes burning as she saw his nose buried into her thick cunt hair. She closed her hot, satiny thighs against his head as she writhed and tossed her crotch into his face.

Peggy, usually in a high state of arousal, became so inflamed with erotic ecstasy that her cunt was spasming about her son’s fucking tongue, the orgasms feeling like warm waves crashing upon her, but with growing power and force. The lips of her cunt flexed in convulsions about his tongue, the way her pussy did when a cock was fucking into her.

Peggy was gurgling hotly as her son fucked wildly into her boiling cunt, her moans incoherent but quite loud. She lifted her cunt and slammed her pussy into her son’s face, grinding furiously as she felt her orgasms growing more powerful, the shattering of them making her tits tighten and her body shake.

The sounds that came from her son’s buried mouth sent thrills racing up and down her spine. They told her of his enjoyment at eating her pussy. There was a gathering of forces in the pit of her stomach, and Peggy began to scream, the sound starting low but growing with intensity as her orgasms threatened to destroy her completely.

With a jerking motion, she banged her convulsing cunt harshly into her son’s face, grinding mindlessly. Donny kept his tongue slashing at his mother’s cunt, but as her orgasms still continued relentlessly, he closed his lips about her swollen, throbbing clit and sucked hard, his tongue beating rapidly against the sensitive tip.

Donny pulled his face from his mother’s hair-rimmed pussy only when her ass slumped. He sat back on his heels, his cock tearing up and dripping. His face was smeared with the slippery juices of his mother’s pussy, and he licked his tongue over his lips. His eyes shined happily, as if he had just accomplished something no one else ever had.

Peggy sat forward, gathering her son into her arms and hugging him tightly, his face against her naked tits. “Oh, you’re so sweet to me, baby!” she cooed. “That was wonderful! My God... you sucked my cunt as if you’ve been doing it for years! You haven’t been holding out on me, have you?”

“I’ve never did that before, Mother,” he said.

“You were like a kid with candy for the first time in years.” She smiled at him. “You must have enjoyed it.”

“I loved it, Mother! Your cunt tastes good! I wonder if Susy’s pussy tastes as good.”

Peggy knew she had failed in getting his mind off the girl. There just had to be some way, some way to divert his erotic desire away from Susy.

“Sit on the couch, darling,” she said in a husky voice. “After that tongue fucking you gave me, you deserve something nice in return.”

With his cock about to burst, Donny quickly sat on the couch. Peggy scooted to the floor, sitting at his feet. She shoved his knees apart and began stroking his hard cock and fondling his balls, using both her hands. Donny moved his ass forward as his mother had done, anticipating her hot, wet mouth on his cock.

Peggy kissed the inside of her son’s thighs with her hot lips, her green eyes blazing up at his cock wrapped in her fist. Shoving her tongue out, she licked his thighs, going from one to the other, licking the sensitive inner portions, circling her tongue close to his balls. She shoved her tongue far out, then began to bounce his balls up and down, her fist keeping up the slow jacking motions of his throbbing cock.

Finally she began to circle his balls with the tip of her tongue. She traced about his balls and the base of her son’s cock, making soft whimpering sounds of pleasure. Sliding her tongue down again, she shoved it beneath her son’s balls and opened her mouth as wide as she could.

Taking Donny’s balls into her mouth, she sucked at them gently, running her tongue about the wrinkled flesh. After a bit, she let his balls fall away and ran her tongue up the underside of his cock, flicking it over the smooth head of his prick. At the piss hole she tapped her tongue against it, tasting the seeping fuck juices that bubbled up. Peggy ran her tongue all about his swollen cockhead, then took his prick into her mouth. With her hair swirling, she began to suck up and down her son’s cock, taking his prick deep.

Donny’s eyes were fiery as they stared down at his mother’s cock-filled mouth, his hips pumping to meet the down thrust of her devouring lips. Peggy gurgled with ecstasy, loving the hardness of her son’s cock between her hot, tight, slippery lips. She loved the way his prick brushed at her throat when she sucked deep, loved the smoothness of his cock head as her tongue swirled and lapped. Best of all, she loved the taste of his dripping fuck juices against her tongue.

When she pulled her stretched lips from his cock, Donny grunted a protest. “I was gonna come, Mother!”

“I know, lover,” she said softly. “But don’t worry, you’ll come... and it’s going to be fantastic!”

She lifted his knees and shoved them against his chest. “Hold your knees there, baby,” she said.

With Donny holding his knees, Peggy stared into his crotch. His balls were beautiful, his cock throbbing. The cheeks of his ass parted, and the pucker of his asshole was in view. Shoving her face down, Peggy began to run her tongue about the cheeks of her son’s ass. He grunted with surprise, but his eyes flashed with pleasure.

Peggy licked the cheeks of his ass, then she fluttered the tip of her tongue deep, scraping across her son’s asshole. Opening her lips, she pressed them tightly against his ass. With a sucking motion, she plunged her tongue into her son’s asshole quickly. Donny gasped, but he held his knees tightly against his chest. Peggy, her tongue fucking into his tight asshole, his balls pressed against her nose, gripped his cock and began jacking his prick with a wild flurry of motion. Plunging her tongue deep into his asshole, she could just barely peek past his cock and watch his face. Her son’s eyes blazed with erotic ecstasy as he lifted his ass against her face. When Donny began a rocking motion, Peggy pulled her tongue out of his puckered tightness, up over his balls, to the base of his cock, then down again.

Once more she thrust her tongue into his asshole, fucking with intense delight. She felt his cock throbbing harder in her tight fist, and her green eyes watched his swollen prick head closely. His cock was dripping more and more, and his prick head was seemingly growing larger.

Peggy’s tongue fucked deep into her son’s asshole. She felt his asshole flexing around her tongue as her lips sucked. She anticipated his pleasure, eagerly watching for him to start coming. Her fist gripped his cock hard at the base, squeezing and no longer jerking up and down.

She heard him grunt.

Quickly, her tongue pulled from his tight asshole and she raced it against his balls. Her gaze was still on the head of his cock as the first gush of come juice erupted. The white glob of come juice flew almost half a foot into the air. With a loud squeal, Peggy lifted her head quickly and, just as the spurt of come juice fell to his stomach, closed her lips about the head of his cock in time to catch the other spurts. The thick, creamy sweetness of his come juice coated her tongue, making her eyes roll with ecstasy. Each squirt of his come juice splashed against her cheeks, and she began to swallow with a greedy, liquid sound.

Peggy clung to her son’s cock as he came.

Her lips were wrapped about the head, her fist still tight at the base. Her mouth filled time and again, sending sparks of ecstasy between her thighs. She wailed around his cock as a shattering orgasm burst within her cunt.

Falling forward, Peggy still had her son’s cock inside her mouth as the small pool of come juice on his stomach smeared her cheek. She could hear her son gasping, and her own breaths came in choking pants.

Releasing her son’s cock, she sat back on the floor, his come juices glistening on her cheek. Slowly her son reined, his feet back on the floor.

“Well, how was that?” she asked.

“You sure know how to drain a guy, Mother,” he panted.

“Of course I do,” she laughed. “That’s because I love to suck cock, and I have this deliciously dirty mind... just like you, you horny shit!” She slapped him playfully on the hip. “That should cool your balls for a while.”

But as her son pulled his jogging shorts back on, she knew very well it wouldn’t cool him off. Her son, she knew could not go long without more pussy. He was as insatiable as she was now that they had started this. The problem was that Donny, she knew, wanted to fuck Susy. She knew that no matter what she did for him, he was soon going to get his hands into the girl’s panties, and his cock inside her sugary cunt.

She watched him leave the house, knowing very well that he was going to be with Susy ma short time. Getting to her feet, pulling her panties up, she wandered into her bedroom for a shower.

There was a feeling of apprehension growing within her about Donny’s desire for Susy. She didn’t feel any fear, strangely enough, but a sort of tension of some impending incident. She ate dinner alone, wondering where Donny was.

He had never been so late before. She wasn’t really worried because, despite his manner, he seldom gave her cause to be concerned. But when he still had not come home by ten that evening, she began to worry.

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lunarw0rks · 9 months

Note

Hello again! I love your works and it's super early to request another but I read your latest post and I loved it! So if you don't mind, could you do headcanons on 141 reacting to their s/o cleaning their car?

Like one of those stereotypical scenes where she's in a bikini or a bikini top with shorts and she's cleaning her car, like she loves her car so she cleans it alot but this is the first time they see the full scene. NSFW would be amazing if you would be ok with it :)

Thank you :]

In The Sunlight // 141 Headcanons (+Ale)

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), suggestive language/content, established relationship, fem!reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? // ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

SYNOPSIS; summer hit, and it hit hard.

Sizzling atmosphere, sky-rocketing temps, and revolving fans working overtime. Every year, people complain that they miss winter when the high temps smack them in the face, but they wish for the heat when the leaves fall. For you—you would take any excuse to enjoy the hose and sprinkler, sometimes washing your car weekly as an excuse to cool off. Cold showers, ice packs, air conditioning; it wasn’t enough.

On the bright side, it gave you an excuse to wash your beloved car. To run the hose on the vehicle, and most of all your sweating skin; all while wearing revealing summer attire.

Price

John was due to be home that day, the house was lonely, and you were miserable in the heat. Why not be outside when he comes home? You dressed yourself in a bikini to sprit yourself with the hose, spending about half the time searching for a cool off than washing your car. In your other hand, you had an drink with more ice cubes than liquid; a soothing cube to crunch on while you worked. You swirled your drink as you put another cube between your teeth, spreading the foamy soap with intense focus.

That focus broke when his car finally pulled into the driveway, revealing his attempt at an eager welcome. He was exhausted, but never too exhausted to greet you. Besides, you wearing a basically see-through swimsuit? How can he resist?

❝Don’t work too hard, sweetheart. You’ll get heat stroke.❞ John crept up to you, dropping his duffel. He leaned down and sipped from your drink, picking up an ice cube between his teeth. His lips leaned forward, tracing the ice along your neck and down your cleavage until it melted against your flesh. ❝Let me help you cool off, I missed all of you.❞ His lips found your drink again, meeting your lips with a dripping chunk of ice—a whole new meaning to a sloppy kiss.

Simon

Simon hates the heat—despises it, even. All year round, he wears dark colors, multiple layers, and most notably his balaclava. Does that stop him from ogling you? Not a bit. He can enjoy the view from inside, peering through the curtains at your soaked figure as you scrub your prized car. You lean over the edge, bikini top doing little to contain your breasts as he gets a good view down the top. Simon lets out an amused scoff at the sight, closing the curtains before you have the opportunity to spot him.

You come back inside for some water, wrapping a towel so you don’t dribble on the floor. A hand darts out of the doorway of the kitchen, Simon’s hand gripping the towel and giving it a yank until it falls to the floor. ❝Gave the neighbors a show, didn’t you?❞

He steps out from his hidden spot around the counter, giving your arm a gentle pull so you come towards him, until your face his inches from his. Normally, he leaves his teasing until nightfall, but he’s home and you’re soaked.

❝Need to get you into some better clothes.❞ His strong arms slither around your midsection, gripping intensely. No better excuse, assisting you in getting another change of clothes after he carries you to the bedroom.

Soap

The humidity constantly disturbed your slumber. You and Soap’s shared bedroom was more like a sauna, no matter how long the fans or AC ran. It was so severe you laid awake during the early morning, tossing and turning, peeling the covers stuck to your sweaty body. There was no point in attempting to sleep, you were wide awake at four-thirty in the morning, might as well go outside and cool off. Your car could use a wash, anyhow.

You slipped on a bikini and stepped out into the morning air. The sun hadn’t risen completely, so the heat wasn’t unbearable yet. The hose spewed a stream of water on the hood as you did your first rinse, then scoured cleaner on it. You bent over the hood of your car to reach a spot you missed, lips curled in concentration.

When you felt a pair of hands on your hips, you let out a squeal, quickly soothed by a familiar accent. ❝Don’t move,❞ he purred into your ear, tugging your bottoms down to your ankles. Soap knelt behind you, swiping his tongue along your folds. Your gaze darts around the dim streets, insisting a neighbor will see.

He speaks, then his licks only gained intensity and sloppiness. ❝Let ‘em see.❞

Gaz

As soon as the two of you find time to be outside, it’s an immature sight; chasing each other through the backyard, spraying one another with the hose, or on days where he’s beat, he’ll simply watch you from the hot tub. Today, it was betrayal. You were washing your car, completely believing the fact that Gaz was “too tired” for games tonight. He was too calculated to not have a battle plan, you should’ve known better, right?

As you’ve returned from refilling the soapy bucket, there’s an icy pour of ice water, over the top of your hair, soaking your bikini top, all the way down your jean shorts and legs. With an agape mouth, you drop the bucket and chase after his fleeting figure—a smug grin on his face the whole time. When you round the corner into the backyard, he’s nowhere in sight. As you creep up on the shed, he finally reveals himself, sending you both to a tumble in the grass.

Kyle constricts your arms above your head, grinning down at your hopeless struggle. ❝I didn’t cheat, you just need better eyes, babe.❞ He loosens his grip when you stop fighting him, leaning down to press a kiss on your lips. He places a knee between your legs, staring down at your soaked bikini top hungrily. ❝You look so goddamn sexy like this…❞

Alejandro

You were washing away, brows knitted in focus. Then, you remembered you had left your water bottle on the kitchen counter. The windows were wide open because you were airing out the house on a hot day, so it was worth a shot hollering for Alejandro. ❝Ale, can you bring me my water? Ale?❞ You raise your voice slightly because there’s no way he can’t hear you.

❝In the backyard, cariño.❞ His unmistakable voice replies, distant from the back of the house. You sigh and enter the house, finding your water but no sign of Alejandro, even through the paned glass windows and sliding door. In reality; he had been ogling you for several minutes, waiting for his opportunity for either you to ask for something, or him making something up on the spot. Lucky for him, your need for your bottle had everything going according to plan.

You exited to the backyard, holding a hand up to block the sun. Even if he was visible right now, he would be impossible to spot from the blaze of the star. ❝Right here, amor.❞ Alejandro crept out from out of the shade, wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You knew what this meant—it was inevitable with him. And yet, you fell for it again.

In the next second, you were plunged into the pool, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist. He chuckles at your whines of contempt, pressing his forehead against yours. ❝How was that? You fell for it again, que no?❞ It’s obvious he can’t resist you in a bikini.

Laswell

There are two things Kate can’t get enough of; sunbathing and eyeing you. Sitting on the lounge chairs, reclined with a book or magazine in hand. It’s not often she’s on leave, or home long enough to spend outside. Today was different—she had some time off. She intended to spend as much time outside enjoying the heat, much more preferable than being cooped up in an understimulating base. And watching you while she vedged out? It’s a common pursuit of hers, bikini on or not.

You held your hair up with one hand, the other using the sprinkler setting to mist yourself. Kate tipped her sunglasses down slightly to get a better view, a warm beam spreading on her face. Her nose crinkled slightly as you sprayed the hood of the car, spreading the suds around on the surface.

She flicked to the next page of her magazine, soaking in the sunbeams.

Though she would never say it out in the open, she was certainly ogling her favorite parts of you; your sunkissed chest, the curves hugged tight by shorts—all a cherished image for the next time she leaves, and probably later that night after dinner. ❝How much for you to do mine too, babe?❞

To add to it, she probably snaps candid photos of you, the stream of them probably ending with you blocking the lens with your hands. She’s her own favorite comedian, your complaints and embarrassed whines are a close second.

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hastyprovocateur · 7 months

Text

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 (?)

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