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themultifanshipper · 23 days ago

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Poker? I hardly know her!

You and Oscar stared at Lando, who was peeling his shirt off before anyone had even put any chips on the table.

Maybe Lando didn't understand the rules of poker after all...

Warnings: Not quite proofread I just needed to get it out of my drafts before people started bringing pitchforks to my house, some of this is insane, i'm warning you, brief poker jargon, fucking on a jet, oral sex, male and female recieving AND giving, canonically bisexual landoscar, a bit of a humiliation kink, strip poker turns dirty very quickly, bad dirty talk, cum, Lando is a TEASE and a WHORE, finger sucking (inspired by something someone actually did to me once)

“Lando why are you taking your shirt off?” Oscar frowned in confusion.

“This is strip poker. You bet your clothes, don't you?” he answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You'd known Lando a long time, and he was a bit of a dim bulb (affectionate) sometimes.

Oscar you'd only met when he became Lando's teammate, but you got along like a house on fire, and despite you not knowing each other very well, one of your favourite bonding activities was making fun of Lando.

“Lando!” you laughed “that's not how it works. You bet your clothes but you only take them off if you lose”

He looked offended at the implication that he didn't already know that and tried to defend himself, but he had a slight tint of red quickly spreading over his cheeks.

“I knew that! I just think it's better to put my bets on the table is all...”

You and Oscar dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Okay whatever you say, it's not like you'd be keeping it on long anyway” you teased and winked at Oscar.

“Oh fuck off!” he gave you the middle finger before picking up his cards that Oscar had been dealing. “and since when do you play poker? You’ve never mentioned it to me...”

Oscar shrugged, picking up his own cards.

“You know what boarding school is like. There's nothing to do except play poker, and ... uhh...” he trailed off and you looked at him questioningly.

“Well, you know. It's boring” he said quickly, his cheeks going slightly pink as he avoided your gaze.

Lando narrowed his eyes at him. “Yeah, I do know what boarding school is like. But we never played poker”

“Okay what did you play then mister wise guy?” Oscar's tone was off, like he was trying to accuse Lando of something.

Lando's face went blank, and you could tell he was going through the options one by one, not wanting to say any of them out loud.

“I can't remember?” he tried.

Oscar scoffed in disbelief and you decided to intervene.

“Right, are we playing then?”

“Gladly” they both muttered in sync.

You weren't naive. You knew exactly what boys got up to in boarding schools.

You'd been to an all girls boarding school yourself, and had your fair share of... experiences.

But both of them seemed to be a bit embarrassed about theirs as they settled in their seats like big birds that had just gotten their feathers ruffled.

The game went just about as well as expected.

Lando ended up in his boxers after only 3 rounds, while you and Oscar hadn't taken a single item of clothing off.

His nipples pebbled in the cool conditioned air, and you could see goosebumps erupting all over his skin.

Your eyes scanned his thighs briefly and you gulped. They were thick, and he was in tight black boxers that really didn’t leave much to the imagination.

As enticing as the sight was, it didn't help your concentration.

Oscar was once again dealing cards, and you noticed him side-eyeing Lando a couple of times.

“Are you sure you're not cold, mate?”

Lando shivered but didn't relent in his stubbornness.

“No I'm fine. Besides, I am determined to beat at least one of you”

“You'll be fully naked long before that happens” Oscar chuckled but it sounded hollow.

You also forced out a laugh. Lando naked was the last thing you needed right now.

But with an ace and a jack in your hand, how could you possibly lose?

And you were right. Lando could go all in if he wanted to (and he did) but on the table were a king, a queen, and a ten. And he was a terrible bluffer, he was way too cocky.

Oscar had already folded so it was up to you to get Lando's pants off.

You put your cards down face up.

“Sorry mate, I've got a straight” you said in mock- sympathy. “Someone's getting naked and it ain't me”.

You smirked at him.

“Not so fast” Lando tutted at you and showed his cards.

He also had an ace and a jack.

But they were the same colour as the cards on the fucking table. All spades.

He had a royal fucking flush. The highest hand possible.

Oscar gasped softly.

“Well well well, looks like someone else is taking their shirt off!”

You felt your face heat up immediately.

You only had a T-shirt on.

As in, you only had a T-shirt on.

“Ummm...” you flushed and picked at the edge of the table. “about that...”

You looked at Oscar but quickly averted your gaze when your eyes met.

“What's the matter?” he asked curiously.

“let’s just say that if I take my shirt off, Lando won't be the only one with his tits out”

Comprehension dawned on their faces and they both went fully red.

It all became suddenly very real. It was all fun and games until one of had to actually do it.

“Uh- well you don't have to, you can uhh” Oscar stuttered his way through an excuse “you can take your pants off or- or something. Or like just not do it. It's just a game. No pressure to actually get naked”

You looked at Lando and he smirked.

“If you're not uncomfortable with it you can do it if you want. We're all adults here, we've all seen boobs before, no biggie”

You hesitated. “Oscar?”

“Yeah, yeah whatever you're comfortable with!” his voice was weirdly high pitched but he nodded reassuringly.

You worked up the courage and grabbed the bottom of you shirt, slowly lifting it up over your head.

When your vision became unobstructed again, Oscar was staring at a spot on the ceiling, and the Lando's smirk had been wiped clean off his face.

Despite being your best friend for a long time, he'd never seen you topless, even though (and he would never admit this out loud) he'd fantasized about it many times.

You could tell he was struggling to maintain eye contact with you, his eyes glazing over slightly.

You chuckled nervously.

“It's okay you can look. Like you said they're just tits, right?”

Oscar glanced at them quickly, then did a double take and his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly and looked away again.

Lando’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but his words died in his throat as he also just stared unblinkingly.

It was objectively quite funny how you'd rendered them both utterly speechless.

After a good thirty seconds though, it started getting a bit too weird.

“Okay this is getting creepy now, do you want me to put my shirt back on?”

“No!” they answered wayyy too quickly. “Its fine we're just a bit surprised is all”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay horndogs, shall we get back to it, then?”

They nodded almost absentmindedly, and Lando dealt the cards.

“I'm now determined to get Lando naked to take some of the attention off of me, now” you joked lightly and the other two laughed.

The atmosphere became a bit less charged over the course of the next round, but Oscar was seemingly very much off his game suddenly, because he lost two in a row.

In the name of fairness, he took his pants off, and his black hoodie, so he was still left in a T-shirt that thankfully hid the raging boner he was currently trying to make go down with sheer force of will.

He had an almost naked Lando inches away on his right, and a magnificent pair of breasts in front of him.

How was he supposed to concentrate in these conditions? He was living a bisexual's wet dream.

But he was determined to win, so he dealt the cards.

Lando was getting a bit antsy. He was already pretty turned on by the sight of you, but now, he couldn't stop staring at Oscar's thighs.

They were so thick. He wanted to touch them. Maybe give them a lick and a bite.

His fingers twitched on his lap, where he was trying his best to hide the ever growing problem in his underwear, that was unfortunately not covered by a T-shirt.

But he wanted to touch Oscar's thighs. He wanted to feel the thick muscles under his large hands.

“You doing okay there, guys?” you asked.

The two men in front of you were unconsciously squirming in their seats, doing their best (and failing) to not check each other out.

“Yeah, i'll start at 200” Oscar said, taking a single chip from his enormous pile.

It wasn't his turn, but it didn't matter, none of you were truly focusing on the game right now.

“I'll go all in” Lando said, voice cracking.

Oscar sucked in a breath.

“You sure you want to do that? You've only got one chip left”

“Absolutely” the older man said defiantly, his eyes dark as he stared at you.

A shiver ran down your spine. He was going to lose, you could feel it. He was going to lose and he was going to get naked.

“I'll fold” you muttered.

It was all between Oscar and Lando, now.

“I guess it's all in then”

The atmosphere was tense once again as Lando showed his cards first.

Full house. There was no way Oscar hadn't been bluffing.

“I think you're gonna need to take your shirt off mate” he tried to sound cocky but it wasn't very convincing.

A slow smirk took over Oscar's features, and he grinned evilly at Lando.

He slapped his cards down, face up, and the colour drained from Lando's face.

“Four of a kind. Mate”

You glanced down at Lando's boxers.

There was a small wet patch forming at the front.

Looks like being humiliated was getting him going.

You decided to try and save his dignity, but you knew Oscar had also noticed, if the way he was currently looking at Lando like he wanted to eat him, was any indication.

“You don't have to Lando, if you don't want to”

But his mind seemed made up and he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers.

“No it's fine, a bet is bet” he was very red in the face, but true to his word he pulled his underwear off and let it drop to the floor under the table.

You didn't look. You swear you didn't look.

“You can look guys” Lando said, you could hear the cockiness dripping from his words. He knew what he looked like naked.

“Nope, I'm good” you replied. “Oscar?”

“Yeah, nah I'm good. Shall we keep going?” he asked you with a forced smile.

“Yep, deal the cards, then”

Oscar picked up the cards and Lando whined.

“Wait, I wanna keep playing too” he sounded so pathetic. It made your thighs clench together.

And Oscar noticed.

“Lando you don't have anything left to wager. What are you going to bet? Your skin?” he mocked, but Lando didn't miss a beat.

“I’ve got a mouth. And I don't have a gag reflex”

Your jaw dropped and Oscar choked on his spit.

“Jesus, Lando” you breathed.

But the silence that followed was deafening as everyone seemed to be thinking about it.

You looked at Oscar, who looked at Lando, who looked back at you defiantly.

Well, it seemed this game was taking a turn. But you weren't complaining, and neither was Oscar.

“okay” you and Oscar said at the same time.

He dealt the cards, and you had a particularly shit hand so you folded, almost dissapointed that you wouldn't be winning Lando's mouth.

Lando refused to fold, despite having a shit hand as well, so he lost, naturally.

“So uhh... you want to uhm-“ Oscar gestured vaguely in front of him.

You took pity on Oscar. “You going to put your mouth to good use?” you translated for him, and Lando nodded.

“Yup” he chirped, and promptly dropped under the table. He was so eager, you were starting to think he'd planned this all along, and was losing on purpose.

But no, he wasn't that manipulative.

You could barely see what was going on but Lando dragged Oscar's underwear down and groaned.

Then it was Oscar's turn to let out a pathetic little noise as Lando's head sank downwards.

“Lando, fuck-“ he squeezed his eyes shut, the sudden heat of Lando's mouth overwhelming him. “Your mouth, Jesus Christ”

The sight was quite erotic, Oscar fingers threading through Lando's hair as the obscene sounds sounds of his mouth working Oscar's cock filled the cabin.

Oscar looked down at him with a furrowed brow and his mouth open in shock, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

You certainly couldn't. Oscar had always seemed quite reserved to you, yet here he was, getting deepthroated by your friend, in front of you.

“God, yeah. Take it. Good boy” he lifted his hips to meet Lando's mouth and Lando moaned wantonly around him.

One of Lando's feet knocked into yours under the table, making you look down.

You gasped in shock. Not at how fucking round and peachy his ass looked, although that was worth noting, no, what turned your world on its axis was the fact that Lando was wearing socks.

The absolute whore.

Turns out he was that manipulative.

“Oscar!” You called, and he looked back up at you with lidded eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Lando's still wearing his fucking socks!”

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he looked down to where Lando's face was red and covered in drool and tears already.

“Lando...” he let out a shuddery moan “If you wanted us to treat you like a little slut, all you had to do was ask.” He cooed, stroking Lando's tears away.

The older man suddenly did something with his tongue that made Oscar throw his head back and tighten his hold in Lando's hair.

“Christ Lando, where did you lean to do that?” he panted, and Lando pulled off of him for a second to reply.

“Boarding school” he rasped, voice hoarse.

You and Oscar chuckled breathlessly. Of course, stupid question, really.

It didn't take Oscar very long to reach his end with how Lando was swallowing around him, throat tightening rythmically.

You were very wet. Rubbing your thighs together wasn't quite enough so you pulled down your own pants and underwear and slid a hand down your body.

The first touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. You spread your thighs, which caught Oscar's attention, and he gasped and unexpectedly came with a shout down Lando's throat.

Lando, the whore, swallowed every last drop.

His hair was a mess and he turned around, wondering what Oscar was staring so intently at.

The sight of your legs propped up on the table and your fingers pumping in and out of you as your cunt drooled onto the seat made his mouth go very dry.

He crawled over to you under the table and pulled your hand away.

His hungry gaze made your thighs clench, but his large hands came to hold them open as the flat of his tongue licked a long stripe up your soaked folds.

Your hands grabbed a hold of his hair, like Oscar had, and he closed his eyes in bliss.

“Pull it” Oscar said and you glanced at him before doing as he said.

You tugged sharply and the reaction was immediate.

The moan that came from Lando's mouth was downright pornographic, and you grinned, pushing his head down to where you were dripping onto the seat.

He wasted no time lapping up every drop and soon he slid a finger inside you, and then a second one, crooking them upwards and making you see stars.

Turns out Lando wasn't just good with his mouth, his hands were also a goddamn gift to humanity.

By the time you'd stopped shaking with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Oscar was hard again and languidly stroking himself at the sight of you.

Lando stood up, his back cracking after being hunched over for so long.

You properly took him in for the first time. His cock was big, bigger than you'd expected, and his thighs were covered in what you assumed was precum.

You instinctively wrapped a hand around him and swiped your thumb over his tip.

He hissed and batted your hand away.

“I want to see you two fuck” he said, as if that wasn't a totally insane thing to say.

You looked at Oscar, who didn't look opposed to the idea, then back up at Lando.

“What about you?”

He grinned at you mischievously.

“I'm going to watch. And then I'm going to come on those lovely tits of yours”

You blinked up at him and he bent down, sliding a hand under your jaw to tilt your head up.

He stopped, his lips almost brushing yours as he spoke.

“It does hurt a bit. But I really, really want to see my teammate fuck my best friend.” He hooked his thumb over your teeth to press on your tongue, opening up your mouth for him.

“And besides...” he continued “I like it when it hurts”

He pulled away, leaving you completely breathless and more soaked than you'd ever been in your life.

He helped you lie down on the table, and Oscar spread your legs, biting his lip at the sight of your slick covered thighs.

He slid himself through your folds, rubbing your clit and you whined pathetically.

He decided not to tease you too much, and slid home in one go, knocking the wind out of you.

You all moaned at the slick sounds coming from where you and Oscar were joined, and he quickly picked up the pace, his hips slapping against yours.

Lando may have been good with his mouth and hands, but my god, Oscar knew what to do with his hips. Your g-spot didn’t stand a chance.

His abs flexed with every expert roll of his hips, one of his hands planting itself next to your head to hold himself up, the other wrapping around one of your thighs to pull you back against his thrusts.

Whatever poker chips were left on the table were digging into your back but you could barely feel them, you were high on the feeling of Oscar splitting you open on his cock.

Lando couldn't help himself, he turned your head to the side and tapped your lips with his pointer finger.

“Open up, darling. I want to see what you look like with a mouth full of cock”

Yes the line was pretty cheesy, but you stuck your tongue out anyway, and he grinned as he slid his tip along it. He shuddered at the stimulation, and gave an experimental shallow thrust into your mouth.

“Such a good girl... like you were made for it weren't you? Getting stuffed full of us” his fingers danced along your collarbones and you shuddered at the touch.

“So responsive as well...” he looked at your breasts, heaving and bouncing with the force of Oscar's thrusts. He pinched a nipple harshly and you cried out, voice muffled by his cock. “Would you believe me if I told I've dreamt about these quite a bit...”

You rolled your eyes and gave him the middle finger, but he just grabbed your hand and stuck said finger in his mouth and sucked on it.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks at the lewd action, and then he put a second finger in his mouth and shoved them all the way back.

You were going to combust on the spot.

When he pulled his mouth off it with an obscene pop, he looked down at you condescendingly, your mouth still firmly wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Why don't you put those fingers to better use, and make yourself come with them”

You did as you were told and pressed them to your clit, rubbing very slow circles.

Oscar was losing his sanity watching the two of you interact. The bickering, and acting as if he wasn't there, was making him hornier than anything and his hips stuttered as he felt the beginnings of an orgasm creeping up on him.

“Oh come on” Lando drawled, picking up the pace of his own hips “You can do better than that”

You rubbed faster, matching the rythm of his thrusts, and very soon you were thrown over the edge of extasy, back arching and toes curling as you clenched around Oscar.

Lando desperately wanted to hear your pretty moans so he pulled out and finished himself off by hand, on your tits, as promised.

Oscar collapsed on top of you, groaning into your neck as his hips stuttered to a halt, and you could already feel his cum seeping out of you onto the table.

You panted into the now stifling air of the cabin, wondering how the hell you got to this point in your friendship.

Oscar lifted himself off you, and glanced at Lando's cum now smeared over the both of you.

He leaned down and licked a stripe up one of your breasts, over a nipple which made you gasp, and then pulled you in for a filthy kiss.

Fuck it was good. Oscar was a really good kisser apparently. The taste of Lando just added to the depravity of the scene.

Lando felt a tad jealous at that moment. He'd lusted over you for years, and he hadn't even kissed you yet.

You and Oscar parted for breath and you saw the look on Lando's face.

“Oh for god's sake, come here!” you made grabby hands at him and he gladly leant down, capturing your lips in a passion filled embrace, his hands going to cup your face as he deepened it.

The cleanup was a nightmare, but you couldn't walk off the plane naked and covered in cum, so you managed.

You did the best you could with bottles of water and some towels, before getting dressed again, just as the pilot announced he was beginning his descent.

“Well what did we learn today, kids?” you said cheerfully once the three of you were on solid ground “Boarding schools teach you very important life lessons, and Lando-“ you slapped his chest playfully “is much better at poker than he lets on!”

The three of you giggled like children, rolling your suitcases on the tarmac of Nice airport, not hearing the pilot mumbling to himself behind you.

“And I learned today that private jet cabins are no where near soundproof....”

Taglist: @teamnovalak

#my thots #lando thots #oscar thots #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #landoscar smut #landoscar x reader #f1 #formula 1

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extinctionstories · 4 months ago

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On April 19th, 1987, a bird known as Adult Condor 9 was captured in the Bitter Creek National Wildlife Refuge, near Bakersfield, California. After decades ravaged by the threats of lead-poisoning and pesticide exposure, and intense debate over the ethics of captivity, it had been determined that captive breeding was the final hope to save a species. As his designation might suggest, AC-9 was the ninth condor to be captured for the new program; he was also the last.

As the biology team transported the seven-year-old male to the safety of the San Diego Wild Animal Park, his species, the California Condor, North America's largest bird, became extinct in its native range. It was Easter Sunday—a fitting day for the start of a resurrection.

At the time of AC-9's capture, the total world population of California condors constituted just twenty-seven birds. The majority of them represented ongoing conservation attempts: immature birds, taken from the wild as nestlings and eggs to be captive-reared in safety, with the intention of re-release into the wild. Now, efforts turned fully towards the hope of captive breeding.

Captive breeding is never a sure-fire bet, especially for sensitive, slow-reproducing species like the condor. Animals can and do go extinct even when all individuals are successfully shielded from peril and provided with ideal breeding conditions. Persistence in captivity is not the solution to habitat destruction and extirpation—but it can buy valuable time for a species that needs it.

Thankfully, for the California condor, it paid off.

The birds defied expectations, with an egg successfully hatched at the San Diego Zoo the very next year. Unlike many other birds of prey, which may produce clutches of up to 5 hatchlings, the California condor raises a single chick per breeding season, providing care for the first full year of its life, and, as a consequence, often not nesting at all in the year following the birth of a chick. This, combined with the bird's slow maturation (taking six to eight years to start breeding), presented a significant challenge. However, biologists were able to exploit another quirk of the bird's breeding cycle: its ability to double-clutch.

Raising a single offspring per year is a massive risk in a world full of threats, and the California condor's biology has provided it with a back-up plan: in years when a chick or egg has been lost, condors will often re-nest with a second egg. To take advantage of this tendency, eggs were selectively removed from birds in the captive breeding program, which would then lay a replacement, greatly increasing their reproduction rate.

And what of the eggs that were taken? The tendency of hatchlings to imprint is well-known, and the intention from the very beginning was for the birds to one day return to the wild—an impossibility for animals acclimated to humans. And so, puppets were made in the realistic likeness of adult condors, and used by members of the conservation team to feed and nurture the young birds, mitigating the risk of imprintation on the wrong species.

By 1992, the captive population had more than doubled, to 64 birds. That year, after an absence of five years, the first two captive-bred condors were released into their ancestral home. Many other releases followed, including the return of AC-9 himself in 2002. Thanks to the efforts of zoos and conservationists, as of 2024 there are 561 living California condors, over half of which fly free in the wilds of the American West.

The fight to save the California condor is far from over. The species is still listed as critically endangered. Lead poisoning (from ingesting shot/bullets from abandoned carcasses) remains the primary source of mortality for the species, with tagged birds tested and treated whenever possible. Baby condors are fed bone chips by their parents, likely as a calcium supplement—but, to a condor, bits of bone and bits of plastic can be indistinguishable, and dead nestlings have been found with stomachs full of trash.

There's hope, though. There are things we can change, things we can counteract and stop from happening in the future. It was a human hand that created this problem, and it will take a human hand to fix it. Hope is only gone when the last animal breathes its last breath—and the California condor is still here.

This painting is titled Puppet Rearing (California Condor), and is part of my series Conservation Pieces, which focuses on the efforts and techniques used to save critically endangered birds from extinction. It is traditional gouache, on 22x30" paper.

#california condor #bird art #bird extinction #endangered species #conservation #series: conservation pieces #extinction stories

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1425fivefive · 26 days ago

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what if i briefly lost my mind due to this photo and wrote a 1.5k landoscar strip poker drabble. what if (landoscar, 1.5k words, nsfw)

Sometimes, Oscar wonders if Lando does things purely to torture him.

They’re on the private jet McLaren’s chartered for them back from the FIA Awards. Zak and Andrea are somewhere up in the front of the plane, probably sleeping off their hangovers. Andrea looked like he might puke at any second when they got into the car that morning to head to the airport. Oscar and Lando are at the back, sitting across from Sam Bird, one of McLaren’s drivers in Formula E.

Oscar likes Sam well enough, but he can’t help but wish Sam was literally anywhere else. Oscar feels like he’s going insane with Lando sitting right beside him, buried in an oversized hoodie, his curls still sleep-mussed. Lando keeps shooting Oscar these cheeky little grins, like he knows exactly how crazy Oscar’s felt all weekend.

Their rooms at the hotel were right next to Zak and Andrea and they couldn’t do anything without risking being overheard.

But it didn’t stop Lando from sending Oscar a mirror selfie after his shower, Lando’s towel slung ruinously low around his hips, water dripping down his torso. It didn’t stop Lando from following Oscar into a single-use toilet at the awards ceremony and palming Oscar’s dick through his tuxedo, kissing him hard and wet and filthy, before leaving Oscar panting against the sink, desperately trying to calm down. It didn’t stop Lando from sending Oscar a text in the middle of the ceremony that just read, can’t wait for u to fuck me tmrw 😇. Oscar had to work very, very hard to keep a neutral expression on his face.

At this point, Oscar sort of feels like he might die. He knows you can’t literally die from blue balls, but he also can’t help but feel like Lando’s trying his hardest to test that theory.

Two hours into the flight, Lando announces, “I’m bored.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. He’s not feeling particularly sympathetic at the moment, not when he’s half-hard and trying desperately not to go get himself off in the plane toilet while his bosses are on the flight.

“Play your Switch or something,” Oscar says shortly. “Don’t you have, like, a million films on your iPad?”

“Yeah, but I’ve already watched all of them,” Lando says, pouting. “I want to do something fun.”

Oscar’s about to snap that he reckons Lando’s had more than enough fun these past few days.

But Sams interjects before Oscar can, saying, “I have a poker set?”

“Brilliant,” Lando says, face lighting up. “I love poker.”

“Why do you have a poker set?” Oscar asks. It seems like a bit of a random thing to just have on you in case the opportunity arises.

But Sam just laughs. “Love of the game, mate. Love of the game.”

Lando tips his head toward Oscar, grinning. “Only real poker heads would understand.”

“Oh my god,” Oscar says, shaking his head. “You only got into poker, like, a month ago—”

“Two months!” Lando says, holding up two fingers.

Oscar has to look away. The sight of Lando’s massive fingers has Oscar feeling things he really, really shouldn’t only two hours into a nine-hour flight.

“Oh, well then,” Oscar says, voice only slightly choked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar sees Lando grin, like Lando knows exactly what Oscar’s thinking.

“You know how to play, right?” Sam asks Oscar.

Oscar shrugs. “Well enough.”

In truth, Oscar’s pretty shit at poker. But not as shit, apparently, as Lando.

Within three rounds, Lando’s down to a measly pile of chips. He keeps playing horrible hands, betting huge on hands that even Oscar knows almost never win. Hands like queen-high or a flush draw when Lando only has one card from that suit in his hand and there’s only one matching card on the board after the flop. Like, Oscar’s not good at poker, but he knows enough to know that Lando’s playing so poorly it almost seems like Lando’s trying to lose on purpose.

That theory’s confirmed when Lando finally runs out of chips and says, “Shit.” He looks over at Oscar, his expression all wide-eyed innocence. “Reckon I’ll just have to start betting clothes, then.”

Oscar almost chokes. He briefly fantasizes about jumping out of the plane. It’d stop Lando from fucking torturing him at least.

Instead, Oscar says, “I’m not playing strip poker.”

Oscar expects Sam to back him up, to realize what an absurd idea it is to play strip poker on a plane with their coworkers.

But Sam starts banging his fists on the table chanting, “Strip poker, strip poker, strip poker.”

Lando cackles and immediately joins in, and soon enough the two of them are making such a racket that Oscar’s worried they’ll wake up Zak and Andrea. Oscar has no interest in being on the receiving end of one of Zak’s tirades after being woken up in the middle of a nap.

“Fucking fine,” Oscar grits out. “Fine, we’ll play stupid strip poker.”

The thing is, though, Lando’s the only one out of chips. Which means Lando’s the only one actually having to bet any of his clothing.

Oscar prays Lando will start small. Maybe bet a bracelet or a shoe or something.

Instead, Lando says, “Hoodie.”

So that’s how it’s going to be.

Lando, predictably, loses, playing fucking eight-two offsuit when Oscar has a set.

“Rats,” Lando says gleefully, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a seat across the aisle. He knocks his shoulder against Oscar’s. “Shit luck, eh?”

“Yeah,” Oscar grits out, studiously ignoring looking over at Lando. He sort of hopes that if Lando doesn’t get the attention he clearly desperately craves, he’ll stop.

But on the next hand, Lando says, “Shirt.”

“Fucking hell,” Oscar groans, under his breath.

Lando giggles. “What was that, Osc?”

“Nothing,” Oscar says, staring dejectedly at his hand. He wishes it were something awful, something he could just lose with to keep Lando from ripping off his shirt, but it’s a fucking pair of kings. Oscar feels like the universe is conspiring against him.

The only blessing is that Sam seems oblivious to whatever sexual psychodrama is playing out on the other side of the table, whistling happily as he looks at his cards.

Lando loses again, peeling off his shirt and settling back in his seat.

Oscar really, really doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help but glance over at Lando, his dark nipples tight in the cool hair of the plane, lean muscles on full display. Lando’s eyes spark, lower lip pulled between his teeth, grinning like the cat who got the cream. While Sam’s still looking down at his cards, Lando brings a hand up to his chest, running it over his skin before dragging it up to his neck, fingers wrapping suggestively over the thick muscle. Almost like he’s imagining Oscar’s hand there.

“Oh my god,” Oscar groans.

Sam glances up. “All good?”

“Yep,” Oscar says, voice tight, forcing himself to stare at his cards. “Everything’s really, really good.”

Next to him, Lando lets out a delighted little giggle.

As they go around placing their opening bets, Oscar pleads silently with Lando to fold. Just once.

But Lando doesn’t fold. Instead, he announces, “Sweatpants.”

Oscar stumbles to his feet, praying his hoodie’s hiding his boner. He chokes out, “I have to—” and pushes his way past Lando, beelining for the toilet.

He’s furious as he pulls his sweatpants down. Angry as he wraps a hand around his cock. Pissed off as he starts to stroke himself.

Fucking Lando. Always fucking teasing. Knowing exactly how to get Oscar riled up, how to make him feel like he wants to say fuck it and drag Lando into the plane toilet in front of their coworker and bosses. Even though Oscar feels like he’s losing his mind, he can’t deny that it’s possibly the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. That he knows he’ll put up with it every fucking time if it gets him off this hard.

But he sort of wants to torture Lando back.

Oscar pulls out his phone, opens his camera, and hits record. He tries to put on a show, thumbing over the head, zooming in on the wet tip, twisting his wrist the way Lando always likes when Oscar does it to him. But Oscar's so on edge that he’s coming before he’s even really gotten started, spilling over his fingers to the image of Lando on top of him, Oscar’s fingers on his nipples, Oscar’s hand around his throat as Lando fucks himself on Oscar’s cock. Reminding Lando who’s in control.

But as much as Oscar likes to pretend, he knows it’s not him.

Still, Oscar feels a surge of power as he opens his texts with Lando, sends him the video of him getting off, and writes, Don’t touch yourself until we’re home.

When Oscar comes out of the toilet, he’s pleased to see Lando squirming in his seat, glancing up at Oscar with flushed cheeks, eyes desperate. Sam’s not paying any attention, headphones on, watching something on his phone.

“Having fun?” Oscar asks, blissfully relaxed after his orgasm.

Lando squirms a bit, tugging his hoodie over his crotch. But he grins up at Oscar, the gap between his front teeth on full display, and says, “Loads.”

#landoscar #f1 fic #f1 #snippet #the canonical 2024 landoscar strip poker incident #my fic

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skeltnwrites · 2 months ago

Text

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part three - you help steve and penelope look for cinderella 11k

a/n - this actually took me ages oh my god. but to those asking about cinderella here you go! CW lost pet (happy ending i promise)

── .✦

The clock hanging in the hall clicks annoyingly loud. Tick, tick, tick, like a bad song stuck in your head. You watch the minute hand cross another line. It hasn’t been adjusted since the time changed last week. Similarly, the calendar below it has yet to be flipped.

It’s November now, but more importantly, it’s Friday. It’s quickly cementing itself as your favorite day of the week. Friday’s mean lunch in Steve’s office and trading weekend plans and hearing about the kind of mischief Penelope’s been up to at home.

But it’s a quarter past eight and Steve hasn’t arrived yet. He’s never been late, or even absent since you started volunteering. It’s odd, but everyone has their days you suppose. Still, a dull twinge blooms in your chest. Working without him might as well be a form of punishment.

Someone had shoved a vacuum in your hands while they try and figure out if he’s coming. It’s boring work, not the kind Steve would give you. And when he has to give you boring work, he at least makes it fun. Turns most things into games or competitions. Like last week, he bet you any candy from the vending machine that he could sort donations faster than you. You bought him a Reeses, of course, but if anyone asks, you let him win on purpose.

You hear Steve before you see him. He’s not loud, but his voice is distinct against any others. By now, you could pick him from a crowd by voice alone. You find him in the threshold between his supervisor's office and the hall. He lingers halfway out, toying with the door handle like he can’t decide if he should go inside.

“Ah, look who finally decided to show up,” you overhear. “Was about to send a search party for you, Harrington.” The man cackles at his own joke, tone devoid of any edge.

Steve laughs strangely. A laugh you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard from him before. He spills a string of apologies for his tardiness, but his boss waves him off and sends him to work.

When he backpedals out of the doorway, you chide, “Tsk. Tsk. You’re late, Harrington.”

Steve spooks easily. He hates to admit it but it makes him an easy target for office pranks which you do take full advantage of now that you’re friends. But you aren’t even trying to scare him this time.

He visibly tenses at your voice, eyes snapping to yours. They’re as intense as you’ve ever seen the lovely shade of brown, yet dulled with the toll of exhaustion. The next thing you notice is his hair. It’s combed back behind his ears and by the looks of it has no product.

“Hey,” he tries, stopping halfway to clear his throat.

As if his appearance isn’t alarming enough, the lack of a comeback is triple worrisome. You try– and fail– to contain your concern. “What happened?”

He deflates in one big sigh. Any attempt at a facade vanished. It’s impossible to lie to you when you look so concerned.

“I’m the worst dad ever,” he declares, skimming your arm as he sidesteps past you.

You catch up to his long stride with practiced eloquence. “Uh-oh. What’d you do?”

“Cinderella’s gone missing.”

“Missing?”

He nods.

“But she’s an outside cat, right? She’s probably, I dunno, chasing birds or slumped over a can of tuna at a neighbor's house.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s been four days. Four. She’s usually around at least once a day, if not, every other. I can’t even remember the last time–”

“Wait, wait. This makes you the worst dad, how exactly?”

He forces his key into the lock of his office door, jostling the handle in frustration. “Because Penelope’s begged me since forever to let her be an inside cat and I always say no. She wouldn’t have got lost if she was inside.”

You flick on the light and hum, understanding more than agreeing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but I think you’re exaggerating.”

He plants his bag on the desk and unzips it. “This is serious. She loves that cat more than me, I swear.”

“Okay, first of all, not true. Second of all, this is serious and it sucks but it doesn’t make you a bad dad. You know that right?”

“Besides the point,” he passes you a heavy pile of paper. “Will you help me hang these up?”

You don’t answer because you don’t need to. He already knows you’ll say yes.

Black ink across the top page reads, “MISSING CAT”. There are two patchy images of Cinderella, one of which you’ve never seen and the other underexposed beyond recognition. Steve’s name, phone number, and address are listed at the bottom too. You flick through the stack, finding each version of Cinderella has been coated in a thick layer of brown crayon.

“Penelope insisted on coloring all of them so people know what color she is.”

Steve doesn’t have time for the pity party of a look you show him. If you cry, he’ll cry. And he’s cried enough in the last few days.

You accompany Steve to the bulletin board outside his office. Unspokenly, you accept the very important job of paper-passer while he’s in charge of the stapler.

“Thanks,” he says flatly, thumb catching on yours as he takes the page you’re holding out.

“Don’t worry, Steve. She’ll come home. Cats just like their space sometimes.” You aren’t totally sure if that’s true about cats, but it sounds like the right thing to say.

He mutters something under his breath. Not mean, just doubtful.

It’s unusual to be the one filling the conversation. Steve’s good at talking, a Chatty Cathy as he often calls Penelope. But you try your best to fill his shoes.

“How’s Penelope dealing with it?”

“Awfully.” He chuckles dryly. “She’s on strike for just about everything right now. Refused to go to sleep, refused to eat breakfast, refused to get in the car this morning.”

You nod and hand him another sheet.

“I’d bet by lunch I’ll have to go pick her up. She was hysterical at drop-off.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You have a funny urge to tack on something other than his name. Dummy or boss are typical but ill-fitting. And honey or sweetheart would probably cross a line, though, they’re nice to consider.

He sighs, kneading his eye sockets. “I’m sorry. I’m being… I know you’re trying to help.”

“You’re allowed to feel frustrated you know.”

“I know. You’re just– thanks.”

“I’m banning that word from our conversations. You say it too much,” you tease.

He gives you a look, neither happy nor sad. “Cause you’re always helping me, dummy.”

You grin, largely at the nickname.

Every board in the building is covered with posters and every person is notified of Cinderella’s disappearance in half the time it would normally take you and Steve. He’s not in any rush, just in his head. And after that, you dissolve into separate work, never far but still apart.

By noon Steve’s on his third cup of coffee. But no amount of caffeine or sugar will erase the heavy bags under his eyes. Finding Cinderella might be the only cure.

So there’s no debate in your mind when you offer, “I can come over and help look tonight?”

Steve holds a finger up, gaze trained on an address book with his phone clamped between his ear and shoulder. “Hi, Miss Crawford?” He pushes the bridge of his glasses further up his nose. It’s rare that he wears them in front of you. Cute, nonetheless. “Yes, it’s Steve,” he says.

There’s high-pitched rambling on the other end, not clear enough to discern anything other than an old-timey affection for Steve. You aren’t sure of the nature of Steve’s relationship with the woman, but he appears equally fond, even through the somber hues of his story.

She offers no valuable insight as to Cinderella’s whereabouts but promises to keep an eye out, making her… strike seven. Steve’s determined to phone every person he knows and then every local in the phone book in the span of his thirty-minute lunch break. You joked about stealing his office neighbor’s phone to help, but Steve insisted you didn’t.

When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself.

“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”

“I know, but I can… If you want. It’s up to you.”

“I– okay,” he sighs. “Only if you really don’t mind. It would be really helpful honestly.”

“After work then?”

“Uhh, sure. I just have to pick up Penelope when I get off.”

“Sounds good.” You grin and stir your food idly with a fork. It eventually goes cold in your lap. You’re more preoccupied with what you’ll wear tonight and what to bring Penelope to cheer her up. Candy’s probably your best bet. You know she’s already run out of Skittles from Halloween.

Steve’s lips twitch happily as he dials another number.

That’s about the happiest you see him. The rest of the day is a blur, mostly busywork as Steve is consistently ushered away by someone for something not even in his job description. For the first time possibly ever, he leaves on time. And he doesn’t say goodbye. He’s clearly having an awful day so you pretend it doesn’t sting, but the walk to your car is painfully silent.

At home, you change quickly, pop something frozen in the microwave, and retrace your steps back to the car in record time. The drive to Steve’s is unfortunately not very long. It doesn’t give you much time to mull over every possible scenario like your brain desires. But you’ll survive.

It still feels unfamiliar, pulling into his driveway. Less so than the first time, but still. You notice things you hadn’t before. The long crack like lightning in the pavement, the tinkle of a wind chime against the breeze, and the stepping stone with a ‘P’ carved in it. Halloween was the last time you were here. A couple of weeks has never felt like such a lifetime. Steve’s been busy parenting and working late and all. You don’t blame him. Sometimes you wonder how he ever made time for you in the first place with his schedule.

On the front steps, Penelope plucks a weed and adds it to her bouquet. Her cheek is squished against the top of her knee and she’s curled over herself like a pillbug. Brown eyes flick up as you near. One blink, then two. The epitome of indifference.

“Hi, Penelope.”

“Hi,” she says. She sounds uncharacteristically small. And she is small, but her voice is anything but. You know her to be bold, unapologetic. But not today.

You squat, toe to toe with her little Mary Janes, and wave a pack of Skittles. “Look what I brought,” you sing.

The slightest lift of her frown before she restores the pout for good. “For me?”

“All for you.”

She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm.

“Wanna help me look for your dad?”

It’s not a bribe, though her presence does tend to balm your Steve-induced nerves. So you are a little disappointed when she shakes her head. But disappointment wanes into sympathy and sympathy to determination. Determination to help her find Cinderella as soon as possible.

You palm her shoulder as you stand. The front door is ajar, the breeze eating any warmth in the foyer. It’s eerily quiet inside.

“Steve?”

“One second!” he calls back, muffled from upstairs.

The entryway is messier than you remember it. Shoes in a jumbled heap behind the door, Steve’s unzipped backpack slumped against the baseboards, and winter gloves and hats knocked haphazardly onto the tile. You bend to pick up a knit beanie as Steve hurdles down the stairs.

He struggles to squeeze into a raincoat over the thick sweater he wore to work. “Hey,” he smiles softly, gaze sweeping across your clothes. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Do you want a heavier coat? Radio said it’s supposed to storm tonight.”

“Oh,” you peer down at your denim jacket. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Steve tilts his head, passing you a bundle of crumpled pink cloth. “Give this to Penelope? I’ll grab you one.” He doesn’t allow you to argue before turning around, but he stops halfway up the stairs, leaning over the railing to say, “Tell her to grab her boots too.”

You find the boots in the pile by the door and bring them to Penelope outside. She stares at you helplessly with one shoe halfway on the wrong foot.

“Need help?”

“Yes please.”

You take her ankle and prop her foot against yours. It takes a few tries and lots of wiggling but you slide the boot on and lace the purple strings all the way up. The second round is easier but you still wonder whether kids shoes are supposed to be this difficult.

The door groans behind you and a warm hand cups your shoulder. “Did you eat?” Steve asks. “I can make you something before we go.”

You rise to face him. The sky’s overcast, muting his tan complexion, making him look even more spent than he had earlier. “I ate. But thank you,” you smile, hoping to encourage one back.

He doesn’t but he unfolds the coat he’s carrying, shaking the arms free so it’s easier for you to slip on. “See if this fits.”

It’s not your typical size, but the extra weight is nice. Traces of pine and juniper linger, like it’s been taken on a hike recently. And you’re instantly warmer, a comfort that extends beyond the garment alone.

“Nice,” he nods, taking it upon himself to even out the hood strings for you. His fingernail skips across the zipper teeth and for a second, you think he’ll zip it up too.

“Daddy, are we going now?”

Steve spins on his heel, shuffling for his keys at the door. “Yes, baby. What did we talk about?”

Penelope kicks a load of gravel into the grass. “Ummm, I dunno.”

“No running off. If I can’t see you, we go home. Capeesh?”

When he jogs down the steps to her side, she sighs. “Capeesh.”

“Ready?” He pats her head, “Got your detective hat on?”

She peers up then, a flush of fresh purpose, and nods.

“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.”

Steve’s yard is embraced by dense woods on every side but the road. He leads you to the tree line where a trail has been carved smooth with frequent use. Bark stretches tall and needle branches weave a canopy of orange above.

“Katie said I need to think more like a cat.” Penelope cranes her head up, “Do you think Cinderella went in the trees?”

“Maybe,” Steve mumbles, focused on jamming his nail under the metal tab of a can of cat food.

“So maybe I should climb up to check?”

“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”

“But what if she’s in one? Like, a really, really tall one.”

“I think she’d pick a shorter one so she could get down,” you supply. “It would probably hurt her nails going all the way up there too.”

She hums. You drift into a steady rhythm of whistling and calling Cinderella’s name. Penelope waves a toy ball with a little bell inside while you rattle the jar of treats.

Penelope orbits off course slowly and when she hops out of sight Steve calls, “What did I say Nell?”

“No running away!”

He shakes his head at you, “This kid’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

You grin, turning back to him when you spot Penelope. Steve has a lovely side profile. You try to memorize the shape without tripping over any twigs as you walk. “How was she at school?”

“Sad, they said. She cried at nap. Refused to sleep at all.”

You coo.

“But she ate all her lunch, so that’s good.”

You hum in agreement.

Penelope crouches to examine the inside of a log. Her pigtails flip as she tips her head upside down.

“Did you find something?” you ask.

Penelope pulls something dark out, a dopey smile rounding her cheeks. “A slug.”

Steve scrunches his nose but quickly slackens it in a poor attempt to conceal his disgust. Thankfully, you don’t have to be a good actor to fool a four-year-old. “Nice, honey.”

“I think he’s dead.”

“Why don’t you put him back? He’s probably hibernating.”

“Hiding? Why?”

“No, hi-ber-nat-ing. It’s when the animals go to sleep during the winter.”

She squints, “For the whole winter?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“How do they do that?”

“Umm, I don’t know.” Steve glances at you for help but you only shrug. “They just do.”

One of the joys of parenthood you’ve discovered through Penelope is the plethora of questions that you have absolutely no idea how to answer.

Penelope replants the slug in its home, making a point to clarify, “Cinderella wasn’t in there.”

The trail dips steadily downward, covered with a mess of broken branches, scattered pinecones, and crunchy leaves that crackle beneath your feet. Steve’s leading the way, rambling about something or other and you’d swear you’re listening if he asked. But truthfully, your eyes trace the fit of his jeans shamelessly. He has a nice ass, it’s hard not to notice!

Your foot snags on something hard– a root, a branch, you aren’t totally sure– and it all happens so fast. You yelp and pitch forward, knees and hands slamming into the dirt with the full force of your weight.

Steve whirls around and assesses the damage, quickly determines there are no injuries severe enough to warrant a hospital visit, and then he fucking cackles.

You scoff, burying your own amusement as Penelope mimics him. Some example Dad is setting. At least he offers to help you up, Penelope just watches your embarrassment unfold.

“Don’t laugh!” You yank his hand, harsh enough that he stumbles forward onto your toe. “Ow– Steve!”

“That’s what you get!” He hauls you up, grip faltering with each peel of laughter.

You twist around yourself, sweeping your backside. “Do I have leaves on my butt?”

He looks for as long as he deems appropriate which is not very long at all. “Just dirt and a ton of bugs.”

“Shut up,” you smack his bicep.

Penelope points, “That is not nice!”

“Yeah, keep your hands to yourself,” Steve teases.

You trap a retort behind clenched teeth and look to Penelope. “Sorry.”

“Uhh. You’re supposed to apologize to me.”

You skip past him to Penelope’s side. “I’m helping Penelope look right now. Maybe later.”

Steve knows you won’t see it but he hopes you feel him sticking up his middle finger.

Penelope trudges along, the corners of her mouth drawn tight in quiet sadness. She fills the silence before you find the words.

“Do you think she’ll come home?” she asks earnestly.

“I do, Pen. I think she’s probably just hiding.”

“Like hide and seek?”

“Yeah.”

She considers your words carefully. “But why?”

“I dunno. Cats are just silly like that.”

She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?”

You smile back. “Exactly.”

The trees taper off, merging with the cracked sidewalk lining a cul de sac. Penelope’s ponytails are swept off her shoulders as a car whizzes by.

You cuff her smaller fingers in your own just as Steve tells her to hold someone’s hand.

He stops at her other side, surveying the neighborhood. It’s the type you’d imagine families live in. Basketball hoops, sidewalk chalk, bikes thrown against the lawns.

“I’m gonna go talk to some neighbors. Will you hang some posters?” Steve asks you. “We should hurry. I think it’s going to rain soon.”

“Can I go?”

Steve’s eyes trail from Penelope back up to you curiously.

“Yeah, I’ve got her.” You squeeze her hand, reassuring yourself more than anyone.

“Okay. Penelope, be a good listener. Don’t go on the road by yourself. I’ll be just over there.” He points to a house with yellow siding and starts across the road.

You turn Penelope by the shoulders and unzip her bag, taking the stapler in one hand and the stack of paper in the other.

“Can you carry these?” you ask, thrusting the posters toward her.

You straighten out the stapler and pick a sheet off the top before she braces them against her chest. “You know, this reminds me of when we first met.”

“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”

“Mhmm.” You line the page up against a tree, nailing each corner to be sure it sticks.

Eventually, you're passed a different poster, a painting. It’s a charming tangle of shapes and a riot of brown and orange. At the top, "MISSING" is written with two backward S’s in a crooked slope.

“Did you paint this?”

“Yes, at school.”

“Wow. Did you write this too?”

“Yep. My teacher helped me.”

“Very good!” You tack it to a telephone pole and pivot to face her, brimming with pride.

She’s not nearly as happy as you are about it. Her lips thin as she stares at her work and she hesitates before asking,“Do you think we’re bad detectives?”

Your chest aches so sudden and fierce like you’ve been punched. You crouch, rubbing the soft fleece at her elbow. “No. No, honey. We aren’t bad detectives. Detective work just takes time. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

Her frown wobbles, lashes shining. “It’s taking so long,” she whines.

“I know, Pen. Cinderella didn’t leave us many clues, huh?” You swipe a tear before it reaches her mouth. You want to promise her that Cinderella will come home but your gut won’t let you. You don’t know if she really will. “Let’s go check on your Dad. See if the neighbors have seen her. Hmm?”

She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze.

Steve’s halfway up the steps of someone’s porch, mid-conversation with a young woman. Her frown deepens as you and Penelope approach, unlike the baby on her hip who smiles at you.

Steve glances over before continuing. “Well, please call, if you do happen to see her.”

“Absolutely. I hope you find her.”

“Thanks,” he waves, descending the stairs to stand beside you.

“No luck?” you ask, peering up at the clouds. They’re getting moodier by the minute and it’s started to sprinkle.

His hand settles around Penelope’s skull like a claw, he shakes her frown away but not easily. “Not yet. We’ll keep looking.”

Penelope walks a few feet ahead of you and Steve. Every few mailboxes you and Steve stick another poster up. Penelope doesn’t stop to wait, but she’s thorough in her searching, checking under cars and in drain pipes. Enough to even out the distance that grows each turn.

You’re faced away, unclogging the jam in the stapler when Penelope gasps.

“Nell! Wait!” Steve shouts as you turn. By then she’s already halfway up someone’s lawn.

Steve jogs after her and you jog after Steve. Penelope’s made it to the sideyard when you catch up, stretching onto tiptoes and squinting through a rotted hole in the fence.

“Penelope,” Steve sighs.

“I saw her Daddy! She jumped over the fence!”

“Are you sure?” His hand curls over the top of the fence but his eyes can’t reach.

“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!”

He scrapes through his hair, judging the wood planks. They’re at least a head taller than Steve, but there’s a thin lip dividing each in half. If he angles his foot right, he could use it to boost himself over.

He shakes his head. He might've hopped a fence or two as a teenager, but he's grown now. “We have to ask. It’s someone’s yard.”

Penelope wails, yanking his arm repeatedly. “No! Daddy! What if she’s gone? We have to hurry!”

“Just go,” you wave, already backing up toward the house. “I’ll go knock. See if they’re home.”

Steve winces at himself for what he’s about to do. But one glance at Penelope’s worried little face is all the courage he needs. He tests his grip, the sole of a shoe scraping wood for a scary second before catching on the trim. With one leg on either side, he pauses to look at Penelope. “Stay there,” he says, before leaping into the grass.

He scans the backyard. There’s a swing set, a raised garden bed, a kiddie pool, and lots and lots of toys. It reminds him of his own yard. Steve takes a handful of hesitant steps, gaze flicking across each window for any horrified faces. He’s thankful not to see any.

Then, a meow—faint, but unmistakable. His heart lurches, his head whipping up to the nearest tree even faster. His eyes comb through branch after branch, then again when he comes up empty. But a second meow and he’s never been more sure. He wedges his heel into a groove, hugging the trunk for balance. His nails dig uncomfortably into the bark as he pulls himself up.

And there! Right where he swears he looked, a strip of golden-orange fur, blending seamlessly with the leaves… Except, Cinderella isn’t orange, she’s brown. Steve’s shoe slips, sending his chin hard into a thick branch on his way to the ground. The cat hisses equally if not more upset than Steve about the situation. He groans, glaring at the tree as he picks himself up.

“Did you find her? Was it her?” Penelope yells, still peeping through the hole in the fence.

Steve waits until he vaults back over to answer. “No, princess. Not her.”

“Your chin,” you point out, but your words are eaten by Penelope’s shouting.

“It was her! I know it was! I saw!”

“It wasn’t, Nell. Promise. That cat was orange.”

“But it was! I saw her!” Penelope crumbles into hysterics, batting her fists against Steve’s thighs like they’re punching bags.

Steve scoops her up, clamping her arms between their chests.

“Daddy, we have to go back! I saw her!” Several gasps slice through her sentence and tears pour down her face in even streams.

Steve shushes her gently, fanning her hood across her head as it starts to rain. You follow him up to the road and then down the street. Penelope’s relentless, squirming and screaming in his ear. It’s the first of her temper tantrums you’ve seen in person, though you’ve heard plenty about them, and you caught the beginning of one once through the phone. Steve’s more composed than you thought possible, waiting patiently until her sobs have dwindled into teary hiccups to set her down.

“It’s not nice to hit. Even when we’re mad, you know that.”

She glares at him, more serious than you’ve ever seen.

“Are you ready to go home?”

Penelope’s face starts to wilt. She nearly cries again.

“It’s too rainy. We have to go home soon or we’ll get sick.”

“Five more minutes,” she begs.

“Okay.” He buttons her coat up to her chin. “Are you tired?”

She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

Penelope thinks long and hard. It’s a trick question. Of course she wants to be carried but God forbid Steve finds out she’s tired.

He picks her up anyway. “You can still look from up here.”

Penelope hooks her chin over his shoulder, cheek tipping to kiss the pad of his jacket. So much worry and too many days of poor sleep etched into each flap of her lashes. She looks utterly exhausted. And she really tries to stay awake– she needs to find Cinderella– but she lost that battle before it even started. The hiss of rain and the warm swing of Steve’s embrace send her straight to dreamland.

Steve feels her arms slacken and slide down his back. He chances a glimpse at you to ask what he already knows but can’t. Not when you’re already watching Penelope with a type of love he believed was his alone to give.

Alarm pulses when he registers the weight of your stare has shifted to him. The same velvet endearment skips across every feature on your face. It’s lovely and adorable but it terrifies the hell out of Steve.

His cheeks burn and he smiles like a madman. He can’t help it. It sticks long after his eyes dart away.

You drift into a comfortable quiet. The spray of rain is like white noise, making even you drowsy. Maybe Steve could carry you back too. It’s an amusing idea, enough to make you grin to yourself. You’re glad he doesn’t notice. He couldn't torture that information out of you.

Halfway home, you hit a particularly steep incline in the forest, slick with the beginning sludge of mud.

“Here,” Steve calls, boosting Penelope higher up his chest before casting his arm at you.

You accept his hand, grateful for more reasons than one, and trace the wet shoeprints he leaves behind with your own. It’s a slow journey. Steve strains with the added weight on his front, but he doesn’t let go of you until you reach the top of the hill.

You cross the threshold back into Steve’s yard as a bout of thunder splits the sky above. Penelope shakes awake and peels herself off Steve. She blinks unhappily, cheeks stamped with red lines mirroring his coat folds.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, fixing her hood after it falls.

“Cinderella,” she whimpers.

“We’ll look again tomorrow.”

She sniffles, voice so frail, hollow with sleep. “No. I–”

Another wave of thunder startles her to panicked tears. Steve picks up the pace to the front door, shuffling through his pocket for the keys. He’s well-versed in unlocking the door one-handed– between groceries, backpacks, Penelope– he always has something to carry. But he’s thankful when you take the keys and do it for him.

You scoot inside last, joining the choir of shoe squealing on the tile.

Steve sets Penelope on the floor and kneels to unlace her boots. She wrestles with her coat zipper until Steve intervenes with much gentler hands.

“We looked really good while you were asleep,” you promise while shedding your own coat.

Her miserable expression doesn’t falter.

Steve smears her tear tracks one cheek at a time. “Stay for a bit? Until the storm passes.”

You bend to collect Penelope’s coat off the floor and hang it next to yours. “Okay,” you say when you realize his words were directed at you.

“I’m gonna give her a quick bath. Do you need anything? Water? Towel?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.”

“Okay. We’ll be upstairs. Please, help yourself to whatever. Seriously.”

When Steve disappears from view, you mosey into the living room, searching for something to keep your hands busy. And it’s not hard to find. There’s a pile of laundry that looks like it’s been trampled through more than a few times. Clothes stretch from one end of the couch to the other. You push them into a pile and get comfortable, folding each item with more care than you would your own.

Four neat stacks later and Steve spots you from the stairs. “Please don’t do that,” he says.

You clear your smirk as he nears. “Do what?”

“You know what,” he snatches a sock from your grasp. It’s one of his, longer and duller than the others. “Sorry, I know it’s a mess.”

“You know I don’t care, Steve.”

He gazes down at you in pretend petulance. “Well, I do.” With a dramatic flick of his finger, he sends the sock sailing back into the hamper on the floor.

“If it makes you feel better, I have a pile of clothes covering half my bed right now.”

“Mmm. It doesn’t,” he decides. “But I came down because Penelope’s very kindly requested that you come read to her before she goes to bed. If you want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Your lips bend into a funny little line, happy and curious and doubtful all dressed in one. “She really asked for me?”

“Yeah,” he says in the same cadence he would duh. He offers his palm, drags you up easily. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“I dunno.” A toothy smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. But your lips close as soon as you stand, pressed closer to him than you expected to be.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, breaking away. “Come on.”

He seemed nervous– the way he laughed, how his hands retracted like he was burned– but maybe you’re overthinking it. You forget about the interaction by the time you reach Penelope’s room.

Several books are fanned around Penelope where she stands, like fallen petals from the stem of a flower. Her shelf has been mostly stripped. What isn’t on the floor has been scooped into a flimsy stack in her arms.

Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?”

Penelope turns and two books slide off the top of her tower. You can’t see her mouth but you can tell by her eyes that there’s a smile behind that copy of Goodnight Moon.

“You can pick three, missy,” he says.

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Four and a half?”

“Three.”

“No,” she giggles, definitely delirious. “Four.”

“Okay.” He kneels at her feet, reshelving unchosen books two or three at a time.

It’s not an easy decision, but Penelope decides on her four and promptly thrusts them into your hands. You follow her to bed where she packs herself against the wall, politely leaving the rest of the twin mattress for you.

“Wait!” she shouts when you open the first book, “The lights!”

“I’m working on it,” Steve grumbles, standing to flip the light switch by the door. The room is swallowed in black apart from the nightlight glowing to life across the room.

Penelope stretches across you to snatch something off her nightstand. A flashlight, you realize, as she clicks the switch. She trains the light on the page and beams at you with equal vibrance.

The first story is the shortest and the second not much longer, but the third takes time. Time you get to notice the heat of her breath as she yawns into your arm and time to appreciate the weight of her head limp against your shoulder.

You don’t have to look up to know Steve is still tidying. Every second counts when you’re a single parent. But you steal a glance in between each page anyway. Find him chucking clothes in the hamper and dumping an armload of stuffed animals onto the foot of the bed. They’ll be kicked to the floor by morning and yet he straightens them up anyhow.

He concludes his rounds by the final pages of the fourth book, taking a seat on the floor just in time to hear you whisper, “The end.”

Penelope bats her dark eyes up at you. She knows you’ll say yes before she even asks. “One more?”

“No,” Steve interjects. “No more tonight, babe.”

“Pleaseee!”

“No, you already hustled me into four. We usually only read two.”

“Pretty please!” she adds, puppy dog eyes bouncing from Steve to you.

Oh the cruelty. To defy Steve or disappoint Penelope. Both are terrible choices but only one of the pair currently has a heartbreaking little pout.

“I’ll read one more really really short book if you promise to go to sleep after?”

Her head bobs eagerly as she kicks the blankets off, springing to her feet.

Steve’s head flops against the sheets, hair like satin ribbons shining from root to end. You consider if it’s as soft as you assume and if you’ll ever have the chance to find out.

“Supposed to be on my side,” he whispers through a gooey grin.

“Am I?”

He tuts, craning up to find Penelope. “Don’t take all of those back out. I just cleaned them up.”

She exchanges the two in her hand for a thick chapter book.

“No ma’am,” Steve says as she turns. “Short one, ‘member?”

Penelope huffs and lugs herself back to the bookcase. She plucks a thinner paperback and uses Steve’s calf as a stool to launch herself back in bed. He doesn’t complain but he pinches her side in revenge.

The book mirrors the length of tonight’s first, yet it takes double the time for your own selfish reasons. You linger on each word, emphasize each sound, and savor every second. Penelope is nestled against your hip as you read the final sentence, sleepy and oblivious that you’ve turned the last page.

Steve pulls himself up to perch on the edge of the bed, mindful not to sit on anyone’s legs. He runs the back of his hand across her face, giving her nose an extra tap. Enough times and it’ll put her to sleep.

“Can you say thanks, Nell? And goodnight.”

She squirms away from his touch, pushing into your thigh. “I don’t wanna go to sleep.”

“Pen, remember our deal.” You squeeze her shoulder gently. “You promised, hmm?”

You swallow the urge to smile when she juts her lip out and frowns. The drama never ends with this one but you love it.

“Goodnight,” you whisper. Your hand glides over the shape of her arm beneath the blanket. “I had fun reading to you.”

She avoids your gaze, picking a loose string from her blanket. If she sees you grinning, she’ll end up grinning too. She can’t have that, she’s protesting. “Night.”

Steve shakes his head dismissively at you, grinning fondly himself. “I’ll be down in a second,” he explains.

You stand, slotting the book back in its home on the shelf and steal one last glimpse of them on your way out. A trail of nightlights guides you to the stairs like beacons. You end up in the kitchen, hands braced on the sink, eyes drifting around the backyard through the window.

There’s a patio with chairs and string lights. In the grass, a trampoline, a sandbox, and a toddler-sized picnic bench, all draped in purple moonlight and sparkling with rain. It’s easy to imagine life here. Birthday parties and cookouts and lazy Sunday afternoons.

The swish of sock against tile knocks you from the fantasy. You locate Steve’s reflection in the glass.

“You better not be doing my dishes.”

Your lips flex instinctually at his voice. “I thought about it.”

He leans back against the counter, hip a hand’s width from yours. Strips of hair sag across his forehead like a botched set of bangs. Your height difference and the angle only accentuate how silly he looks.

“What?” Steve smiles.

You huff through your own. “Nothin’.”

“Why are you laughing then?”

“I’m not. Just…” you reach for his face but the courage fades halfway. You wave obtusely instead. “This hair,” you finish.

He flattens the piece down, then another, combing more and more over his face like a real pair of bangs until the ends graze the ball of his nose. “What? You don’t like it?”

“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.”

“I dunno. Thinking of changing it up anyway.”

You shake your head, peeling your eyes away from him. “Stupid.”

Stupidly gorgeous, you decide. He’s a mess, no doubt; rumpled and sweaty, and still, stupidly, impossibly gorgeous.

He rakes his hair back where it belongs, “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Your gaze remains on the window but you watch Steve in your peripherals. “I’m the perfect amount of good to you.”

“Well, agree to disagree. But, thank you for coming over to help look. Really I–”

You face him fully then. “Steve, you don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. Really, you’re… you’re great and it’s been nice, you know, having help. Even just having company. It hasn't been easy making friends the last few years.”

Your brain stalls at his choice of words. You spout the first thing that comes to mind. “That’s what friends are for, right?” The words sting like acid on your tongue but you smile anyway. You’re pretty sure your heart just split itself in half on the way to the friend zone.

He hums, pushing off the counter toward the fridge. “Let me return the favor, please. I’ll make you whatever you want. Spaghetti, PB ‘n J, uhh, pre-packaged salad?”

“I’m good, Steve. I ate earlier. And you don’t need to return the favor.”

He sets a jar of jelly on the counter. “Your loss. Penelope says I make the best PB ‘n J’s.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”

You settle at the kitchen table and watch him work unapologetically. His focus is entirely on a one-sided debate about the perfect peanut butter-to-jelly ratio, leaving him oblivious to your ogling.

He plops down in the chair across from yours when he’s finished. “Sure you don’t want some? You can have half of mine.”

“Steve.”

“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite.

You watch the slow drip of water from the eaves. The rain has subsided enough that you could go, but neither of you suggest it. Your mind is elsewhere. Stuck on friends.

“Hello? Anybody home?” Steve chuckles when you blink back to reality. “Did you hear me? I was–”

The trill of the phone interrupts.

“I’m holding my thought. Don’t go anywhere.” Steve abandons his sandwich and crosses the room, pulling the phone from the counter. “Hello?... Uh-huh… Yes, yes.”

The sudden shift in his tone catches your attention. He sounds borderline ecstatic.

“Okay. I’ll be right over. Thank you!”

“Who was it?” you ask.

He snaps the receiver back into place. “A neighbor saw her just now.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Well, they’re pretty sure it’s her. It sounded like her, how they described. Are you able to stay here while I go check? I don’t wanna wake Penelope up.”

You don’t even think about it when you insist, “Of course. Go!”

“I’ll be right back. Thank you!” He squeezes your shoulder and jogs out of the kitchen. The sound of jangling keys fades with the closing of the front door and before you’ve processed it, you’re alone in Steve’s house.

It’s a strange thing, being in Steve’s house without Steve. You’re not technically alone, Penelope is still tucked in bed upstairs, of course. But the silence is thick, suffocating even. So you’re admittedly glad when you hear tiny footsteps from upstairs.

On the bottom step, Penelope freezes and her hand tightens around the railing, not expecting you to be there. “Where’s Daddy?” she mewls at you, bottom lip quivering against her words.

“It’s okay. He went out to look some more, that’s all.”

“I want Daddy,” she whines, breath hitching in between words.

“He’ll be right back, sweetheart. I promise.”

A sob wracks her chest, tears escaping as she scrunches her eyes. Sniffles cut through a mush of sounds, woven between them, she pleads, “When?”

“Oh, honey. Come here.” You hoist her up against your chest instinctually. It feels like the right thing to do, and it must be– her arms wind underneath yours like puzzle pieces. “Real soon,” you reassure.

You hope so anyway. Half for Penelope’s sake and half for yours. You’re afraid to overstep, to parent her in a way Steve wouldn’t approve of. You feel the echoes of his constant self-doubt in your own mind. But you’ll try your best until he returns.

Penelope’s not heavy, but it is the first time you’ve carried another human down a set of stairs. It’s a slow descent with lots of maneuvering and readjusting limbs so you can see the steps ahead but she doesn’t seem to mind. By the time you make it to the sectional, your arms burn. Still, you’d do it ten times over just so she doesn’t have to walk herself.

She sweeps her runny nose across your sleeve and her knee digs uncomfortably into your ribcage but you can’t find it in yourself to mind. She feels safe enough with you to do so. It’s a compliment more than anything. And the weight of her head against you is a type of soothing you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

Your fingertips trace the shape of her shoulder blades through her nightgown. “Did you have a bad dream?” you whisper.

She draws similar lazy patterns on your arm, pausing to hum yes.

You hum back. “‘M sorry, Pen. Wanna talk about it? Might help.”

She shakes her head, the slightest movement against your collar.

“Okay, I got you. Don’t have to worry,” you whisper and pat her head. “I won’t let any more bad dreams get in here.”

Steve’s gone long enough to fuel your nerves and keep your mind buzzing, though your eyes beg for the sweet release of sleep. Penelope’s not helping, like a warm, weighted blanket on your chest. She’s barely awake herself when he arrives, but you’re surprised she’s awake at all. You aren’t sure what time it is but it’s definitely late.

Two clicks from the front door’s lock and a Steve-shaped shadow slides inside. He’s being particularly quiet, like when tries to sneak up on you at the rec center. Like a ninja, he always says.

Penelope’s head shoots up to peer over the couch. “Daddy?”

Steve stops in his tracks, but his head snaps in your direction. When his eyes confirm his ears he starts toward the couch, waiting until he can sit to coo, “Hey, baby. Hey.” A hand scoops a piece of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing up sleepyhead?”

Penelope splinters off of your chest but remains situated on your thighs. She offers several half-lidded blinks to Steve. “You didn’t find her?”

He melts like her eyes are made of sunbeams, reaching up to thumb sleep from under her lashes. “No, baby. Someone thought they did but it wasn’t her. I went to make sure.”

“Oh,” she says, not sad, just tired. Penelope slowly leans over to him like a bridge, wrapping her arms around his neck as he tows her into his lap.

He looks at you then. A long look. An expression you're having a hard time untangling. His eyes flutter back down when Penelope yawns. “Have to go to bed, okay?” he whispers into her crown, planting a kiss while he’s there.

“I wanna sleep in your room.”

“That’s fine but I’m not laying down yet. You still have to go to sleep.”

She nods against his chin.

“I’ll carry you up. Can you say goodnight?”

Penelope turns so you can see one side of her face, the other glued to Steve’s sweater.

“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly.

She only shudders out a sigh but manners aren’t on Steve’s mind, especially when he knows you wouldn’t care about that. His knees crack as he stands, hiking her up higher before he heads upstairs.

You yank a blanket from the arm of the couch, missing the warmth Penelope lent you. It’s a risky move when you’re already fighting to keep your eyes open.

But Steve’s back before you have time to fall asleep. He’s trampling down the steps with a confidence that Penelope’s out for good this time. And he flops onto the couch with the same heaviness, sighing like you’ve never heard. Pure frustration. It’s understandable. But odd off his lips.

“You okay?” you ask, the same syrupy sweetness you’d used with Penelope.

He turns to face you and he looks awfully sad. The rainwater clinging to the ends of his hair doesn’t help. But he nods anyway because he’s Steve. “It was a stupid raccoon.”

“You’re kidding? They thought it was a cat?”

“I should’ve known,” he scrubs his face. “Practically senile that lady.”

“You’ll find her, Steve.”

He takes a deep breath and swallows. “I don’t know anymore. I’m really starting to think worst-case scenarios.”

You press your lips into a firm line. It’s a possibility you don’t want to consider. “Why don’t I go look a little longer? I’m off–”

“No, please,” he leans over to cradle the shell of your knee. “You’ve helped all night. I mean this in the nicest way possible, you look exhausted.”

“Way to treat a guest, Harrington,” you smirk, peeling his pointer finger off your leg to hook it under your own.

He squeezes your finger like a trigger, shifting focus between your hands and face. “Go home, rest, please.”

“You sure?”

“Hundred percent. Rain’s let up so the drive shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Promise you’ll get some rest too?”

He smiles despite the pang in his chest and the ache behind his eyes. You're the first to show him this kind of care in years. “I will. I promise.” He releases your finger, binding your pinky with his instead.

There’s something unreal about the way you smile back at him. Like you’ve entranced him with a spell. Steve believes in a lot of things– superpowers, demogorgans, parallel dimensions– but this is the first time he’s ever believed in pinky promise magic.

He shakes his head, “Come on.”

You take his hand, groaning in sync as he helps you up.

In the foyer, Steve unhooks the coat he’d lent you earlier. “Here.” And before you can contend, he adds, “Keep it. It’s an extra. I don’t need it.”

You let him guide your arms into the sleeves. And the same deliriousness possesses you to spring in for a hug after. “It’ll be okay, Steve,” you murmur, lips skimming the embroidered design across his chest.

He deflates for half a second before reciprocating. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.”

You wait until he softens to pull away and open the door.

The wind whips and howls blowing a wave of mist onto the other end of the porch. Steve scans the yard, then the road, both slick with rain. He asks himself if it’s a good enough reason to ask you to stay. But he decides it isn’t, not yet, at least.

“Call me when you get home?”

A wild smile splits your lips. “Okay,” you blink stupidly, too tired to care.

“Careful!” he shouts as you run to your car. Steve leans against the doorframe, loitering until your headlights flash his house and your car rolls out of the driveway.

It’s only sprinkling but streetlights are scarce near Steve’s place so you turn your high beams on, highlighting lawns on either side of the road. You drive slowly, inspecting one yard, then the one opposite, hopeful that Cinderella’s still out there.

There’s a stop sign at the end of Steve’s street. A landmark you know to make a left at. But you decide to go right. I wanted to take the scenic route, you’ll say if Steve asks. You drive that road and the one beside it and another beside that.

And it’s only a few turns away when you spot something sort of cat-shaped laid at the end of a driveway.

“Please do not be a raccoon,” you mumble, squinting as you inch the car closer. The longer you look the more it makes sense– two ears, a wavy tail, it’s definitely a cat. “No way.”

You put the car in park across from the house and study it. It bats its tail against the concrete, staring lazily back at your car. There’s just no way, not after all that looking. You find her after what, ten minutes of driving? It just can’t be her.

You push your door open gingerly, slipping onto the asphalt one foot at a time. The cat perks up, ears twitching with each crunch under your shoes. You slink over slowly, crouching into an uncomfortable crab walk when she stands. Brown coat, no collar, just as she’s been described to you. But it’s hard to say. You’ve only seen one picture of her and it was out of focus. There’s no way to really know it’s her.

Honking a few streets away slices the silence and your focus in one go. You flinch back a step which spooks the cat. She scampers up the driveway, weaving underneath a car to the other end of the yard.

You stick as low to the ground as you can while skipping after her. You’d guess you look ridiculous, but at least Steve isn’t here to see. The car blocks the view and you lose her by the time you reach the other side. But there’s a swirl of shrubbery, good for hiding probably. You blindly grapple for branches, blinking rapidly, slowly adjusting to the growing darkness the farther you move from your car’s headlights.

And then the porch light flickers on, spotlighting you digging through a random person’s bushes.

“Shit.” You freeze, hand choking a wreath of leaves, embarrassment flaring hot and red through your entire body. A minute passes, then two. Everything’s still. No cat, no angry homeowners, no police cars. You decide it’s safe. Must’ve been an automatic light. You hope, anyway.

Upon further inspection, the bushes are empty, and from what you can see the porch is too. There are a few trees but it’s difficult to make out any cats through the dark web of branches. A sudden gust of wind shakes a handful of leaves loose. Your eyes track them across the yard as they tumble back toward the driveway. And there’s the damn cat, sitting on the roof of the car like it was there the whole time.

“You better not set that alarm off, dude,” you grumble.

She narrows her eyes and growls as you draw closer. Cinderella is irritable– this makes sense. Or it’s a totally random feral cat who is about to claw your eyes out.

You’re within touching distance when you realize you have no plan. She very likely could claw your eyes out or give you rabies or something else awful. But you're in it now. You’re gonna get Penelope her cat back. So you shrug Steve’s coat off cautiously, eyes never leaving the cats. It’s raining again, you realize as it starts pelting your neck, trickling like ice down your shirt. But that’s the least of your worries right now.

“Nice kitty,” you whisper, unfolding the jacket.

She hisses as you lean in but before she can pounce or swipe you throw the jacket over her and scoop her off her feet. She goes stiff and growls low and throaty.

You speed walk to your car, toeing the cracked door open and maneuvering carefully into your seat. The jacket peels open as you shut the door. She sees an opportunity and takes it, nosing her way through the hole and under your elbow. There’s a shine of teeth as she bats your face, dragging a sharp set of claws against your cheek.

“No, no– shit! I swear if you don’t,” you argue, cramming her arms back in the fabric one at a time, tucking and tightening until she’s secure.

She huffs through her nose, glaring menacingly at you from her swaddle.

“Cinderella– if you’re even Cinderella– which you better be! You’re being a real jerk right now.”

She growls in response. Steve wasn’t lying about her attitude.

You shift the car into gear one-handed and forgo a seatbelt. It’s a short ride and you’ve maxed out your risk-taking meter for the night. While it really is a short drive, it goes dreadfully slow. You’re cold and wet and you feel like you are driving with a bomb strapped to your chest.

Getting out of the car is just as easy, as in not easy at all, as getting in. But you make it to Steve’s porch, surging the cat further up your chest so there are no last-minute getaways. You tap gently on the door with your toe, hoping not to disturb Penelope.

The instant the door opens, you squeeze by Steve and release the cat onto the floor. She scampers ahead a few feet before stopping to turn around. “Tell me this is the right cat and I didn’t just kidnap some other kid’s pet.”

He shoves the door closed. “Oh my God! Where the hell did you find her?”

You exhale with one big slump of your shoulders, all the worry bleeding away. “Like, five minutes down the road. Just hanging out in someone’s driveway.”

Steve gawks, crouching and coaxing her closer with an open palm.

She considers his invitation before striding into his touch.

He strokes her from head to tail and back. “I can’t believe you. I was about to make funeral arrangements.”

Cinderella chirps happily.

Steve twists to look up at you. For a second you think he might cry. Or kiss you.

He promptly stands and cups your jaw and your stomach tumbles because he might actually kiss you. But he aims your cheek against the light instead and whispers, “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh,” you tap around your cheek blindly, “It’s just a scratch.”

“Here. Come here.”

You follow him to the bathroom where he pulls a towel from the closet and drapes it around your shoulders like a shawl.

“You’re wet,” he says like you don’t already know.

You tug the fraying ends taut across your chest and watch him dig through the medicine cabinet. “If only someone let me borrow their coat.”

“If only,” he snickers, dumping the contents of the first aid kit in the sink. “I’m sorry Cinderella beat you up. She really has no manners.” He strips the plastic cover off a Barbie-themed bandaid and lines it up with your scratch, pressing, and smoothing it over your skin gingerly.

“How hideous do I look? Scale of one to ten.”

He shakes his head, smiling at you like an idiot. You make him smile like it’s your only job. And it sends his heart flying every time. He feels out of control around you. He hates feeling that way but somehow you make it easy.

“You could never be hideous.” Steve chuckles, still in disbelief. “You're amazing.”

Any cold lingering on your face evaporates. “Don’t go soft on me, Harrington,” you tease.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline buzz of chasing Cinderella or the high of successfully catching her, but you feel like you could do anything. Like you could say anything to him. Your eyes trickle down to his lips. He’s close enough to kiss. Every nerve in your body dares you to do it. You don’t think he’d reject you. Maybe he’d even meet you halfway.

A high-pitched scream severs the moment.

Steve jerks away, alarmed and then quickly amused. “Penelope,” he grins.

And right on cue, Penelope whizzes by the open door, squeals ricocheting down the hall. She chases Cinderella, who does not look happy to be chased, but Steve allows it.

“Daddy! Cinderella’s back! Look!” She clips her shoulder on the stair post before disappearing into the kitchen

He turns to you, beaming. He hopes you understand how amazing you are. He’d happily tell you again and again.

Penelope races out, heaving through a smile with the jar of treats. She sprays the entire contents of it across the floor. Steve can’t even be mad. In fact, it’s the happiest he’s been all week.

She lies down on her back, eyes skipping between you and Steve. “How did she get here?”

“I saw her on my way home. She was just a few streets away.”

“Wow. She’s really good at hide and seek,” Penelope decides.

Cinderella prances over, using Penelope’s belly as a personal vault. Penelope splays her hand out, patting and petting to her heart's content as Cinderella munches on the treats.

Steve squats, cupping a handful of them back into the jar.

“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”

“Her prize will make her sick if she eats it all.”

“Okay. I guess.” She giggles as Cinderella pushes a treat with her paw.

Steve squeezes her knee where it wiggles, raising his eyebrows, “What do you say?”

Penelope turns to you with a wicked grin. She practically screams, “Thank you!”

“You're very welcome.”

Penelope pushes herself up and cocks her head. “Will you stay and play with us?”

It’s entirely innocent and equally adorable. You appreciate Steve for being the bad guy.

“Nuh-uh. You’re supposed to be in bed,” he reminds her.

She whines and shoots him a mean look. But it doesn’t last. Cinderella is back. That’s all she really cares about right now.

“You can play with Cinderella in the morning.” His eyes flicker between the two like they’re made of gold. “Maybe she’ll even sleep in your room.”

Penelope’s eyes and mouth widen into three little O’s. “Really!”

“Yes. She can stay inside from now on. But! You have to train her, be a good cat mom to her.”

“I will, I will,” she nods so relentlessly her head might pop off. “I promise I’ll be the bestest cat mom ever in the whole entire world!”

Steve chuckles, gaze dancing over to you. He looks at you like you’re made of gold too. That’s an intense realization.

“I should head home,” you say.

Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!”

Penelope shackles Cinderella’s arm and forces her into a rigid wave. “Bye-bye!”

Steve follows you out to the front porch, snapping the door shut when Cinderella trots after him.

“Good luck keeping her inside.”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head, hand dropping from the door handle. “I’m sure she’ll escape by morning.”

Your gaze sweeps across the lawn. It’s only drizzling now, almost unnoticeably through the overcast veil of moonlight.

“Oh, here,” you tug one end of the towel until it slides off your neck.

Steve accepts it tentatively, “Maybe you should keep it. Case she gets out again.”

“Yeah, guess I’d need something to catch her with, huh?”

His teeth seem to glow in the moonlight when he smiles. He slings the towel back over your head and smooths it across your shoulders. “I know I’ve said this like a million times today,” he trails off, rubbing the fabric up and down your arms. “But I’m gonna say it again.” He looks up, dreadfully serious. Your eyes lock like magnets, like he’s specially polarized yours to stay tethered to his. “First of all, thank you for everything, seriously.”

“It’s no problem, Steve, really.”

“I know, I just,” his attention drifts away, tension seeping in through the silence. “I think you’re like the coolest person ever.”

You shake your head and shift your weight from one foot to the other, desperately trying to shake out the scary feeling in your gut.

A warm hand clasps yours. “I mean it. You’re so amazing and are just a super genuine person and– and I care a lot about you.”

Your pulse hammers so hard you wonder if he can hear it. The icy bite of rain clinging to your clothes turns hot. Hot enough to boil every drop of it off your skin.

“I dunno, it’s just really hard to make friends as a single parent. You’ve been so kind. And I really appreciate that.”

Your heart aches. Your eyes sting. That awful feeling triples. Friends, how could you forget?

He drops your hand, knotting his own fingers together instead. Watching you, waiting for a response.

You smile, brittle but convincing enough that he smiles back. “Well, that’s really sweet. I’m happy to help. And, for the record, I think you’re super cool too.” You punch his shoulder playfully. Because that’s what friends do.

“Phew, that’s a relief. Was starting to think you were getting sick of us.”

You smile genuinely then. You don’t think it’s possible to ever get sick of them. “Ehh, I’m still warming up to Cinderella but Penelope’s my favorite, no offense.”

“No, she’s pretty cool.” He nods, pausing to think. “You can come over tomorrow– if you aren’t busy. If you want to. We’ll probably go buy some cat stuff. I dunno, it’s cool if you can’t.”

“I’d love to, Steve.”

He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“See you then.”

“See ya.”

You spin on your heel, scurrying down the porch steps faster than you probably should. Forget the rain, Steve’s what you're running from. His laugh and his dopey smile and his overly kind words. You’re too young to die of a heart attack, but surely your heart won’t last much more of this.

When you tug the handle of your car door, he yells, “Don’t forget to call me!”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling and flash him a thumbs-up before getting in. He’s such an idiot. Probably waking his neighbors up yelling like that. It’s probably unhealthy, the amount of emotions you’ve just experienced in the span of a few minutes.

But already all you can think about is tomorrow. It seems like lightyears away, but you’d wait lightyears for Steve– even for just friends Steve– silly as it sounds.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #stranger things #stranger things fic #tsof #skeltnwrites #the shape of family #dad steve harrington

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hwajin · 2 years ago

Text

☆°. — silly boyfie things | skz

genre: fluff

pairing: skz x gn!reader

note: i haven't posted headcanons in ages and this was SO much fun to fabricate omg hope you like it 🫶🫶

— CHAN

he would FIGHT with you over the check after you went out for dinner. like literally FIGHT and not budge when you propose to pay yourself, because you feel bad that he always, always pays for the both of you. you think you smarted him out when you invited him for dinner calling for you to pay but he has his wallet ready the moment you finish your food, telling the waiter the bill is shared and having his money out faster than you can look — it nearly enrages you every time, but he tells you he genuinely enjoys paying, doesn't mind it and wants to do it, so you have no chance other than letting it go (even if reluctantly).

— LINO

he's so annoying he thinks it's PEAK commedy to say "no" to every single favour you ask him only to do it seconds later. OR saying no and waiting, actually not doing said favour and waiting for you to get annoyed until he'd nudge and end up doing it after all. giggles as if he's the funniest mf like he enjoys seeing you being annoyed so much. acts like this in front of friends and in public in general as well, ALSO cringes sm when you show him affection whenever on a get together though the moment the two of you are alone he literally won't be able to keep his hands off you. like he pretends to be so disgusted when you even as much as touch him in public, and the moment you're alone behind closed doors he's slouching onto you like a koala.

— CHANGBIN

omg you can't tell me that he didn't invent the "no you hang up first" 😭 like you'd be coming to the end of a conversation (often while he's on tour or smth tho he literally needs to hear your voice every single day so he calls you like whenever he has a minute even of free time) and at some point he's like "aight hang up 🥰" and you play along and hit him with the "no you do 😆😝" and the quarelling goes back and forth (jokingly on your side, in ALLLL seriousness on his) and at some point you say goodbye for real and hang up AND YOU CAN BET THIS FUCKER CALLS BACK like all pouty and actually slightly upset that you had the audacity to hang up??? and you're like someone has to at some point we can't have an endless phone convo??? and he's like why not do YOU NOT LOVE ME???? yeah you get it.

— HYUNJIN

bro this man NEEDS him to be your lockscreen on your phone. like it's an actual need of his or else he's gonna cease to exist he thinks. like you're obviously his wallpaper (both on his lock AND homescreen) so when he catches a glimpse of your phone and you dare to have just a random pinterest pic as your lockscreen, one you've chosen mindlessly altogether he RIOTSSSS. pouts as if his life is depending on it, clutches his heart as if it's gonna stop any minute, gasps and side-eyes you as if you straight up cheated on him. takes a selfie RIGHT that moment (it takes him a while because he both can't decide whether he wants it to be cute or sexy, and because he wants to look good either way) and sets it as your lockscreen instantly. checks like daily to see if you've changed it (if you did to tease him he LITERALLY is moments from breaking up with you).

— JISUNG

he sends you pics of ugly looking animals with a 'you' attached to the message. like even if it has no resemblence with you altogether. like it'll be a fish, a whale, a bird, a funny looking dog and their all attached with 'you'. and like he finds it so funny even if you never react to it, in fact finds it SO hilarious that at some point he will send you pics of literally ANYTHING he sees ever — like furniture, tools, random fucking street lamps, you name it — with a 'you' attached to it and CACKLES as if he invented comedy himself. the bright side to it, he takes this to the romantic level and shoots pretty pics of flowers and sends them with the same 'you' attached to it, or pics of the sky, or of a particularly bright star. so maybe it's not that annoying after all.

— FELIX

he causes his friends to tease you because he literally can't shut up about you. like every single thing you do he even slightly adores (which is, every single thing period, tbh) is being reported to his friends because he's just so in love with you he has to get the words out or he'll combust :((. like you'd maybe get him a little gift, smth small about stuff he's interested in lately, or these "i saw this and thought of you" gifts and he presents said gift to his friends as if it's an artifact of love itself, and the next time you're over they're going at you, teasing the shit out of you because tbh, they've teased felix so much already for talking their ears off that they need another victim. you basically never stop blushing when around them, hearing constantly just how much your bf talks about you when you're not around (and you'd lie saying you don't like it).

— SEUNGMIN

bro just straight up leaves you on read except when your text contains something of advantage to him 😭😭. like you haven't seen him in a while and want to catch up a bit? he reads the message and responds like 5 hours later ("we've seen each other yesterday, you can't possibly miss me enough to talk again"). or when you send him random tiktoks or shitposts — opens and reads them and then doesn't ever bother to even leave a like 😭. though the moment you hit him with a text like "running to the supermarket, you want anything?" he's responding the same second and you grow salty every time, wondering why you put up texting him in the first place.

— JEONGIN

pretends to be jealous like a LOT. like the first time he'd be actually jealous, going fresh into the relationship with insecurities still gnawing at you and him and when he confesses you reassure him, making sure he understands there will never be an occassion on which he needs to be remotefully jealous, even. and after that he simply pretends to be, for shits and giggles and to piss you off. like you talk to the barista for your order? how could you even look their direction omg. you send a quick text to a friend while out with him? how dare he's not the single most important thing in your life rn. you tell him about a dream that didn't involve him? breaking up with you this very instant. can't stop himself from giggling at his one if a kind humour while watching you grow annoyed every time anew.

@happycandynoelle @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @lix-ables @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut

#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #bang chan fluff #lee know fluff #changbin fluff #hyunjin fluff #han jisung fluff #lee felix fluff #seungmin fluff #yang jeongin fluff

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suiana · 8 months ago

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Hey!! I hope that you are having an amazing day 💞💞💞 If requests are open, may you please write some hsr yandere!Sunday headcannons?

✎ yandere! sunday headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― possessiveness, manipulation, obsessiveness etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! character)

✎ yandere! sunday who can't help but adore you. he'd never have thought someone who'd capture his heart would be so near to him! right here in the heart of penacony! of course he's going to talk to you! what, did you think he'd just ignore someone who's got his attention?

✎ yandere! sunday who is extremely touchstarved and probably fell for you because you hugged him once and told him he was cool. yeah bird man liked how warm your hug felt, what about it?

✎ yandere! sunday who gets to know you better as the perfect family head. surely you'd fall for him, right? i mean, he's perfect in every single way. you'd be a fool to reject him. and of course u rejected him😜🙏

✎ yandere! sunday who's absolutely flabbergasted when you reject his proposal to be his. what? are you serious? out of his league? duh he knows that- you're supposed to be thankful that he proposed the idea and accept!

✎ yandere! sunday who hates it when things don't go his way. he's a perfectionist and everything has to go according to plan... oh wow would you look at that? you went against his plans and rejected him! even said you wanted to be friends... hah! he couldn't believe you said that! you don't know how hard he bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from cursing at you.

✎ yandere! sunday who subtly changes the way he acts towards you. no, he's not acting passive aggressive. you're just delusional. what do you mean he's glaring at you? it's just the angle silly!

✎ yandere! sunday who obviously looks over you with his weird robot bird drone things. they resemble a real bird fairly closely (save for the Family crest he has embedded in them) and he'd be an idiot to not have an eye on you 24/7.

✎ yandere! sunday who's an obsessive freak and you'd think you'd know how obsessive he is by now but... it's far more worse than what you'd expect. bro has a whole ass shrine dedicated to you, and you just know that he has a small dreamscape designed for you. bro will throw you in there if you misbehave 💀

✎ yandere! sunday who gets other people to do the dirty work for him. he's a man of status, why would he need to dirty his hands? plus, he hates it when things get dirty. how uncouth.

✎ yandere! sunday who always has a smile on his face. you bet your ass he's going to be smiling when he tells you that your family mysteriously died in the dreamscape. of course, he's going to feign sympathy and comfort you but... there certainly won't be a frown on that gorgeous face of his.

✎ yandere! sunday who gracefully accepts you into his arms when you come crying to him that you can't leave. oh you poor thing. you did the wrong right thing coming to him for help. he'll definitely help you through this tough time. by making it worse 💗

✎ yandere! sunday who molds you into his perfect lover. oh dear me, you're permanently stuck in the dreamscape with him! it's an error no one has experienced before and you need to stay here with him to ensure your safety! no it's not a lie, why would he do that? after all, he only wants the best for you. don't worry, you can pass time by being his cute darling for now!

✎ yandere! sunday who will never let you go. and... why would you want to escape in the first place? he loves you and you love him now, don't you? besides, he's sweet, handsome, charming... you will never find someone better than him. so don't misbehave and just stay with him, won't you? besides, the Family doesn't tolerate traitors in the slightest. and you're a part of the family now, aren't you? his beloved little darling ♡

✎ "oh dear, now where do you think you're going my love?"

#suiana's sinners #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere concept #yandere character #yandere character x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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macbethsymphony · 6 months ago

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charlou my love! I'm about to invade your askbox with all my horny thoughts. Dont' you dare answer them all at the same time, I know you're busy <3

Ok so! As you know I'm rewatching Wano and you know that gif of Marco's mouth? (sent it to you I don't know how many times). Anyways it sent my mind spiraling into what if Marco was angry with you and it just made him snap? My pretty usually composed bird just losing it? I bet he'd fuck good hehe

love ya! -M✨

Millie bb!!!!! I was gonna keep this one really short but you made it spiral out into something almost complete!!!! How dare you?! (jk love you for it)

It's this gif, right? ngl it sends my mind spiraling into unholy territory too

You're infuriating

Marco x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re angry at Marco and he’s angry at you and you fuck. It’s that simple ;)

tw: MDNI, 18+, nsfw, rough-ish angry sex, fingering, p in v sex

wc: 3.2k

It was a well-known fact that the first commander of the Whitebeard Pirates was nearly impossible to anger, notoriously difficult to rile up. Countless people had tried and failed to provoke him. But you? You didn’t even have to try, didn’t have to lift a single finger to bring him to the edge of madness.

"Do you even realize the risk you took back there, yoi?" Marco's voice thundered through the narrow corridor leading to the infirmary, every word laced with barely contained fury.

The stomps of your footsteps against the wooden floor echoed loudly, matching the volume of your voices and punctuating the escalating tension between you. Each of your step left a small imprint of blood, the pain in your leg raging but ignored as wrath blinded your senses.

"I had everything under control," you shot back, your own tone rising in defiance. "Until you—" Abruptly, you halted, turning around and jabbing your index finger into his chest with force. "Until YOU decided to fucking swoop in."

Marco's eyes blazed, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles twitched visibly. "Under control? You call that under control?" he retorted, his voice dangerously low. "You were inches away from becoming sea king feed, and you think that's control?"

The infirmary doors loomed ahead, your destination within reach but forgotten, the tension between you crackling like electricity. "I sure as hell didn't need your heroics," you spat, words dripping with bitterness. "I had it perfectly laid out, and you ruined it."

“Ruined it?” Marco scoffed, his expression darkening. "Your plan nearly got you killed. Again." His statement hung heavy in the air, the weight of his frustration palpable. “When are you going to learn to fucking listen to me, yoi?”

Listen to him? That made you see red. "Listen to you, Marco?" You stepped closer, and he instinctively stepped back, his eyes widening at the pure rage in yours. "You are not MY commander. Ace is." You looked him up and down, a sneer twisting your lips. "I don’t have to listen to a single word you say, pretty bird." The usually playful nickname was now laced with venom as you spat it out.

He regained his footing, stepping forward as you stepped back, the anger in his gaze blazing harsher than you'd ever seen. He started to speak, but you turned on your heel, determined to make your point, your quick steps leading you toward the sanctuary of the infirmary.

"Oi, get back here," he yelled after you. "I’m not done, yoi."

"Oh, fuck you, Marco." You shouted. "As I said, I don’t have to listen to you."

Marco's frustration boiled over. With a swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you back to face him. The sudden movement brought you chest to chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

“You will listen to me, yoi,” he growled, his voice low and threatening, his breath hot against your lips.

You laughed in his face, a rich, bitter sound. Fucking asshole. With your free hand, you unclasped the holster at your side, expertly cocking one of your guns and pointing it right at his face.

“Unhand me right now, pretty bird, or I swear I’ll fucking shoot.”

His grip on your wrist tightened, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. A manic smile broke on his lips. "You wouldn't dare," he whispered, his voice a mix of challenge and something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your finger twitched on the trigger, but you didn’t pull it. He took a step forward, then another, and another, until he had you flush against the wall. His free hand shot over your shoulder, and he leaned close, effectively trapping you in.

“You will listen to me, yoi,” he repeated, his lips brushing yours.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of anger and something you’d never admit to.

Fucking asshole.

The adrenaline still surged through your veins, the proximity, the heat of his body, the intensity in his eyes—it all combined to create a heady, intoxicating tension that made it hard to breathe.

“You think you can intimidate me, first commander?” you whispered, your voice full of insolence. You cocked your head back, looking down at him from your low vantage point. You slid the nozzle of your gun against his neck, across his chest, pointing it at his crotch. “It’s your last warning, pretty bird.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the air between you charged and electric. Then, with a sudden, desperate urgency, he crashed his lips against yours.

It was a violent collision of emotions, a raw, unfiltered exchange that left you breathless. Marco's lips were demanding, his grip on your wrist unyielding as he poured all his pent-up anger and passion into you. And you responded in kind, matching his intensity with your own, all teeth and tongue, clashing and almost snarling into it.

For a moment, everything else drifted away—the battle, your argument, the constant push and pull between you. Your hand fell to your side, gun forgotten and all that remained was the heat of his body pressed against yours, the taste of his lips, and the desperate need to assert your own power in the midst of his.

But you were nothing if not defiant. With a sharp twist, you broke free of his grip, shoving him back hard enough to make him stumble. Your eyes were blazing as you leveled the gun at him once more, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Don't think for a second that you can just kiss me to shut me up," you snapped, your voice trembling with fury.

Marco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a wild, dangerous light in them, a reflection of your own intensity. "And don't think for a second that I won't do it again, yoi," he shot back, his voice low and rough, a deadly promise that shattered the careful balance between the two of you. Slowly he stepped towards you.

Fucking asshole.

You retreated, each step a painful reminder of the battle that had just ensued, leaving smears of blood on the wooden floor that turned into dark smudges on the sterile tiles of the infirmary. Marco's deliberate footsteps echoed behind you as he closed the door, the latch clicking ominously in the small, quiet space.

Locked in a silent standoff, your eyes defiantly held his, the air thick with a volatile mix of anger and desire that pulsed between you. You leaned heavily against the cool surface of a nearby medical cabinet, swallowing hard against the rising tide of pain. The throbbing ache in your wounded leg grew more insistent, a stark contrast to the adrenaline high still coursing through your veins.

Gun held steady, your aim unwavering over his heart, Marco advanced with a dangerous calmness that belied the tension in the room.

“Put the gun down, yoi,” Marco growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble that ignited a primal response deep within you. “I know you won’t shoot.”

Your narrowed gaze bore into his, finger twitching with a tantalizing urge to prove him wrong.

“Not a fucking chance, pretty bird,” you shot back, words edged with defiance. “Not until you fuck off.”

As the barrel of your gun hit his chest, you could see light blue flames grazing his skin.

You scoffed.

Fucking asshole.

He wasn’t taking any chances, huh?

“You won’t shoot, yoi,” he commanded this time. There was an unusual sharpness in his gaze, condescension thick in his tone as he emphasized each word.

And you hated it.

"You don’t get to order me around." Your finger tensed against the trigger, and as his hand moved to the barrel to push your gun away, you squeezed it.

It all blurred together. Bullets streaked through the air, passing through the haze of blue flames, burying themselves in the wall behind. In a swift motion, he disarmed you, gun falling with a loud clang on the tile. His grip on your wrist was so tight you felt the bruises forming, his other hand tangled in your hair, wrenching you back, your own fingers shooting to his forearm to keep your balance. Your body arched against the cabinet, and he closed in, looming over you, his ragged breaths brushing against your brazen smile.

Fucking asshole.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the chaos of your mind as Marco pinned you against the medical cabinet with a ferocity that you didn’t know he possessed. You liked that look in his eyes. Unbridled fury suited him well.

“You fucking shot me, yoi,” he shouted in your face in bewilderment.

“I wish they’d been seastone bullets, you asshole,” you snarled.

He didn’t flinch at the harshness of your tone. Instead his lips curled into a predatory smile. As the shock subsided, amusement and lust swirled and mixed with the anger plaguing his features.

His tongue met your lower lip, then his teeth, taking all the time in the world, relishing the power he held over you in the moment.

His hand in your hair gripped harder, pulling you back further, nails dragging against your scalp. He wasn’t kind and the pain made you gasp, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. Your eyes fluttered close as his lips found yours and his tongue darted in, dominating yours.

The heat of his mouth melded with the anger still simmering beneath your skin, igniting a firestorm of desire that you fought to suppress. But resistance proved futile against the raw intensity of his touch, the taste of him searing into your senses.

Fuck.

Your legs felt weak and not because of the gaping wound on your thigh. The familiar dizziness of lust was starting to overtake the edges of your mind. A muffled groan escaped your throat, half defiance, half surrender as he deepened the kiss, devouring your response with a relentless hunger. His body pressed into yours, every line and angle hard against your own, a testament to the storm of emotions raging between you.

His hand left your wrist, and slid down your side, hairs rising in the trail of his touch. You struggled against the overwhelming pull of him, the magnetic force that drew you closer even as you fought to regain your composure. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, tracing upwards with a deliberate slowness that set your nerves alight.

As his touch grazed the curve of your breast, you let out a low, involuntary moan, the sound mingling with your ragged breaths. Your hands, no longer restrained, buried themselves in his open shirt, nails digging into fabric, pulling him somehow closer still.

He moved your head back, exposing your throat and his lips trailed along your skin. His hand roamed down to your hip, then to the front of your pants, fingers deftly undoing the buttons. He stopped at the lace of your underwear.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, a plea whispered against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. The grip on your hair loosened and you slacked against him slightly. "Tell me to stop, yoi, and I will."

“Oh, fuck you, Marco,” you mewled into him, words muffled as your lips found his again.

With a growl of approval, he pressed himself closer, his hand slipping past the edge of your underwear. You bucked against his touch, a dangerous need driving you forward.

He took his time, tips of his fingers dragging up your slit, gathering your arousal. He teased and relished the desperation slowly etching on your features.

As you opened your mouth to complain, his fingers found their mark, and you let out a broken cry, the sensation sending shockwaves through you. Marco's touch was skilled, knowing exactly how to unravel you with each deliberate movement.

"Fuck, Marco," you gasped against his lips, your hips moving in time with his rhythm. You felt his fingers enter you, his palm delightfully dragging along your clit.

Oh gods. You felt your legs start to shake, the sweet promise of rapture so near.

He drank in your whines and mewls, lips moving lazily against yours, his focus entirely on you, fingers working you closer and closer to the edge. His gaze seared in the image of pleasure twisting your features into his mind. So pretty under him.

The world suddenly ceased to exist, the only reality the heat and intensity of his touch, the way he made you feel alive and on fire all at once. A sharp cry escaped you as you came, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

He quickly turned you around, the edge of the cabinet digging uncomfortably into your abdomen. You dimly heard the rattle of glass bottles and whatever instruments were locked in there, but it didn’t matter. He rolled his hips against yours and you could feel how hard he was against your rear. Suddenly you were ready to go at it again, craving to feel him inside you and you needed it now.

"Fuck me already," you demanded, impatience lacing your voice as you turned to face him. The sight that greeted you made you instantly regret it. His lazy grin of victory made your legs into jelly, and the satisfaction in his eyes ignited a desperate longing within you, making you want to moan his name.

Marco's grin widened, and he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Always so impatient, yoi,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug amusement.

You glared at him, trying to maintain your defiance despite the tremor in your legs and the pool of arousal he’d just left in your underwear. "Just shut up and do it already," you snapped, words wavering slightly.

He hummed, considering.

His hand trailed up and down your back, dragging your shirt, fingers brushing over your skin with deliberate slowness. Every touch sent a growing need to your core, heightening your anticipation. You let out a frustrated growl, your body aching for more. "I swear, Marco, if you don't—"

“If I don’t what?” His hands played with the waistband of your pants, still stuck against the curve of your hips. He let them pool at your feet and as he dragged down your lacy underwear, his lips traveled along your neck. “There’s nothing you can do to me little feather.”

You weren’t aware of when he’d undone his own trousers, but you could feel his tip against your folds, your slick coating his length. Your hand shot to the edge of the cabinet for balance, a shaky moan escaping your lips as he pressed against your clit, against your entrance. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t see him, but he felt so big between your thighs and so frustratingly good.

You tried to back into him but he stopped you with a bruising hold on your hip. “Didn’t say ya could do that, did I?” he said as his hand tangled in your hair once again, pushing you forward, lifting your hips until you stood on tippy toes.

“I can do whatever I fuckin—” he started to enter you tortuously slowly. “Ah,” you gasped, he was stretching you so fucking much. “F-fuck.” Your thighs trembled and your knuckles went white as you gripped the edge of the cabinet with all your might. It was so fucking much.

“Ya can take it,” he grunted in your ear the strain of restraint evident in his voice. “Fuck that’s it. Be good for me, yoi.”

Once he was fully sheathed inside you, he stopped, recentering himself.

You could barely hear the soft unsteady laugh that escaped his lips through your own pants. His hand trailed from your ass to the curve of your spine, firing an electric shock to your core and your cunt twitching around him.

“So fucking wet, and warm and tight.” You could feel the satisfaction in his voice. “Who knew you could be so obedient, yoi?” He punctuated his statement with a slap to your ass that sent you positively keening under him.

You felt some of your slick drip down your thigh and your cheeks heated. You ached to feel him move. “Just fuck me already, Marco,” you pleaded.

He leisurely slid out of you, teasingly unhurried and you felt the absence of him, the growing need to feel him fill you again. He let out a low chuckle as he sensed you spasm against his tip, your body telling all you stubbornly kept to yourself, begging for him in your stead.

“Look at you, yoi.” He palmed your ass roughly, making you wait. “You’re dripping to the floor.”

He slowly pushed back in, the friction against your walls making the world around you go blurry. You were grateful for his hold on you as his pace gradually picked up, entirely unable to trust your own legs. You shook beneath him, completely claimed, your moans sticking at the back of your throat, but he still frustratingly teetered right at the edge, never enough to allow your orgasm to build.

“Please, Marco,” you keened, your voice a high pitch cry you didn’t recognize. “More.”

He snapped his hips at your demand, turning his pace hard and brutal and it was suddenly too much. Every drag of his cock made you see stars, shattered your breath. You sobbed out his name in a desperate plea but instead he brought his fingers to your clit.

The moan you let out was obscene, only enhanced by the squelching noises and Marco’s forceful grunts. You were certain that something had broken in the cabinet, the sound of glass loud but it was evident neither of you cared as he somehow increased his pace.

Your body sought to curl upon itself but you were trapped and it was all too much. You were aware he was almost just as close as you, his erratic thrusts and the way he bit into your shoulder clear indicators.

The world seemed to fade around you and you were suddenly lost in the moment. Every sensation was amplified, the intensity of the waves of pleasure washing over you consuming you. As the tension built to a breaking point, you cried out his name, your body trembling with rapture.

Marco followed soon after, his own climax a fierce, shuddering release that left him breathless and spent. He held you close, his forehead resting against the damp skin of your neck, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Marco muttered, his voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.

He placed a kiss on your shoulder before backing off. You whined as you felt him pull out, felt his seed along your thigh. Your legs gave out and he quickly pulled you into his arms before you could hit the floor.

“Real infuriating, yoi,” he repeated, bringing you to one of the infirmary beds.

You smiled as he sat you down and as he made to retreat, you dragged him to you by his shirt. "Right back at you, pretty bird," you replied as you kissed him softly.

It was tender this time around and he cupped your cheek, thumb tracing soothing circles.

“Let me clean that for you,” he murmured, eyes looking at the wound on your thigh. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected, yoi.”

Masterlist

#one piece marco #fushichou marco #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #one piece x reader #marco x you #charlou writes

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karvroom · 5 months ago

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TRAINING IN SESSION

teen!Hawks x reader

⟢ summary: A year after the Hero Public Safety Commission took Keigo in to undergo harsh training to become an undercover double agent, you were introduced to the same program. You grew up together, practically inseparable since the moment you met. Now, you’re teenagers.

══════════════════

“Please, one more. I swear I’ll go easy.” Your partner in crime, Hawks, whined. He bumped your arm as you chugged from the cool water bottle. His tone switched to one of playfulness, “Oh, c’mon, are ya chicken?”

Hawks was trying to get you to spar with him again. Even though you’ve gone on for countless rounds and you were exhausted to say the least. You both sat on the ground beside one another, backs pressed against the cushioned wall. You straightened your shoulders, bringing the plastic bottle away from your mouth and screwing the lid back on.

You scanned the plain gray room. Rubber mats covered the entirety of the walls and floor, making it comfortable for a harsh landing. The dimly lit area looked almost black and white in your vision.

“You’re one to talk, bird boy.” You looked him up and down, referring to the crimson wings on his back. He wore a black compression shirt, which showed off how much muscle he had gained since you were little.

You met when you were both seven—Hawks was in the program a year before you were put in. Now, you were seventeen, which meant one year closer to becoming full fledged Pro Heroes.

“You know I hate when you call me that.” The blonde complained, his cheeks turning to a hue of pink as he turned his head away from you.

You giggled, finding it cute when you flustered him. Ever since you were little, you had a crush on him. Maybe it was because you were separated from the rest of society and hadn’t been exposed to anyone your age before except him. So, what? To you, he was the perfect guy.

You sighed, putting your hands on your knees to make it easier for you to stand. You hopped onto your feet, turning to Hawks who still hid his face. You held a hand out for him to grab, “One more round, ‘kay? If I win—”

“If I win I get to take you on a date.” Hawks teasingly smiled, revealing his playful grin.

You had this thing ever since you were little; he promised to take you out on a date once you were both in the real world. You refused his offer every single time. But he knew you. He knew you would go back on your word and he would eventually take you to a restaurant on the beach. Hawks remembered the one time you mentioned how much you loved the beach and he kept that in his memory ever since.

You rolled your eyes, “Fine.”

“Really?” He eagerly asked, earning a shy nod in response. Hawks traced the outline of your body, his eyes widening. His pupils nearly swallowing his golden irises as he admired your beauty. Your luscious locks that you refused to let anyone touch (he was the exception). He loved how they fell in your face while you looked down at him. The way you were so touchy with him, yet refused to flirt when he obviously was. Your lips curled into a smile and that did it for him. He felt his face start to heat up again.

Hawks had taken a liking to you. Though, he knew you “secretly” liked him for much longer and he only recently started seeing you as something more than a friend. He was falling. Hard.

He groaned at how easily you made his heart melt. Slapping his palm into your own, you pulled him up from the ground, turning to walk to the center of the room. You readied into a fighting stance, bending your knees, putting your fists up in the air and straightening your posture.

You cracked your neck as you asked, “Ready?”

“You bet.” Hawks gave you a single nod with a shit eating grin, copying your stance. Surprisingly, you were the first to initiate fire. You ran at him, aiming a punch right for his head. He dodged with ease, dropping to the floor to kick at your legs. You jumped over, effortlessly.

You were both used to each other’s fighting techniques that it was hard to ever declare a winner fair and square.

You managed to land a kick to his side, using just enough force to stumble over his own feet. He grunted, holding a hand over his rib. Once he regained balance, he attacked you, attempting to grab your wrist. You held your hand high in the air, out of his reach. With his arm stretched, he revealed his side to you. You used this opportunity to make use of your other hand. You attacked his torso with tickles, your fingers running over the clothed muscles beneath.

Hawks let out a childish laugh, trying to maintain his composure. He brought his arm down from trying to reach your hand, defending his stomach by placing his arms at his front.

You smiled, seizing the moment. You swung your leg underneath his figure. He jumped just in time, using his wings to fly higher in the air and towards the high ceiling.

“That’s not fair. I thought we agreed on no quirks?” You crossed your arms over your chest as you pouted to the blonde. You looked so much smaller than you really were to him from the ceiling. He wanted to scoop you into his pocket and take you everywhere with him—as corny as that sounds.

“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart.” Hawks called from above, waving his hand in the air. “And your dirty little trick wasn’t very fair either. Hypocrite.”

“Whatever. I would’ve won, anyway!” You shouted to him, cupping your hands over your mouth. He found it funny how dramatic you were.

A few crimson feathers fell from the sky. You observed as they were soft and flexible at first, suddenly turning into a deadly weapon. The sharp edges of the plumes flying at your figure. Hawks was careful not to actually do damage.

You gasped as his feathers shot you back against the wall, pinning you to the cushions by the extra fabric on your clothes. Hawks swooped down from the air, cockily strutting to your trapped body.

“You sure ‘bout that?” He tilted his head to the left, followed by an arrogant smile. Hawks leaned in close to you, his face only inches from yours.

You felt your breathing speed up and your heart rate start to rise. You didn’t want to—you had to remind yourself not to look at his soft, pink lips. If you did, it would be over.

Hawks felt powerful in this situation. His figure towering over your own as his gaze met your own. Strands of his overgrown, blonde hair fell onto his forehead as he was further entranced by your beauty.

Words couldn’t explain how badly he wanted to kiss you. He’d been dreaming of a moment as intimate as this with you for a while now. Usually, he would grab a fist full of your hair, smashing your lips against his own as he melted into your touch. Now, he was at a standstill unsure of what to do. The tension between you felt like static electricity.

He let out a huff, speaking in a cocky tone, “Looks like I just won myself a date.”

#anime #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfic #anime and manga #mha #mha x reader #hawks #mha hawks #keigo takami #keigo x reader #mha takami keigo #hawks x reader

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baptismbaby · 1 year ago

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✩ LIKE A DOG WITH A BIRD AT YOUR DOOR

toxic!ellie x reader (modern) a/n: will post to ao3: baptismsbaby warnings: ANGST. cannot stress it enough. cheater!ellie i'm so sorry for that, reader is super jealous and it's hinted she can be possessive, ellie isn't super toxic but i mean.. she cheats that's toxic enough lmao, brief mention of s*mno and drugs. brief mention of vomiting as well. no smut just depressing sorry songs to listen to: moon song by phoebe bridgers, i know it's over by the smiths, i bet on losing dogs by mitski, become the warm jets by current joys creds to elliesgalaxy on pinterest for the ellie pic wc: 3.5k<3

Ellie had made a new friend.

You and Ellie were at a college party a couple months ago. It was a part of y’all’s routine. Classes Monday-Thursday, party Friday and Saturday, and use Sunday to recover from the hangover. You would go and dance, drink, smoke, and on the occasion do a couple lines of coke. Ellie didn’t dance but loved watching you from the bar. A girl your age sat next to Ellie and striked a conversation with her. When you noticed, you immediately power walked on over. Ellie was beautiful, a lot of girls wanted her. Ellie would turn them away. She didn’t care about anyone else but you. Why is she talking to this stranger?

Come to find out, her name was Lila. Ellie and Lila went to the same high school years ago and wanted to catch up with Ellie. Lila had a long term boyfriend and majored in psychology. Once you knew she was straight, you left them alone after shaking Lila’s hand. You were no longer worried and just wanted to get as crossed as you could.

The next morning, Ellie woke you up with a finger inside of you. The entire time you couldn’t focus due to the constant beeping of her phone. You asked her to stop and reached for Ellie’s phone, tapping the screen to see Lila had texted Ellie eight times. You thought it was strange but according to Ellie, instead of saying everything she wanted in a single text, she’d send multiple. She had been texting Lila since she got you back to your dorm. You found it strange that Ellie had already caught on to her texting patterns but told yourself Lila was straight, nothing is wrong, Ellie made a friend and they’re getting to know each other. You were afraid of losing Ellie. So many girls would tell you how lucky you were. You knew it but saw red when being told that. To you, it meant they would throw themselves at Ellie if you weren’t in the picture.

Ellie began hanging with Lila in her dorm, which was a floor above yours. She’d text you every five minutes to keep you updated and even gave you Lila’s number so the two of you could become friends. She came off as clingy but was super sweet. Ellie made plans to go out to the bar with you and invited Lila so you could hit it off. You did, you actually adored her so much. She was super cool and funny. She’d talk shit to guys who tried to hit on her and would come to you or Ellie’s defense if anyone tried flirting with either of you. You liked that about her. She was loyal, a girl’s girl, overall a fun person to be around. The three of you would hang out often, sometimes just Ellie and Lila, sometimes you and Lila. Lila would boast about her boyfriend and ask a lot of questions about your relationship with Ellie. The sex, fights, anniversaries, little things Ellie would do, etc. It all fascinated Lila. She’d talk about how her boyfriend Josh was silent and off putting but gentle towards her. You enjoyed bonding with her.

You felt it had been awhile since you went on a date with Ellie. You decided to surprise her by showing up to her dorm, tossing rose petals all over the floor and lighting candles for an intimate setting. You knew Ellie would love it. But she never came. You had called beforehand and told her that you would stay the night in her dorm so she knew not to go to yours. You texted her and asked where she was. She said she was having a movie night with Lila. You thought it was weird you weren’t invited. You and Ellie would only hang out with her alone if the other had a class or was busy. If the three of you were free, y’all were together. You felt hurt and cleaned up the mess. You argued with her about it the next day and found out it was Lila’s idea. You texted her and expressed how uncomfortable it made you. She was apologetic and made you promise not to tell Ellie that she was telling you a secret. Ellie was planning a big surprise for you since an anniversary was coming up. You felt guilty and apologized to Ellie. You asked to have dinner Saturday, which was supposedly when the surprise was going to take place.

You waited for Ellie at her favorite diner. The minutes kept passing by and by, Ellie never showing up. You were blowing up her phone but she wasn’t responding. You never told Ellie, who preferred having her read receipts off, that you turned hers on secretly for you. She read every one and still no response. About an hour later, you were bawling your eyes out and decided it was time to leave. In walked Ellie, who was surprised to see you so emotional.

“Baby, what is it?”

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

You made sure to bump her shoulder as you stormed past her. Once you made it outside of the diner, Ellie had caught up with you and grabbed your arm. “Let go!” you yelled.

People around started to stare. Ellie gave you a dirty look and pulled you closer. “Stop causing a fucking scene, these people think I’m hurting you,” she growled under her breath. “Calm down.”

She shoved your wrist away and stepped back, running a hand through her short hair. You tried to calm yourself down but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. “I thought it was at seven. I’m so sorry baby,” she apologized.

“I reminded you a million times that it was at six.”

Ellie took her phone out and sighed at the text messages, acting as if she was guilty for not “seeing them.” You were starting to get pissed off but knew you couldn’t reveal that you knew she was lying.

“Sweetheart… I’m so sorry. I was over at Lila’s to-”

“Lila’s again?!” you nearly shrieked. Ellie made a face at you.

“She’s our friend. I was hanging out with our friend. She was helping me get ready because I wanted to look nice for you.”

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that Ellie would text less and less the more she hung out with Lila. She wouldn’t really text you much either.

“I’m starting to think she’s interfering with our relationship, Ellie. It feels like we barely talk. We don’t do anything together anymore. All you wanna do is hang out with her. ”

“She’s not interfering!” defended Ellie. You ignored her and walked away as she called out your name.

When you were finally in the comfort of your bed, you decided to text Lila to see if you could talk to her privately. Your text didn’t deliver. You hoped either she had no service at the moment or her phone was turned off. You set it down next to you and shut your eyes, the emotions of the day coming to hit you all at once. You cried yourself to sleep.

You saw a flower and note on your dresser the next day from Ellie. She told you how sorry she was and that she didn’t want to fight anymore. Then there was an anniversary card next to it where she wrote an extremely long paragraph for you. She must have come by early in the morning to leave it for you before her class. You sent a text and let her know to swing by your dorm once she was finished. You didn’t have classes until the evening, so you sat around waiting.

Her class ended at 11 a.m. and it would take her five-ten minutes to make it to your room. 11:05 came and went. 11:10, you started to think she might have stopped to talk to the professor or went to the restroom before leaving. You checked your phone and saw she read the text at eleven on the dot. You slammed the phone down on the bedside table and laid down. You fought tears as you started asking yourself where things went wrong. You wished you had told Lila to back off anyway that night at the bar. Things would be different. Ellie would be holding you, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear right now if it wasn’t for Lila.

You didn’t know you had fallen back to sleep until you woke up and realized you had missed your evening class. When you had checked the time, you also noticed Ellie sent a short text: “Not feeling so great today babe. I’m good though, no need to check in on me. Hope u liked your card. Love you:)”

You sighed. You’ve had enough. Ellie was lying and avoiding you for sure at this point. She was such a baby when she didn’t feel well, calling you and begging you to come by and take care of her. You shoved your phone in your back pocket and slid your shoes on, leaving your dorm room to go down the hall to Ellie’s. You tried opening the door but it was locked as if she wasn’t there. You pulled your phone out to call Lila. You swore to yourself that if they were hanging out that you would sit them both down and force them to hear how you feel. Set boundaries and make sure it’s clear that no one is allowed to hang one on one with each other anymore.

After dialing, you brought your cell to your ear and froze when the automated voice said the number wasn’t available. It didn’t ring at all, which explained why your text never delivered. She blocked you. And all you knew was that her dorm was a floor up but couldn’t remember which one. You felt stupid for not memorizing it. You didn’t want to bang on every door until you found her so you called Dina who was on the same floor as Lila.

“Hey,” she answered.

“Dina, hey, which dorm is Lila’s?”

“Oh, I’m good thanks for asking,” Dina said sarcastically “It’s like four doors down from mine. Why?”

“Ellie’s there right?”

“I mean.. I saw her this morning but kinda assumed she was back at her dorm or yours. Is she not?”

“Shit!” you hissed. “Fuck. Something is going on, I can feel it. Thanks, Dina. I’ll give you a couple of free joints for your help. Love you.”

You hung up and rushed for the stairs. You practically ran up them, skipping steps and getting nasty looks from other students who you nearly ran into. You opened the door and speed walked through the hallway to Dina’s door. It was cracked open and her head was poked out. She sent you a thumbs up as a way of saying good luck. You counted the doors and glanced back at her. She shook her head no to the door you were pointing at then nodded when you finally landed on the correct door. You felt your stomach turn. Your mouth salivated as if you were gonna throw up.

“You got this girl, I’m gonna keep watch in case I have to jump in,” Dina whispered loudly. You gave her an awkward smile, appreciative of her support but the sick feeling was getting worse.

You slammed the door open and nearly collapsed. They were fully clothed but Ellie was on top of Lila and kissing her. Ellie turned around, her mouth falling open and her brows furrowing upwards. Lila was giggling until she made eye contact with you. Her eyes went wide with fear. You staggered backwards, your hand gripping your stomach tightly.

“E-Ellie,” you whimpered.

Ellie jumped off of Lila and held her hands out towards you. She said something but you couldn’t hear due to the ringing in your ears. You started to sprint back to the exit, catching a glimpse of Dina leaving her room to go to Lila’s. You skipped down the stairs, busted through another door and barely made it to your dorm in time to vomit in the trash can you had sitting beside your desk. You picked it up and took it to the bathroom so you could clean it later. You stepped out, your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. You could feel a panic attack coming on as the image of Ellie kissing Lila replayed in your brain on repeat. You could hear a voice in the distance calling your name. A hand touched your shoulder and you slapped it away, looking up to see Ellie.

There were tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she repeated your name over and over, as if she was begging you to speak.

“I-I can’t believe you,” you said quietly. “This isn’t… real.”

“Please, it’s not what it looks like honey.”

You kept fighting to catch your breath, trying to figure out how to feel and what to say. You heard a creak and looked up to see Lila slowly stepping in. Rage went through your entire body as if it was an adrenaline rush. There was so much you wanted to do to hurt her. You wanted to scream at her, rip her hair out, strangle her, all of the above.

“Get the fuck out!” you screeched. “I swear to God, Lila, if you don’t get out of my goddamn dorm, I will go to prison for the rest of my life after I’m finished with you!”

Lila turned to Ellie, expecting her to jump to her defense. Ellie didn’t take her eyes off you, her face twisted in pain and guilt.

“Ellie!” Lila whined.

You stepped forward without even thinking about it. Ellie turned and grabbed Lila. She pushed her out the door, slammed it shut then locked it. You stood there, glaring at Ellie as she rested her head against the cool wood. “Fuck,” she mumbled. Her chest ached. She knew she had ruined the one good thing in her life which was you. The only girl she ever loved, who dealt with her bullshit and held her while she cried and laughed with her afterwards. Ellie risked it for no reason. She wasn’t entirely sure how everything got so fucked up.

Ellie backed away from the door, slowly rotating with each step so she was facing you. You were no longer angry. You were watching her but Ellie felt it was as if you were staring through her. You were zoned out completely, your entire body shaking and your breathing fast.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you and… spending so much time with her. It was an accident, I swear,” said Ellie.

“How could you accidentally… kiss someone?” you asked. You decided to focus on the floor instead, Ellie’s face was too much to look at right now.

Ellie stayed silent, pacing back and forth in the room muttering to herself.

“When did it start?”

“Um, when she invited me to movie night,” responded Ellie.

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

“But nothing actually… started. I fucked up, baby, but there was nothing between us. She kissed me that night and I felt weird and awful. She was crying, complaining about her boyfriend and randomly kissed me. I didn’t reciprocate it that night. I stopped her, talked to her about it, and told her she’s just upset.”

Ellie stepped closer to you until she was a couple inches away from you. “Before our date, she was helping me pick out something to wear. I didn’t lie about that. But she’d kiss me on the cheek and I let her. When you left because I was late, I confided in Lila and we did… some stuff.”

“Stuff?” your voice cracked.

“Over the clothes,” Ellie sniffled as a tear fell down her cheek. “I felt awful so I got you that card.”

“So awful you had to go back.”

“It wasn’t for that at first, please believe me. I went to tell her we had to stop being friends. Then, I went back to my dorm to be alone. I wanted to figure out how to tell you so I was gonna call you but I left my fucking phone,” she sighed. “Goddamn it. I’m so fucking stupid. She invited me in. I should’ve waited outside.”

You felt a buzzing in your pocket and pulled it out to see a text from Lila. You chuckled dryly. “That’s funny, Lila just texted me. She had me blocked when I tried calling before I came by.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. You could see the panic written all over her face, her shoulders moving up and down quickly as her breath sped up.

“W-What is it?”

“A video?”

Ellie reached out to take your phone but you slapped her hand away and stepped back. “Why do you wanna see it so bad?”

“Just-Just let me see and I’ll delete it for you!”

“No, I want to watch.”

Ellie’s hands went to her stomach, watching as you played the video. You dropped your phone to the ground, realizing Lila sent you a video of Ellie kissing Lila’s body all the way down until… well, you didn’t watch that far.

“Please,” Ellie sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re wearing the same outfit right now that you were wearing in that video.”

Ellie grabbed your wrists, bringing it up to her chest as she continued to plead with you. “It was only one time. I swear, I’m so sorry. I love you s’ much. I-I’d die without you. Baby, look at me. Please.”

Ellie pulled your face up to hers, your neck and body stiff as it settled in that Ellie was probably fucking Lila before today. Ellie peppered kisses all over your forehead and temple, muttering between each one how much she loved you and wanted to spend her life with you.

“I-I love how red your cheeks get when you-when you get embarrassed,” whispered Ellie as she planted a kiss on each one. “I love how you’re always putting chapstick on so that your lips are soft for me.” She kissed you but you didn’t do it back. “I-I love the way your chin wobbles so much when you cry over cat v-videos.”

She looked down at your arms, her tears now landing on them. “I love how you wrap your arms around me when you s-sleep. Your hands, God, I love how soft your hands feel o-on my body.”

Ellie closed the space between the two of you and slowly laid you on the bed, crawling over you and staring deep in your lifeless eyes. “You always looked at me so full of love.”

Ellie leaned forward, little whimpers falling out of her lips. “Where did it go?”

Ellie’s lips were soaked as she kissed you. You finally opened your mouth and kissed her back, her tears seeping between your lips and landing on your tongue.

“God sent his favorite angel to save me,” she whispered between kisses.

You broke the kiss to cry, Ellie using a finger to brush off each drop. She gently shushed you. “Please don’t cry,” she said. Her voice was raspy. She sounded completely broken.

“You kiss me and I taste someone else, Ellie…”

Ellie’s face dropped in anguish as she bawled harder.

“You have to go,” you weeped. “You c-can’t do this to me.”

“But I love you. I-I’m gonna make it right.”

“I’m not sure if you can, Ellie.”

Her name used to taste so sweet in your mouth. Now, it made your throat burn.

You gently pushed Ellie off of you. “You lied to me,” you uttered. “It’s unforgivable.”

Ellie turned away so you couldn’t see her break down. She looked around the room to see some of her clothes littered on the floor. She began to gather them together, sobbing softly.

Before she turned the knob, she stopped and glanced behind her shoulder at you. “I’m going to make this right. No matter what you say, even if thirty years from now you hate me. I will keep trying until I die.”

She left, the air in the room thickening as your brain replayed memories of the good times with Ellie. The flowers she’d pick for you on walks, her smile, her laugh, her cooking the nastiest food you ever ate. You squeezed your eyes shut as a desperate attempt to just live in those memories. You’d wake up tomorrow and none of this would’ve ever happened. You’d tell Ellie about your nightmare and she’d assure you that you were the only girl for her. You got up and picked up a shirt she had forgotten. You held it to your face, breathing in deeply and losing yourself in her scent. You slowly started to fall to your knees and onto your side. You curled up with her shirt and slowly drifted to sleep, the sweetest dream of Ellie hugging you taking the ache in your chest away.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x you #tlou2 #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #the last of us #the last of us part two #ellie williams angst #angst #ellie williams x reader angst

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azullumi · 9 months ago

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“under the burning hill” ; aventurine

premise — you say you know him, what will he choose?

tags — angst, with comfort if you squint, mentions of death, a lot of metaphors, spoilers to his backstory, i seriously don’t know how to tag this one, not proofread, 0.9k words; ficlet

tagging — @toorurs

note — i once cried to those tiktok slideshows that are like “if you really know your mother/self/father/sister/brother, what will they choose?” and then this fic happened. this is NOT my celebration fic for getting him, i have different one in my drafts

you say you know aventurine, what is he choosing?

a chance to be with his family again

he dreamt of flowers and gardens, of empty fields and large floating clouds, of tears and warmth, and he knelt into the dream where he felt the warmth of his sister’s hug and the soothing melody of his mother’s song. he buries his corpse who knew his father’s voice and how he would hold his child. in his dreams, he is good and he is loved.

he had nightmares of blood and fire, of wounds and tainted, dirty clothes, of screams and cries, and he’ll run away from the blades that will chase him, his body will become a corpse along with many others as he hides in the bloody waters. he has known death even before he saw his reflection.

and when he awakes from this, he’ll find himself in an empty bedroom despite the corners and the walls adorned with furniture, decoration, and dust. he’ll find himself alone—waking up yet he’s still in a nightmare. his family isn’t there.

for his shackles to never exist

the chain suffocates him—there’s the harsh smell of rusting metal and the cold tug of the chain when he moves his hand. his clothes are tattered, the collar and the hems burned off, and he stands before the eyes that scrutinizes and looks down on his existence. their gaze leaves letters that burn on his skin and it forms into a scar that will never heal, a reminder of what he is meant to be and will always be.

but he walks in the streets in flamboyance, the chain never seen on his wrist and neck as if it never once touched him. he treads the line of freedom and restriction recklessly and like a bird who has never known how to spread its wings, he could never reach far into the sky.

the form of his shackles have changed; it doesn’t mean he also has.

to stop the tremble of his hands

he fiddles with his fingers, adjusts the way his watch rests on his wrist—he keeps his hand busy and hidden. he wears a smile on his lips and utters such words filled with confidence as he places his bet, as he gambles his life, yet he desperately tries to conceal the way his hands tremble as he clutches on to his chips.

he wagers his life as if his existence was only a mere chip on the table, but it’s the only control he’ll ever have over himself.

an apology

he has dealt with scornful gazes and harsh remarks, has dwelled on the hidden meaning behind people’s words. he’s all too familiar with the cruel and unkind thread that weaves into their tongue as they speak—some may sing praises to him yet their eyes would harbor only hatred and disgust.

he wishes someone would ask for his forgiveness, but why would he even deserve one? what did he even do to deserve one? what did he do? does his existence outweigh the heaviness of a single syllable the word carries? was he worthy of one? does he even have any worth?

he can only let their gaze taint his skin, rearrange the letters of the words they utter into the one he will never hear.

(he has never forgiven himself either.)

to finally let go

how bruised are his knees and how long will he repent for the sins he has never committed?

he holds on to his burden as if it was a part of him, as if he’ll be nothing but an empty vessel if he loses his hold on it. he knows it's holding him down, knows it's making his hands bleed but it’s everything and the only thing he has known for—the thorns has been engraved into his palm and became part of his skin. he’ll stuff his mouth full of rotten food and leave his stomach empty, and he’ll believe this is what he’s made for.

perhaps when he'll finally find a place to put everything down, he’ll learn how it feels to live for himself and not for the things he carries.

you say you know kakavasha, what is he choosing?

to never have to say goodbye

farewell is a form of poetry and he is a poem.

in most days, he’ll hear his sister’s voice in the empty corridors of his home, he’ll hear the echoes and follow him into places she could never reach (his wishes will never be enough to save her). he’s haunted by the unspoken farewells and the goodbyes he is forced to make, watching their backs as they leave or his own.

(he wishes he never knew the word.)

(his child self) having a conversation with future him

children are bound with endless dreams and light to see into the dark as they walk into their future—he was (once) one of them. he’ll stay up at night wondering what’s ahead of him, grasping on to what little left of his hope that things will become better, and when he sleeps, he’ll dream of talking to his future self.

“are you happy?”

if he’ll have a conversation with his future self, he’ll tell him everything and anything, make him recall the memories lost when growing up, trace the stars with him as he asks him the questions he’s curious to know the answer to (his future self will know him inside out but he, the child he once was, will never know him). and maybe he’ll put their palms together once he notices his agitation—and he’ll see the differences of their hands and notice the dying light in their eyes—as they ask for their god’s blessings.

he’ll tell him: everything will be okay, even when he’ll only be met with silence.

(get onstage

fear not

never look back.)

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aezuria · 7 months ago

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uptown girl!

"she's been living in her uptown world, i bet she's never had a backstreet guy" —billy joel

content: mortal au!leo valdez x reader

╰┈▸ info: stuck-up reader (she gets character development later), cursing, reader is ~18, early 2000s core

notes: stella finally posted a fic !? (pls tell me if u enjoy i need validation 😔)

this has got to be the worst way to start summer ever. first, your morning was ruined by a bird shitting all over your car window—not a mess you had the time nor the patience to clean. then, on your way to pick up your friends for some much needed girl time, your car had the fun idea of breaking down. great. it left you on the side of the road, dialing up your father. which, when you think about it, really wasn't your fault! your precious ride just spontaneously combusted or something. nothing to do with the fact that you've crashed the front about seven times since january. after all, you'd gotten them fixed! it should be the mechanic's fault. or maybe, this car was cursed!

but of course, your dad just had to disagree. apparently it was his "last straw."

you winced away from the phone's speaker as his voice burst through. "you have been so ungrateful lately! when you asked for that car, i bought it for you! i looked over the fact that you don't even have your license yet! all i asked was for you to take care of your things!" he cried. from the tone of his voice, you could imagine the creases dug into his forehead. okay, now you felt bad. just a little.

before you could apologize, he finished with, "you just wait until i get there, young lady."

leave it to him to take away your guiltiness.

"dad!" you watched in horror as the truck towed your sleek red baby to god knows where. you turned your stricken expression on him, hoping to elicit at least a little bit of sympathy. but it seemed like his mind was made up on this one. dammit.

he crossed his arms sternly, putting his foot down. "let's go. we'll talk more in the house."

"-so you want to ship me away to some place crawling with bugs and creeps for the rest of the summer!?" you screeched along with the chair as its legs slid across the kitchen's tile floor.

your dad raised his hand in a placating gesture. "now, now, just until your car is fixed. it might not even be a whole month." he shrugged. yeah, real comforting. "and the city's a nice place. we lived there when you were young, remember?"

"no, i don't remember." you snapped. you did remember, but that brought on memories you'd rather not have right now.

he sucked in a breath. "alright then. it won't be so bad. we still have that apartment, and i got it cleaned up recently. it'll teach you some responsibility and independence." he nodded, satisfied with his decision.

you opened your mouth to snark at him again, but he continued, "and you won't be completely alone. there's a nice young man who will be fixing up your car, just down the street from the apartment building. i asked him to show you around when he has the time. and you'll have your phone, so make sure to call me, okay?" his strict behavior gave way to the soft spot you knew he had for you.

"...okay," you agreed reluctantly. once he really made up his mind about something, there was no changing it, so there was no use in arguing.

he smiled, patting your shoulder gently. "great. now pack your bags."

"be sure to buy groceries, and do the laundry, and clean every so often-" your father rambled on and on. if he was this worried, why wouldn't he just not go through with it? and why was he acting like you couldn't do basic chores!? it's not like you ever did them, but they couldn't be too hard, right?

"i get it dad." you rolled your eyes, staring out the car window. the buildings were all drab, painted in browns and grays, without a single bright color in sight, save for the red stop signs.

he pulled into an empty parking spot in front of the building. your insides recoiled. you swore it didn't look this... dilapidated all those years ago. or maybe you just had better taste now.

"we're here! looks like it's got a lot of.. character." he tried to cheer you up, but even you could tell he didn't think to check how it looked. it would've hurt too much to do so.

your lip scrunched in distaste. "i can't spend a single second in there."

"don't worry, it'll be over before you know it." with one last reassuring smile, he turned and left.

the apartment itself wasn't too bad, it was all cleaned up, just as your father had said. it smelled faintly of lemon cleaner, pillows fluffed and spritzed. your room was cold despite the warmth that came with summer. the pristine sheets were unfamiliar against your skin, as if you were tucked into a hotel bed. the sound of tire rolling against pavement never ceased, people had places to go, places to be even in the dead of night. a draft through your window made you shiver. you should close that in the morning. you curled in on yourself like you did when you were little, only this time there was only the unfeeling fabric to hold you, instead of the warm, long forgotten embrace no one could quite replicate.

you cringed at the shoddy place your phone had led you to, and looked up at the peeling paint sign that read: valdez mechanics. how charming. you even debated touching the rusty doorknob, but it swung open before you could turn it. which would be nice, if it didn't almost smack you in the face.

"watch it!" you hissed, side-stepping in time to see a boy your age walking through. his hair was a mess, and there were grease stains all over his face and clothes. his fingers were tap, tap, tapping away at his leg, to the rhythm of the song blaring inside. you think he'd be cute if he wasn't so dirty.

“sorry ‘bout that!” he laughed sheepishly. he stared at you for a moment too long before asking, “you here for the thunderbird?”

“yes,” you said shortly.

he chose to ignore your clipped tone, flashing you a smile. “come on in then, yeah?”

you followed him into the tiny shop, already wanting to leave. the place smelled of oil, and you could barely find a clean place to sit on. there were tools thrown everywhere, the floor sticky with dried up grease.

“i’m leo, by the way.” his voice snapped you out of your judging thoughts as he led you to the back. you finally saw your car, propped up with the hood open.

“y/n.” you barely glanced at him as you rushed over, examining the damage. “so? what’s wrong with her?”

he gestured with the wrench in his hand—when’d he get that?—and pointed to the engine. “well that’s all busted up, so i’m gonna have to build a new one for ya. i’ll do you an oil change too and-“

“yeah um, how long will it take?” you interrupted, giving him a smile you did not want to have on.

“i’d say three to five weeks? depends if i have any other stuff that comes in so…”

three to five weeks of your summer wasted away here? when you’re supposed to be having the best time of your life before college!?

“are you serious? can you get it done sooner? i can pay you some more-“ you reached into your purse.

“whoa!” he caught your wrist. his hands were clean now, must’ve wiped them on a rag. “money won’t make me work faster, honey.” he let go and shrugged. “sorry.”

honey? “well then what will? cause i need to leave as soon as-“

“some help, maybe?”

you blinked at him, utterly flabbergasted. “you want me to help you? the person who’s paying for all this?”

“technically, your father’s the one paying,” leo pointed out. “and y’know. you don’t have to help, of course. it just might make it go a bit quicker…” he trailed off, dimples poking through as he tried to hide a cheeky smile.

you huffed. “what do i have to do?”

”i am not sticking my hands in those.” you defied, shaking your head firmly.

leo scoffed, flapping the gloves around. “come on! this is the cleanest pair i have!”

"put this here?" you asked, shoving a part that you forgot the name of into an empty space.

"hm?" leo looked up from his fiddling, jaw dropping in horror. "no no no!"

"oh i know how to do this!" you exclaimed as he gave you a screwdriver. "my dad always said 'lefty loosey, righty tighty.'"

the boy nodded. "yeah! try it out." he pointed to a loose screw.

you successfully tightened it (to the right), giving him a proud smirk. "see?"

"yup." leo grinned at your enthusiasm, even though it was the most basic thing ever. "try and tighten the rest. i'll be right back."

a loud clatter made leo jump from across the repair shop. he rushed over to you, finding the parts that were supposed to be screwed together in complete disarray. "uh, maybe you shouldn't help..."

"really?" you deadpanned. "i hadn't noticed."

"sorry." he laughed. "scooch."

you pursed your lips. no one told you to "scooch" before. but you moved over anyway.

"wanna keep me company?" leo slid his gloves on and began putting the contraption back together.

no, you thought. but you didn't have anything better to do other than wander the city like a clueless idiot. and you hated looking like an idiot. "fine."

the shop was quiet, save for the occasional clanging as leo worked on the engine. his rambling was cut short as he focused on his work, something you didn't know he could do.

"nice car you got here. i've always wanted to drive one of these." he patted its side appreciatively. "where'd you buy this?"

scratch that. maybe he could only shut up in two minute increments.

"don't know. my dad bought it for me." you looked around, not even bothering to hide your boredom.

"right." leo laughed. you found he did that a lot. "must be nice."

your eyebrows knitted in confusion. "i guess?" what did he mean by that?

"i hate it here. it's so boring!" you complained over the phone. cooking dinner had been an absolute mess. “and that leo guy is so weird.”

"give him a chance, will you? he could show you around town, maybe teach you some manners…” you father muttered the last bit.

"what?"

"nothing! all i'm saying is give that boy a chance. who knows, he could be a great friend."

“‘great friend’ my… foot.”

#*ੈ✎ stories #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson

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franabz · 2 months ago

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★Random 141 headcanons

Ghost is on the aroace spectrum, only having sexual feelings towards someone under very specific circumstances or a very strong bond. He's probably only had one or two "partners" in his life, both spanning throughout grade school. He also has commitment issues due to the amount of people he has lost in his line of work.

Ghost is a very good listener, despite popular belief. You give him a good story or gossip and you best believe he is sat down directly beside you, his eyes never leaving yours between small invested nods or subtle reactions behind his balaclava-concealed face.

Ghost is a picky eater, though after having been in the military for years now it has significantly gotten better. Well, anything is better than those god forsaken MRE packs, anyway. He still has certain foods he will scrunch his face and glare at behind his mask, but still eat; though begrudgingly.

Price is definitely a gift giver. Randomly showing up one day in front of your barracks to present you a little trinket that he claimed reminded him of you.

Price is always checking up on his fellow soldiers, making sure they are taking care of themselves and not neglecting their own needs. He knows how many soldiers tend to neglect their mental health first hand.

Price had a massive sweet tooth. He claims to hate anything sweet and says chocolate tastes like "dog shite", but the second he's along with some good pastries or sweets, you bet your ass they're gone by the time you get back. He somehow never gets caught.

Soap is a huge adrenaline junkie. You ever going to a theme park? He's already begging on his hands and knees to go with you, practically dragging you by the arm onto every single roller coaster and giddy with adrenaline the entire time in the line. He has definitely been on the slingshot ride more than once.

Soap has definitely slipped the Scotland national anthem into your playlists more times than once, silently wheezing to himself as he watches you go about your day, only to suddenly stop everything you were doing to slowly turn to look at him, knowing exactly who did it.

Soap gives the best hugs. You having a rough day and just need some alone time? Well too bad, he's already halfway to your barracks just to pull you into his arms in a huge bear hug (bonus points if you're shorter and he can lift you). Somehow always seems to lighten someone's day no matter how upset they are.

Gaz takes up photography on his free time. He even invested in a fancy expensive camera to take logs and photos of places he's been, food he's eaten, scenery, and friends. His personal favorite is a picture of Soap in a bar piss-drunk while mid way singing his heart out to whatever was on the karaoke machine, his arm slung around Ghost's shoulder to support himself and a half empty scotch on-hand.

Gaz can play piano, and very well at that. It is one of those hidden talents that nobody would have suspected from him until it actually happened. The group is strolling around a plaza during their off days between missions, finding a stray piano and watching in shock as Gaz suddenly hops into the seat and gives the rest of the group a knowing look, before completely taking the show away. "The hell'd you learn t'do that, Sergeant?" Price practically choked on his cigar.

Gaz has a roommate back at home, as well as a pet... parrot? An African Grey to be exact. He is always eager to get back home to his beloved bird and roommate, one of which practically became family to him at this point. He doesn't talk about his personal life much, hence why the rest of 141 was so surprised to hear he had a roommate. The one day he invited 141 to his apartment after a mission just to hang out gave them quite the surprise when they heard two unfamiliar voices; one from his roommate, and one from the bird. Definitely scared Soap more than once.

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #cod mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #cod headcanons #cod mwiii #gaz cod #price cod #soap cod #cod ghost #cod modern warfare #pulled these out one day while working #school has been a pain in the ass give me a break #★fran writes

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fowlfics · 2 months ago

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🤎🧡💛Pigment of Imagination opened PreOrders! 💚💙💜

(*note - I'm just an overexcited contributor spreading the news over tumblr xD)

The day has finally come - it's time to fill our lives with a spot of colour! :D

You can see everything on the bigcartel - pigmentofimagination.bigcartel.com - or check out the twitter/bsky account!

Click keep reading for my excited yapping :3c

We've got a bunch of bundles available - digital, zine-only, merch-only, flat and full - and they're all chock-full of colourful goodies filled with symbolism!!!

For digitals, we have a bunch of exquisite luffy emotion emojis by @kenas-artstuff , a cute seraphim colouring page by @eks-art and a delicious printable shopping list by @orangeramphastosart !

For physical merch, we have the flats: three prints - Cora-san with the mini-Hearts by @/florakitz , rainbow strawhats and mini-print of Barto by by @veaski - a gorgeous double-sided Pell & Chaka bookmark by @softcenteregg , and an intense paint fight stickersheet by @/kenas-artstuff!

And then the 3D stuff! A pin of Cora-san (can never have enough of him!!) in a flower pot and a memopad with alllll the girls (Isuka, Nami, Hibari, Monet, Tashigi, Robin and Reiju!) by @/AKAbFlare , a sweet charm of Zoro with marimo balls around him by @hokage , a set of 8 character badges (The Warlords - Blackbeard, Mihawk, Doflamingo, Boa, Law, Kuma, Jinbe - and, of course, Buggy, all of whom you can absolutely arrange on your board like those wheel art challenges!) by @softcenteregg and, finally, a bubbly charm of Law using a Room on his unsuspecting crew and the cutest Chopper-themed washi tape by @/orangeramphastosart !

Honestly, I think the flat bundle is a steal - the wholeass zine and all the flat merch, for just $25? $35 if you add on the digital goodies, which includes the anthology with nearly a dozen amazing fics by so many great authors (and myself!)? An incredible deal!

I bet you've never seen this many fics and art pieces in a single project! And they're all absolutely stunning ✨ Keep an eye out - there's going to be previews shared in the next few weeks 💜

And not only are there SUUUUPER stretch goals, there's also this beautiful early-bird sticker of Usopp (made by Kena) for all the orders placed in the first 48 hours!!

#one piece #monkey d luffy #usopp #strawhats #donquixote cora-san rosinante #trafalgar d water law #buggy the clown #dracule mihawk #roronoa zoro #tony tony chopper #i wrote Sabo in my piece #bc of course i did xDDDDD #i got the colour purple which i can no longer see the same way xDDD #five plus one fic with each section focusing on a different sense experiencing the purple.... i have gone truly galaxy brain on it xDDD #can't wait to share!!!!!#i am going to go hard on this project tho #i desperately want the anthology to print so. chop chop guys let's get to 125 xD

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minihotdog · 11 months ago

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Locked Out On Valentine's (Ending: You took the tea)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

C/W: Smut, unprotected P in V, sexist-type humor, size kink

Word Count: 3k

Previous part

“You want some tea, love?”

***

You’re now sitting at the small round dinner table watching as he tilts the kettle into the mugs. He walks the mugs over to the table and sits across from you.

“Didn’t have anyone to stay with, did you?” He asks before taking a sip.

“I sure didn’t. Everyone is still avoiding me like the plague.” You stare down at the mug.

“It’ll end soon.” He wipes his bottom lip with his thumb. The action catches your attention and he doesn’t miss the sparkle in your eyes. For a stone-cold man, he sure was catching himself smirking a lot tonight.

“When I showed up to my first unit I got the same, and the unit after that.” The two of you drink simultaneously.

“What? They ignored you?”

“No,” He chuckles softly. “My first unit, they held me down and branded me with a shite-looking coat of arms made from a wire clothes hanger.”

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand.

“What?! Where?!”

“My bum.”

You snort, “I’m sorry, that’s not funny.” You cover your face with your hands. His shoulders rise and fall with soft laughter.

“It is a little.”

“Did they ever get in trouble? Reprimanded?”

��Never told anyone, ran into them at my next unit and pummeled them into the ground.”

“Bravo!” You celebrate with your hands in the air. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Then I was disciplined for the beatin’ they got but it was worth it.”

“I agree, they had it coming.”

You take another gulp of your tea enjoying the spread of warmth inside of you.

“You’re quite fond of trouble.” He states flatly. You still, squinting at him in suspicion.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your files,” He raises his eyebrows at you. “Lengthy history of discipline, being reprimanded.”

You hum in response. “Is that the word on the street?”

He grins, his hand coming up to stroke his stubble before he sits back with his arms crossed looking at you. You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I’ve gotten in trouble a couple of times in my career, what about it?”

“How long have you been in?”

“Five years.”

“You’re tellin’ me that you’ve been reprimanded nearly every single year you’ve been in?” He now leans on the table looking over at you with a dumbfounded look.

“Shit happens, I have no problem taking responsibility for it.”

“I didn’t take you for the type to cause trouble.”

“I’m not, I just don’t have the grace other people do. I do something stupid and get caught immediately.”

“You’re right about that. You’re a naughty one, for sure.” He says before downing the remaining liquid in his mug.

He smirks to himself letting his eyes roam over your shoulders.

"I heard that boyfriend of yours was a calvary bum." He pokes, changing the subject.

You "tsk" at him. Once everyone found out about your now ex-boyfriend they never let you live it down.

"What's his job got to do with anything?"

Simon shrugs, feigning ignorance, “Assumed a woman like you preferred men, that’s all.”

“Oh, hush!” You bite back a laugh refusing to meet his eyes.

“I bet he cried like a child at the thought of going to the field.”

“That’s enough out of you!” You reach over the table to cover his mouth. He fights you off taking your wrists in his hands. He stands and walks to your side of the table gently pulling up by the wrists. His massive frame takes most of your view, you can’t help but feel anxiety pool in your stomach having him tower over you.

“Poor bird, spendin’ her nights with half a man. Bet he didn’t have a clue what he was doin’.”

The warmth you felt from the tea was traveling up to your cheeks. He was so close you could smell the rich cologne in his skin. His hands were so rough but warm on your pulse.

Your eyes focus on his lips.

“Did he?” The gravel of his voice makes a shiver run through your spine. You gulp before responding.

”He was… enthusiastic.”

Simon laughs hoarsely, “Enthusiastic?” He enunciates with a shit-eating grin.

”Why is my sex life a topic of conversation to my Lt.?” You suddenly get some courage.

”You think I haven’t noticed you droolin’ over me, love. Peakin’ at me from afar. Now you show up to my flat with your tits fallin’ out of your top, your bare ass out, and a broken heart from some lad not worth the air he breathes.” He drops his head forcing you to meet his eyes. “Quite the coincidence, innit?”

”I think it’s more of a happy coincid-“ He breaks your sentence off catching your lips with his. Your brain pushes you out of your frozen state and the two of you begin moving in unison. He slowly releases your wrists and moves his hands to your waist. Your hands run down his chest.

He deepens the kiss, forcing his tongue past your lips. You moan softly as his tongue plays with yours. He pulls you against him, one hand over yours on his chest the other at the small of your back. You feel lightheaded, not in a bad way, quite the opposite. You’d fantasized about your Lt. plenty of times, his touch, the scars he hid beneath his army green top, the way his lips felt - come to find out they were soft, unlike the rest of him. His hands keep setting you ablaze when they touch your skin, the callouses nearly make your eyes roll back.

He growls into the kiss, tearing himself away from you. His arms wrap around the back of your thighs and you grab onto his shoulders. He lifts and places you on the table, forcing himself between your legs. He bites at your neck, pulling you into him. You grip the table feeling as if you could slide off at any second.

He eats up every single gasp he gets out of you. His teeth graze your collar bone and he sucks on the sensitive skin. Your nails run over his scalp down to the back of his neck drawing a groan from him.

He stops for a moment to let you catch your breath.

”You want this, love?” He leans his forehead against yours looking into your eyes.

“God, yes!” You exasperate.

He chuckles, still looking into your eyes.

”Hold on.”

”What do you-“

You squeal as he lifts you off the table and rushes to wrap your arms around his neck. You rest your head on his neck relishing in the feeling of his body against yours. Warmth radiated off of him like a furnace, the feel of his skin so addictive.

He carries you to the couch placing his knee on the cushions before gently placing you on your back. He follows you down and your hands run down his bare back.

He supports himself with one arm, the other trails down to your aching core, cupping the mound. He lets out a ragged breath once he feels the heat burning through you. He moves to pull your shorts off, dragging them up your legs and tossing them off to the side.

”Fuckin’ hell,” He groans at the sight of your bare pussy. “Such a bad girl walking around without knickers.”

He gives you one last hypnotizing kiss before brushing his lips in between your breasts. He kisses each one and carries on down your stomach and lands right above your clit.

You panic inside, you prop yourself up on your elbows, “Lt.”

”Fuck’s sake, love. As much as I love hearin’ you call me that, say my name, will you?” He laughs light-heartedly. You smile behind your hand trying not to break out in giggles.

“What is it?” His eyebrows pull together.

”You don’t have to do that if you don’t want.”

”Eat you out?” He looks at you confused.

You nod slowly, embarrassed at the question.

He “Tsks” at you lowering himself once again while muttering something along the lines of, “Calvary muppet took the fun out of pussy, didn’t he?”

”I’m serious! You don’t have to!” You spit out frantically.

“Shut up, doll.”

He licks a stripe up your cunt and moans softly to himself. Your lips part in disbelief. He slowly laps at your clit and you lower yourself onto your back. He decides not to work you too fast yet, scared you’d pass out after being neglected by that dumb bloke for so long.

You whine softly, legs already shaking. He wraps his arms around your thighs and presses them against his head.

He gently sucks on your clit and your hand shoots down to his head. The feeling of you tugging one his short locs encourages him to speed up. His lips wrap around your clit and toys with it as he pleases. The pace causes you to clamp your thighs around his head on your own.

Moans pour from your lips as your back arches. His hands stroke your thighs as you restrain yourself from pushing his head down further.

”Simon! Oh god!” Your mouth hangs open. You look down at him and nearly orgasm seeing him between your legs. His eyes are blown out, his thumb caresses your skin.

He lets go of one thigh and his fingers tap at your entrance gathering your wetness. He pushes two of his fingers inside you and your head falls back. Your vision goes fuzzy and you clamp your eyes shut. His fingers pump into you hitting your g-spot each time.

Your hand flies to your mouth and you let out a high-pitched moan. You chant his name tightening around his fingers. He feels your walls clamp down and continues pumping letting you ride it out. Your hips twitch, your thighs trap him where he is.

He waits until you go limp to pull away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

”Fuck, you made a mess.” He groans. He climbs above you and peppers your face with kisses. “Was that alright, love?”

You open your eyes to meet his, all you can do is nod unable to trust yourself to talk. He smirks at you, proud of himself for leaving you in such a state.

”You think you can take me, love, or do you need some time?”

”Want you so bad,” You whine out.

He lowers his head for a chaste kiss and pulls himself up onto his feet. He drops his sweats revealing the thick muscle of his thighs. His cock slaps his thigh as he throws his sweats onto the floor, the weight of it keeping it down. Your eyes meet his member and a wave of nervousness comes over you. His length was impressive but the thickness was your biggest concern.

“Hey! You weren’t wearing underwear either, hypocrite!”

He rolls his eyes at you with a smile. A sight so beautiful you can’t help but smile back.

He takes his earlier position above you and aligns himself with your entrance. He looks up at you and you feel his tip poking into you already.

”Ready, doll?”

You nod at him.

”Say it.” He whispers.

”I-I’m ready.”

”Alright then.” He nudges your forehead with his before the two of you look down to watch the sinful show of him slowly sliding into you. You gasp, hands going to his back. He moves at a snail’s pace letting you adjust as he goes. He cradles your head, forehead against yours trying to keep his breathing steady.

”Ah, tight little thing.” He rasps out.

Your mouth hangs open, your nails digging into his skin, legs hugging his waist once he fills you to the hilt. He waits a moment before slowly sliding out halfway and bringing himself back to the same depth. Your whines draw out. His tip hits the deepest parts of you so well that you nearly begin drooling.

He examines your face for any sign of discomfort before nudging your neck with his nose. He begins with a moderate pace as he kisses along your jaw. You wrap your arms around him, fingers running over the buzzed hair at the back of his head.

The stretch from his cock stings slightly, the overwhelming pleasure sending tingles through your bones making it hard to notice. He continues rocking his hips into yours letting you enjoy the feel of him without anything too overwhelming. You mewl into his ear as he stretches you over and over.

”Fuck, so good,” You whine.

His hand comes down to grip your breast, his thumb playing with your nipple, circling it gently. He slides his legs up kneeling with you in between his thighs. He stops, letting you catch your breath and he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He suckles the nub, playing with it with his warm tongue. He thumbs your clit as he treats the nub like a candy. He grabs you by the waist and pulls you down onto his cock, dragging you down the cushions fucking you onto him for a while.

He angles his hips to hit all the right places, your cunt throbs around him when he hits your g-spot head on causing you to gasp.

”Oh fuck! Right there!” Your hands cling onto his forearms for dear life as he goes on to hit the spot repeatedly until it nearly hurts. His pubic bone rubs against your clit with every thrust. He picks up his pace, throttling that poor little sensitive spot. Your back arches painfully. He takes advantage of it and throws his hand under your waist keeping you in the position swinging you down to meet his thrusts.

He stuffs you with his cock relentlessly. You become a mess beneath him struggling to get words out, just high-pitched moans filling the room.

”God! Oh god!”

“He’s not here, love. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.” He orders.

The feeling grows inside you pulling the air from your lungs. He nips the skin below your breasts and licks a stripe between them to your neck. Your pussy flutters around him before you fall deep into euphoria, his name pours from you. Your ears ring and eyes wire themselves shut as you clamp down around him. Tears pour from your eyes involuntarily.

The sequence of flutters pulls him back into you making it too difficult to pull out too far. He buries his head in your chest as he’s pulled over the edge. He moans into your skin as your body sucks him back in, milking him so hard he blinks trying to rid himself of the fog. He begins spilling into you, his white hot streams shooting out at high velocity. He paints your walls so thoroughly that you feel his cock twitching with every spasm.

His cum spills out of you not having any more room to fill. You gush around him and he quietly gasps.

The two of you stay like this for what could’ve been an eternity. The post-orgasmic haze engulfs the both of you. He keeps himself inside and lowers himself onto his side, dragging you with him, throwing your leg over his hip. He pulls you into his sweaty heaving chest and kisses your forehead.

He feels a wetness on his thumb and pulls back, wiping away your tears.

”What’s happened, Y/n?” He asks, concerned. “Did I hurt you?” He moves to pull himself out of you and you grab him, bringing him to a stop. “You’re crying, love.”

”That was amazing.” You mumble, eyes struggling to open.

”You cryin’ because it was good?” He laughs, a big goofy smile plasters itself on his face. You force your eyes open to peek at him.

“You smile so pretty.”

He pulls you back to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you.

”Thank you, love.” You could still hear the smile in his voice. “Let’s get you cleaned up and put to bed, yeah?”

”Too sleepy.” You complain.

”It’s alright, I’ll take care of you.” Against your protests, he lifts himself slowly and positions himself to pull out of you. He gives you a single nudge with his cock still sheathed and you nearly purr.

He pulls out slowly.

”Jesus, I’m gonna need a new couch.” He mutters. His cum spills from you, his eyes glued to your core watching it slowly pour out. His cock twitches and he has to look away. There was no way you were in shape for another round. Thankfully the memory was burned into his mind - the best thing he’d ever seen, next to you of course.

He lets you know he’ll be back and you hear water rushing down the hall. He returns moments later and slides his hands under you.

”Bath time,” He says in a sing-song-y voice. You giggle, lacing your fingers behind his neck. He lifts you in his arms and looks into your eyes. “You were wonderful.” He pecks your lips and carries you off to his bathroom placing you in the bathtub before sliding in behind you.

”I don’t have a hair tie but I’ll try with some string,” He says mostly to himself. The warm water only reaches your belly button, once he slides behind you it rises a few inches. He wraps your hair into a funny-looking bun and ties it with the piece of string he found.

” Ta-da.”

“Thank you, Simon.” You say sweetly leaning back against him. He holds you against him and you feel something poke into your back.

”Sorry, love. It’ll go down, I don’t expect you to stay awake long enough for another one.”

You moan in response and sigh letting the water nearly lull you to sleep.

“Wait,” you breathe out. “Does me saying your name turn you on?”

He doesn’t respond. You try to look up at him but he tightens his hold not wanting you to see the red spawning over his face.

”Siiiiimon”

”Oh, hush.” He imitates your voice.

”Hey!”

He grabs his loofa and begins lathering you in bubbles.

”C’mon, I wanna get you in bed before you fall asleep.”

He cleans every bit of you, focusing on your breasts because no matter how much he denied it at that moment, he was still a dog. He hands you a bath bomb that he saved in case he ever had a special someone stay over and let you watch it fizz up as he cleans himself.

He dries you off and plops you down on his massive bed wearing his t-shirt. By the time he throws on his boxers you’re fast asleep under the covers, engulfed in his scent.

He slides next to you pulling you into his arms. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and whispers into your hair, “You’re mine now, doll. All mine.”

#Simon Riley #Simon ghost riley #ghost #simonghostrileysmut #simonrileysmut #codsmut #simonrileyxreader #simonghostrileyxreader #ghostxreader #ghost x reader

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kikyoupdates · 3 months ago

Text

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑣𝑜𝑤

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes.All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

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When faced with the demands of the strongest sorcerer, your family can’t possibly protest. Well, not that they would have wanted to, anyway. They must be happy they don’t have to deal with you anymore.

Out of sheer spite, your mother insisted you live with the rest of the clan and be forced into a life of cruelty and discrimination, but even she would never dare defy Gojo Satoru. Besides, her wish has already been fulfilled. You still won’t have a shot at a normal life. Even if you had been given the right to choose for yourself, now that you’ve met Satoru and discovered what world this is, there’s no way you would ever take the easy way out.

For better or worse, you will be a jujutsu sorcerer.

True to his word, Satoru was able to convince the Gojo Clan members to let you stay with them. You’re not sure exactly what he told them, but he may as well be their deity. Granted, he’s still only a kid, but in the grand scheme of things, bringing in a single girl to stay at the estate isn’t that big of a deal. It isn’t a difficult request to fulfill. Based on the way everyone turns up their noses at the sight of you, however, you can tell they aren’t too happy about it.

“No one here will ever hurt you,” Satoru promises. He keeps glancing over at you every few seconds as he leads you through the grounds of the estate—which is massive, might you add. He’s a lot more attentive than you were expecting. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re a weak, helpless baby bird. Which you might as well be, in all fairness.

You nod and smile brightly. “Okay. Thank you, Satoru. I’m really happy to be here.”

“Are your injuries really painful?” he asks with a frown. “We don’t have anyone here that knows how to convert cursed energy into positive energy. But if I try asking, maybe they can reach out to another clan and bring someone over to heal you.”

“You don’t need to go to the trouble. I’ll be okay.”

Satoru watches as your grin somehow gets even wider, despite the fact that the bruised, swollen parts of your face must be aching uncontrollably. He’s not sure why you’re always smiling so much. It’s not like you ever had any reason to smile. Not with how horribly your family has always treated you.

Then again, that’s exactly what drew him in. Your warm, sunny disposition, which is so starkly different from what he’s used to. Even if it doesn’t make much sense, a smile suits you. He likes seeing you smile.

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect that smile of yours.

You’re given a nice place to stay. Satoru insisted that you live in the same building as him. It’s obvious that he wants to keep you nearby, in case anyone dares to try anything. Although you’re willing to bet that they won’t risk upsetting him. Not when he’s made it clear that you’re off-limits.

It’s kind of crazy how much power and authority a literal child has.

Gojo Satoru is in a class of his own. The details of his upbringing were never openly disclosed in the anime or manga, but you know for a fact that he didn’t have anyone he could truly call a close friend. Not until he met Suguru.

You may be hopelessly weak for now, but if nothing else, you’ll make it so that he never has to feel lonely.

That night, you settle into your big, spacious room. You didn’t bring anything along with you for the move. It’s not like you had any personal belongings to speak of. Certainly nothing valuable, either. Your new room is a bit empty right now, save for a few decorations here and there, but you resolve to brighten it up and make it your own. All in due time.

Before you tuck in for bed, Satoru stops by.

“Hi,” he greets, poking his head into the room. “You don’t mind if I come in for a bit, right?”

“Of course not,” you smile. “Go right ahead.”

He nods and steps inside. There’s a clan member waiting by the doorway, and they flash you a brief glare before turning their back towards you and sliding the door shut. As expected, you’re far from popular. They probably think you’re just a hindrance, or maybe even a distraction. You’re not sure if they’ll ever change how they feel about you, but it’s definitely better than staying with your own family.

Besides, as long as Satoru likes you, that’s more than enough.

“Is this room okay?” he asks, kneeling down onto a cushion. “If you don’t like it, I can get you a different room instead.”

“It’s perfect,” you reassure.

“Really? You can be honest. I can tell that you’re the kind of person to hide how you feel because you don’t want to upset anyone else. I already know your dad is the one who beat you, but it didn’t look like you were going to rat him out.”

“I just didn’t want to stir up even more of a fuss. Besides, seeing other people get hurt won’t make me feel any better. I’m happy enough just to be here. Again, thank you, Satoru. For helping me.”

You sure like to thank him a lot. He’s not really used to being thanked—for anything, really. He’s being trained and brought up as the strongest sorcerer. It’s a given that he’s meant to save and protect those who are weaker than him. But you don’t take any of that for granted. You’re never shy about showing your appreciation. You want him to know how much every one of his gestures means to you.

He likes that. He likes it a lot.

“If it’s alright, I’m going to try and go to sleep now,” you say. “I’m pretty tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Oh. Did you want to spend the night in my room? Like a sleepover? Would you be allowed to do that?”

Satoru blinks. The invitation catches him off guard, and he watches as you pat the spot beside you, on your futon, still smiling brightly.

He turns away in a hurry, cheeks red.

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers. “I should sleep in my own room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It seems like you are, so… I’ll leave now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you happily reply, but Satoru is already out the door, nearly tripping over his feet in the process.

You giggle at the sight. He’s so adorable. You can’t even express how happy you are to be here. The future may look grim, but you’re determined to change it, no matter what it takes.

That night, you dream of a world where Gojo Satoru is saved.

“Satoru. Here, try this. I made yummy rice balls for us to eat. There’s a secret ingredient inside. Can you guess what it is?”

Satoru reaches out and takes a rice ball into his hands, furrowing his brows as he looks it over. As far as rice balls go, it looks pretty normal. It’s actually rolled up really neatly. He’s surprised you made this yourself. You did a pretty good job.

“Secret ingredient, huh?” Satoru shrugs. “Sure, I’ll try it.”

He takes a big bite, and although he’s not really sure what he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t this.

“Gross!” he exclaims, immediately spitting it out of his mouth and onto the ground. He then proceeds to stare at the inside of the rice ball he just bit into. “Did you… you actually put chocolate inside of this? Disgusting! What’s wrong with you?!”

You frown. “What, you mean you don’t like it? I actually think it’s pretty good. I was sure this combination would be a hit.”

Satoru watches, horrified, as you bite into your own rice ball, smiling all the while. There might actually be something wrong with you after all. He’s starting to realize that you’re slightly unhinged.

“Remind me not to eat anything you make ever again,” he shudders.

“I’ll pick something better next time, don’t worry. Oh! How about this? What do you think of rice balls stuffed with ice cream—”

“No.”

This is what most of your days look like. It’s been just over a week since you arrived at the Gojo estate. Your injuries have almost fully healed. Also, you’re no longer required to do chores at virtually every waking moment, so whenever Satoru isn’t busy with training, you spend all of your time together.

Satoru has to do a lot of different things. It’s not just honing his jujutsu abilities, day in and day out. He isn’t allowed to slack off when it comes to academics, either. It’s clear that his family intends for him to be perfect in any way possible. They refuse to let him settle for anything other than the best.

It’s a lot of pressure for a kid. Satoru makes it look easy, but nevertheless, you feel sorry for him. Which is why you always try to make sure that he’s having fun when he’s with you. You want him to have some semblance of a childhood, at the very least.

Of course, you still can’t grant him the freedom you wish he had. It’s always inevitable that someone gets in the middle of your time together.

“Master Satoru. It’s time for you to work on your studies.”

One of his usual attendants comes to pick him up. Satoru clicks his tongue in visible annoyance, but as always, he doesn’t protest. He has a strong sense of duty and purpose. A determination to uphold his responsibilities as the strongest.

Before he leaves, though, he turns back towards you.

“I want [Name] to come with me today,” he says. “She can at least sit in the room while I’m doing my work, right?”

The attendant blinks. He’s bewildered, of course, and you’re not sure what else to do but bat your eyes at him with a bright, hopeful expression. You may be weak, but you’d like to think that you’re a pretty cute kid. It’s about time someone developed a soft spot for you.

“She’ll distract you,” the attendant refuses. He narrows his eyes at you in frustration, so apparently, you’re not that cute.

Satoru pauses for a moment, then grabs you by the hand and pulls you close.

“I want her there,” he insists, interlocking his fingers with yours. “She’s coming. I’ve already decided.”

“Master Satoru, you can’t—”

Too late. It seems like he’s in an awfully stubborn mood today, so for better or worse, you find yourself in the same room as him while he has his lesson.

It’s a bit awkward. Satoru told you to sit right next to him the whole time, and although he doesn’t allow himself to get distracted, it still feels weird to be sitting in on a private lesson. While the teacher glares at you the whole time, no less.

“Do you know what the answer to this question is?” the teacher asks, pointing to one of the questions in the textbook Satoru is learning from.

Satoru chews on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “It’s… B. The answer is B.”

“Sorry. I’m afraid that’s not correct,” the teacher says. She scribbles something down onto a piece of paper. “It’s alright. That was an exceptionally advanced question, so I can’t blame you for—”

“It’s C.”

To be honest, you didn’t mean to voice your thoughts aloud. It was a reflexive, absentminded remark. The answer was just so obvious that you ended up blurting it out.

But now, both Satoru and the teacher are staring at you in bewilderment.

Satoru turns towards the teacher with a frown. “Is she right?”

“...yes,” the teacher replies, looking somewhat reluctant to do so. “But it was a multiple choice question, so I’m sure it was just luck. Let’s move on to—”

“[Name], what about the next one?” Satoru asks, pointing towards another spot on the page. “Try answering this one, too.”

So, you do. You don’t just answer that question, but the next one, and the next one after it, and the next one after that, and so on and so forth. The teacher looks both amazed and horrified. Even Satoru can’t seem to hide how taken aback he is. They’re both staring at you like you’ve been hiding this incredible intelligence all along, when really, you’re kind of cheating. You died when you were sixteen years old. Satoru is incredibly smart for his age, but even taking that into account, your years of lived experience give you an obvious advantage.

Still, you have to admit, it feels kind of nice. Finally being acknowledged for something, that is.

Satoru’s lesson ends, and you can see the teacher whispering to the other Gojo Clan members about what just happened. Their eyes all widen in shock as they glance your way. They believe you’re ‘gifted’ all of a sudden, and while it doesn’t mean much for a jujutsu sorcerer, at least they might think a bit more highly of you from now on. Maybe they’ll finally approve of you being by Satoru’s side.

“I didn’t know you were smart,” Satoru admits. “To be honest, up until now, I thought you were kind of dumb.”

“...oh.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Is there a good way to be dumb?”

“I just meant that you seemed a bit dumb, because of how straightforward and simple you are. And you’re nice to everyone, no matter how badly they treat you. You’re easy to take advantage of, so… yeah. I thought you were dumb. Sorry.”

Satoru chuckles sheepishly. You snort in response, amused by his uncharacteristic shyness. You suppose it doesn’t really matter whether people think you’re smart or not. From the moment you were born, it was clear that you would have to defy everyone’s expectations. You’re going to have to work harder than most in order to prove yourself. In order to have a chance at saving people.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Satoru remarks.

“What thing?”

“It’s a thing you do sometimes. You drift off, and even though you’re usually smiling all the time, your face will get all serious for a few moments.”

“Oh. I guess I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts. Sorry. I just really want to get stronger. I end up thinking about it a lot.”

Satoru doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s strange that you’re so fixated on improving yourself. He’s the strongest, so of course, there’s a heavy burden upon his shoulders. He has to be the best. It’s both his birthright and his destiny. There’s simply no way around it.

But as for you…

Come to think of it, do you actually need to become stronger?

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect you. Even if he hasn’t known you for very long yet, he likes having you around. There’s no reason why he can’t look after you. It’d be nice if you got stronger too, he supposes, but it’s not like you’d ever be stronger than him. With him by your side, your future is already assured.

Which is why it’s weird. There’s this urgency and desperation he senses from you, almost constantly. It’s not like your family is around anymore. And even if they ever tried to take you back, he wouldn’t let that happen.

And yet, you’re still determined to become stronger. It’s almost like there’s something you’re not telling him. Something more than just a simple desire to prove yourself.

…then again, maybe he’s reading into things too much.

Word travels fast, and soon, pretty much everyone in the clan has discovered that you possess intellect far beyond what they imagined (not really, but whatever, you’ll take it). Satoru keeps insisting that you be allowed to sit in on his lessons from time to time. They reluctantly allow it, and sometimes, you even help answer some of the questions he has—instead of the teacher whose literal job it is to do so. She doesn’t seem to like you very much, unfortunately.

One night, as you’re preparing to go to bed, Satoru stops by your room again.

He does this a lot. He usually makes a point of saying goodnight to you before he goes to sleep. It’s adorable, and it warms your heart to see that he’s starting to care for you so much. Sometimes, you still can’t believe this is the life you’re living.

You were expecting him to poke his head into the room before exchanging a few words, as usual, but this time, he turns up with a futon of his own.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” he declares.

You blink. “Oh. You got permission?”

“Yes. They whined about it a lot, but I said I didn’t care. It’s not even a big deal. You said before we could have a sleepover, right? Unless… you changed your mind.”

He averts his gaze, looking a bit bashful. Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll refuse. Although you’re not sure who in their right mind would turn away this adorable little sweetheart.

“I definitely didn’t change my mind,” you grin. “I’m always happy to have a sleepover with you. We can stay up all night telling each other scary stories! I know a few really good ones.”

“Why would I be scared of some stupid stories?” Satoru brushes off. “I’ve already exorcized all kinds of cursed spirits. And none of those were scary, either. I’m too strong to have anything to be scared of.”

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t heard them yet. You act tough now, but I bet you’ll be crying later.”

Satoru rolls his eyes as he lays his futon down next to yours. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but once he’s lying down, facing you, and when he realizes just how close the two of you are… he’s embarrassed to admit that his heart starts beating a bit faster.

“If this is weird, I can leave,” he mumbles.

“It’s not weird at all. Like I said, I’m happy you’re here. Ah. You’re not just trying to come up with excuses so you don’t have to hear my scary stories, right? I see right through you, Satoru. You’re not sneaky.”

Satoru laughs. It’s a pleasant, melodic sound, and you hope you’ll be able to hear it more often from now on.

Before you can start telling your stories—you really do have some good ones you’re excited to share—Satoru scoots in a bit closer, then gently places his hand down on top of yours.

“It’s okay,” he says, and since you’re not sure what he’s referring to, you just frown. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re not strong, because I’m strong enough for the both of us. Before, I said I’d be your friend if you showed me how you planned on getting stronger, but… it’s fine. You don’t need to do that anymore. I’ll still be your friend. I don’t care if you’re weak or not. So, don’t worry about what anyone else says. I’ll stay with you no matter what.”

Through the dark of night, you can’t tell, but he’s blushing profusely right now. He feels like he just said something really cheesy. But he’s not going to take it back. He doesn’t regret it. He means it wholeheartedly.

You, his first ever friend, are irreplaceable.

More time passes, and as much as it pains you to admit, you still haven’t gotten any stronger.

While Satoru is busy training, you do the same. You try your absolute hardest to make some kind of progress, and yet, the changes are minimal—if any. It’s as if your body simply isn’t cut out for this, which is a bitter irony. To think that you’ve been reincarnated into a world where you have the potential to do a lot of good and help a lot of people, but your weakness is holding you back.

The knowledge you have is invaluable. You know that. Even if you’re not all-powerful, you still have the ability to make a difference. But this is Jujutsu Kaisen. A world in which death isn’t just possible; it’s more common than surviving. If you don’t have any way of protecting yourself and others, who’s to say you’ll even last long enough to save everyone?

It hurts. You hate being weak. You hate that your efforts yield no results. Unlike in the real world, where people can usually make up for talent or skill through sheer dedication and hard work, here, your fate may as well be sealed.

“Not like that,” Satoru says, shaking his head. “Do it like this.”

He proceeds to give you yet another up close demonstration of his cursed energy at work. He flattens several pop cans in one fell swoop, while you’ve been struggling to do the same to a single one of them.

You exhale tiredly. “Stop saying it like it’s second nature. You have better control of your cursed energy than anyone else. I can’t possibly compare.”

“Well, I don’t really know how else to explain it,” he shrugs.

Your shoulders slump. A while ago, you had your sixth birthday. Which means it’s been slightly more than a year since you’ve gone to live with the Gojo Clan. A whole year, and still, you’re as weak as ever. You know it’s still too early to give up, but it’s hard not to feel discouraged when you have Satoru by your side, and every day, you’re reminded of the fact that you’ll be helpless to change his fate if this continues.

“You’re getting upset again. Even though I keep telling you that it’s okay if you don’t get stronger. You have me. You won’t ever need to be scared.”

Satoru smiles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a loose hug. During your time together, he’s become a lot more cheerful and expressive, which is of course due to your influence. It makes you happy to see, and you’re overjoyed that he cares about you to this extent. If you didn’t know what the future holds in store, you would’ve been more than willing to sit back and let him protect you.

He doesn’t realize that he’s destined for an early death. He’s so sure of himself, so confident in his strength, that he doesn’t even consider it to be a possibility. Which is why you do need to become stronger. Even if he doesn’t understand why.

You hug him back for a few moments, then pull away—much to Satoru’s disappointment.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To train some more. I already talked to one of the clan members earlier. They agreed to help teach me. Reluctantly, but still.”

“But we’re supposed to be having a lesson together soon,” he says, making a point to pout at you.

You smile weakly. “Sorry. I’ll be there next time. I just… can’t afford to slack off. If I keep working hard, then eventually, something will give.”

Of course, as you expected, your supervised training session doesn’t go much better. You can see the clan member repeatedly rolling their eyes at your lack of talent. The only reason they’re helping you at all is because Satoru insisted they honor your requests.

Once again, you’re left feeling hopeless and deflated. You wonder if you’ll ever see any improvement, or if you truly are beyond salvation. Destined to be so weak that you can’t protect a single person.

Not even your dearest friend.

You stare down at your feet, gaze glassy, and for a moment, it feels like you’re about to cry. Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything at all? Some kind of trick that will allow even a weakling like you to have a fighting chance?

Some kind of… trick?

All of a sudden, your eyes widen. .

Since meeting you, Satoru’s life has become a lot more fun.

He enjoys having you here. He never thought it would make that big of a difference, being able to spend time with a kid his own age. And not just any kid, but someone who’s taught him how to smile, laugh, and appreciate simple moments he used to take for granted before. He’s glad he made the decision to visit you again that fateful day. If he hadn’t done that, every day would still be just as monotonous and boring. Every day would be unbearably predictable.

Satoru can never predict what you’re about to do next. It’s strange, because at first glance, you seem like a simpleton, but you always manage to find new ways to surprise him.

Like right now, for instance.

“[Name],” Satoru calls out. As always, he knows exactly where to find you. He can tell everyone’s cursed energy apart, and although yours is scarce, it easily stands out the most to him. It’s comforting and familiar. He’s fully committed it to memory by now, and if he wanted to, he could write a whole essay describing it.

It doesn’t take long for Satoru to find you. For some reason, you’re standing in place and staring off into the distance with a vacant expression. You’re also holding something in your hand. Is that… a knife?

“[Name],” Satoru repeats. He frowns as he steps closer to you. “What are you doing? What’s the knife for?”

You don’t respond at first, but then you turn towards him, in a rigid, unsettling manner. Your eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them before. Even your lips are slightly parted, as if something has you in awe.

“I understand now,” you mumble breathlessly.

Whatever it is that you understand, Satoru definitely doesn’t. He’s unbelievably confused. And seriously, what’s with the knife? It’s starting to freak him out.

Satoru knits his brows together. “What are you talking about? You’re being weird. Also, put the knife down before you end up hurting yourself.”

“Okay. But first, let me show you something.”

You take a hurried step backwards. Satoru still doesn’t understand what’s going on. You’re never this cryptic. It’s throwing him off, and for some reason, he’s getting a bad feeling about all this.

That bad feeling turns out to be right, because moments later, he watches as you drag the sharp end of the knife across your skin.

“Don’t—!”

Satoru cries out, but it’s already too late. There’s blood everywhere. It’s a deep gash. A serious injury. You’re wincing, looking lightheaded from the pain, as if you’re about to pass out any second. Satoru instinctively knows he has to get help, and yet, he’s too shocked to move. This has never happened before. He’s never watched someone get hurt in front of his eyes—someone he cares deeply about—and been helpless to do anything about it. He’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. A special, chosen existence. But right now, all of that feels pointless, because you’re in pain, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“It’s okay,” you breathe out. “Just… watch.”

Satoru is about to cry out again, more desperately this time, but suddenly, he sees it.

Your body is… healing?

It’s true. The gash on your arm, the one you just inflicted with the knife, has already fully healed. You pause for a moment, then wipe the blood off your skin, so that he can see more clearly. Sure enough, it’s gone. There’s no trace of the wound that was there a second ago. Almost as if what happened just now was a figment of his imagination.

“Reverse cursed technique,” Satoru mumbles in disbelief. “You… when did you learn how to do this? You never mentioned it before. And I didn’t notice any changes in the flow of your cursed energy, either.”

“I learned it just now.”

“What?”

“A few minutes ago. Before you came to find me. All of a sudden, I just knew how to do it. The knowledge appeared in my mind.”

Satoru frowns. Something isn’t adding up. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is a very complex technique. Few individuals are actually able to pull it off. Even he doesn’t know how to heal himself. But such an ability was able to manifest in you? He supposes it’s not impossible, but given the nature of your cursed energy, and your overall lack of skill… it seems unlikely.

“I wanted to become stronger.” You pause for a moment, then shake your head. “Sorry. I needed to become stronger. So, I did. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but just now, I was able to confirm it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you already suspect it. That I didn’t obtain this ability naturally. I was frustrated that nothing was working, no matter what I did. I just couldn’t seem to improve, regardless of how hard I trained. So, I… took a gamble. I made a Binding Vow.”

Satoru blinks. “A self-imposed vow?”

You nod enthusiastically, but it still doesn’t make any sense. Would someone really gain the ability to use positive energy through a simple vow like that? It’s the first Satoru’s ever heard of it. And since healing is a rare, valuable power, most people would love to get their hands on it. If it was that easy, surely everyone would opt to do it, one way or another.

Once again, Satoru has a bad feeling about this.

“I already knew that by imposing restrictions on yourself, through a Binding Vow, it’s possible to increase your cursed energy and empower your technique,” you say. “I wasn’t sure if it would work for me. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is complicated, after all. I knew I had to make it a pretty serious restriction, in order to have any chance of succeeding. Even then, it still might not have worked.”

You pause yet again, while Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat, and the next second, you’re smiling brightly, like always.

As you utter the most horrifying words Satoru has ever heard.

“In exchange for gaining the ability to use reverse cursed technique, I’m never allowed to use my cursed energy to harm anyone else, whether it’s a human or a cursed spirit. And if by some chance I do… I’ll die. Instantly.”

Satoru’s jaw drops open.

“...what?!”

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