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skeltnwrites · 8 days ago

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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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boohorns1136439 · 2 months ago

Text

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (01)

I didn’t expect to drop the first chapter so fast. Thank you everyone who liked and/or commented on my previous post !! Hope y’all will like this one !!

Summary <- 01 -> 02

Masterlist

Taglist

Warning: I don’t know anything about hospital or how they actually work, I tried to make it accurate as much as possible, cursing ?

tags: aged-up characters ; Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; afab!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; eventually smut

Also, reader is bisexual !

Working in a hospital was always exhausting. You never imagined yourself becoming a doctor; in fact, you never even dreamt of it. But with a healing quirk like yours, combined with the prestige and respect the profession brought, you felt pushed into it. It wasn’t so bad, though. Being a beta, you had an edge here. In a place where emotions ran high and pheromones flooded the air, you stayed grounded. While alphas and omegas could be thrown into chaos by the scent and pheromones around them, you kept your cool. It was one of the few perks of being a beta in a high-stress environment like this.

Today felt no different from the others as you made your way down the sterile hallway, heading for your next patient. Just as you were about to enter their room, the sound of hurried footsteps caught your attention. A group of paramedics rushed past you, wheeling a stretcher with a patient barely visible under layers of blankets.

The moment they passed, the air shifted. The doctor in charge, a tall, sharp-eyed alpha, started barking orders at the nurses, his voice cutting through the usual calmness of the hospital. You could tell by the urgency that this wasn’t just any patient. No, this had to be someone important. A pro-hero, maybe? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them was brought in after a brutal fight. For a moment, curiosity sparked inside you, and you wondered who they were. But duty called. You pushed open the door to your patient’s room, the soft click of the handle snapping you back into focus. Your professional demeanor slid into place like a well-worn mask.

"Good morning! How are you feeling today?"

The patient shifted under the thin sheet, eyes half-closed.

"Better, I think... Still sore, though," they murmured.

You nodded, already making mental notes.

“That’s to be expected. Let’s have a look at those vitals and see how you're doing.”

After finishing up with your patient, the day moved on with the usual requests and minor chaos of the hospital. It wasn’t long before Asuna, the cute omega nurse, approached you again, her brown eyes wide as she asked

“Please, Y/N, I really need to leave early today. I swear I’ll buy your lunch tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but wonder why people always came to you for favors. It wasn’t like you had a particularly welcoming vibe, yet somehow, this was the third time she had asked you to cover her last round so she could head out early.

“Y/N, I promise, it’s the last time.”

Her wide brown eyes locked onto yours, and you knew she had you. It wasn’t the first time Asuna had asked for a favor, and you doubted it would be the last.

“Alright, Asuna, you’re a pain in the ass. This is the last time, though. I mean it,” you said, though your tone didn’t carry much conviction.

Her smile brightened, and with a quick, “Thank you, Doctor L/N!” she handed you her patient list and dashed off to the locker room.

You shook your head slightly, more amused than annoyed. People always seemed to assume you were an easy target for these things, but the truth was, you just didn’t care enough to make a big deal out of it. Besides, it was easier to say yes and get on with your day than to fight over it. Since she was assigned to the hero wing, you made your way there, your steps steady and automatic. The hero wing wasn’t all that different from the rest of the hospital, just quieter. The lighting was a bit softer, and the rooms offered a little more privacy, but beyond that, it was still a hospital—white walls, the faint scent of disinfectant in the air, and the steady hum of medical equipment. You made your way down the familiar hallway, passing a few closed doors until you reached the patient’s room at the end.

After a brief knock on the door with no response, you entered the room, heading straight for the bed. Their room was larger than most, with enough space to accommodate any necessary equipment, but otherwise, it was like every other patient room. The sunlight filtered through thin blue curtains, casting a dull glow over the room. You checked the vitals on instinct, your eyes drifting to the patient, and then froze when you realized who you were looking at pro-hero Shoto Todoroki.

Seeing him up close was something else. One of Japan’s most famous heroes, practically a celebrity, and here he was, fast asleep in front of you. His hair rested against his shoulders, the unusual coloring drawing your attention in a way you couldn’t quite explain. His features were sharp yet soft and refined, but it was the contrast in his appearance, much like an exotic bird, that caught your eye. There was something striking, captivating about the way he looked. He was just... pretty. There was no other way to describe it. Everything about him screamed "pretty boy." You were so captivated by the length of his lashes, thick and dark against his skin, that you didn’t even notice when his eyes opened and met yours.

The two of you stared at each other in silence for what felt like an eternity. You’d heard Shoto was on the quieter side, but this silence felt different, as if he were trying to figure out why a doctor had been watching him sleep. It was unprofessional—creepy, even—and you had no valid excuse for why you were still staring. The awkwardness of the moment built until it was unbearable, and just as you opened your mouth to apologize, you noticed something shift in his gaze.

There was something more beneath it now, something charged. His cheeks flushed, the soft pink blossoming across his skin like a dahlia. The color spread gradually, delicate at first but quickly deepening into a rich, vibrant hue. His wide eyes, one blue and one gray, darkened as his pupils expanded, a hazy look settling in them. As if he was suddenly hyperaware of every breath you took. The heart monitor’s consistent beeping suddenly picked up pace, the rhythm escalating without warning.

Instinctively, you reached out, your hand barely grazing his shoulder. His entire body trembled at the touch. It was immediate, his body responding to even the slightest touch.

Then, in a small, broken voice, he whispered.

“Alpha... please…”

You almost laughed at the absurdity of it, the words so out of place that they felt like a joke. But before you could react, a scent hit you, so strong and unexpected that it threatened to short-circuit your brain.

Alright, I did the first one. As always, I like criticism and I find them really helpful so don’t hesitate to tell me if something is weird or wrong about my writing !!

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers !

Summary <- 01 -> 02

Taglist

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mythicalmyles · 1 year ago

Note

step brother Toby 🧍👀 (also i hope tomorrow gets better💗 )

After this ask im gonna have too much in my mind lmfaoo

Stepcest/dubcon/manipulation/tobys gross n toxic/bottom male reader

You huffed out, turning to look at the man that was now your brother. You hated the fact your dad had remarried but there was little you could do, he had made his mind up and moved her and her hell spawn into your home.

Toby stared a lot. Especially when you wire nothing but a towel after a hot shower, you tried to push back any thoughts that tried to weasel into your mind. You couldn’t deny his lifeless brown eyes would easily pin you in place, he always had a smirk on his face, like he knew something else no one else knew.

You were stuck alone with him, he sat on his bed, hair messy and unkempt. He’d likely ran his hands through his locks, deciding that was enough. He wore grey sweat pants decorated with stains that showed off his boxers, he was well defined which had initially surprised you. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, his dark bags hanging down his eyes as he stared at the screen infront of him. He had his shirt off, leaving his mouth watering chest on display. He was toxic as hell, always shouting obscenities down the mic. Even if he had done something stupid he’d still blow his top on those around him.

You were usually quick to make yourself scarce during the times he was gaming, instead you lay on your stomach and watched him lazily as anger seared over his features. “Yo-you fuh-fucking bitch!” He suddenly screamed out, throwing the control off the wall and nearly causing you to leap out of bed. It was too late once you’d realised your mistake.

Something evil took over Toby’s face when his eyes landed on you, his lips pulled into a snarl and a horrifying look in his eyes. You felt like a little fawn that had been dropped into the line of sight of a starved wolf. He moved to strike, jumping up just before your brain finally clicked. He was pissed and you must’ve looked like a target.

Fear flooded through you as you scrambled up, desperately praying for escape. Toby literally slammed the thoughts out of your head, sending you fly into the wall. You let out a cry as your body hit the wall, head slamming against the plaster and leaving your head spinning.

He had always scared you, he disappeared for days on end and always came back just that little bit extra terrifying. It was almost like every time he came back he left a little more humanity behind. You had tried so hard to stay out of his way despite sharing a room, you knew he was a ticking time bomb and yet you had stayed any way. You’d long given up on having your room look nice, he always tore it up anyway.

He grabbed your wrists, slamming them against the wall so hard you yelped. “T-Toby, ple-please.” The look on his face let you know just how big of a mistake you had made, he held your arms above your head with one hand while the other wrapped around your throat. His grip was tight and unforgiving, you were positive his nails would leave scars along your neck. You choked out a whimper, tears dripping from your eyes as he choked you to the point of blackout. He stopped just before you fell over the edge and into darkness, pulling away watching as you fell to your knees grasping your neck and choking.

Toby didn’t have any interest in you at first, intent on keeping the worst parts of himself until he was ready to leave. But when he caught sight of that dumb little look on your face it went straight to his cock, he knew you feared him and he relished in it. He was enraged from his game, the idiots in his team sucked. When he caught sight of you after his rage he felt something stir in him, the fear on your face, the way you bit down onto your lip eyeing him like you were about to bolt. He couldn’t have that.

That was how you’d ended up biting onto your sheets, Toby’s cock smashing deep inside of you. You felt your tears rush down your cheeks and soak into your sheets. “You like tha-a-that? Getting fuh-fucked by your big bro-brother?” Toby was insane, his words were lewd and disgusting. Yet your cock leaked between your legs, body shaking as he nailed into you. He left deep scratches in your hips, slamming you back onto his cock.

You couldn’t breathe, he loved the way you struggled underneath him. “S-stop To-toby-y.” You choked out one last time, he knew you didn’t mean it. He knew by the way your back arched, letting his cock slide deeper into you. Your choked moans filled the room along with the sound of him slamming into you, his cock abusing your prostate.

He ripped himself out and flipped you over, baring down at you with a shark toothed grin. He looked terrifying, drool dripping from his mouth as he stared down at you. The sight of his cock slamming into your tight hole was almost enough to spur him over the edge. “Ye-yeah that-thats it baby, ta-ah-take my cock.” He slammed your lips together, tongue forcing its way into your mouth and wasting no time in exploring. You whined into the kiss, feeling both of your saliva dripping down your face and neck.

“Do-dont wor-ry ill take go-good care of you, li-lit-little bro.” Toby’s words left you whining, hands grabbing desperately against his shoulders. You barely had a moment before an orgasm ripped through you, tearing you apart at the seams and leaving you clenching around Toby’s cock.

You clenched hard around him, sobbing and whining as you felt his cum flood your stomach. He flopped down onto you, his weight keeping you pinned down as he lazily ground into you. He ignored your overstimulated cries, content to keep his cock buried in your tight ass. “Suh-such a good b-boy.” Toby muttered, petting your hair as you came down from your high.

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sturniolo-simp4life · 7 months ago

Text

Call Me Back- Chris Sturniolo

Paring- Chris Sturniolo and Y/n

Description- Chris has been ignoring you for a while, upsetting you, until one night he shows up at your apartment.

Warnings- angst, crying. Remember everything is fictional! Nothing here applies to real life.

NOT PROOF READ!

You had really been upset this past week. Chris had been distant this week. At first, you thought he was busy with filming and that he needed space.

But it had gotten more complicated.

He stopped answering your calls and texts. You could see his likes on other girls' social media.

Another thing- you didn’t care about whose posts he liked, whether they were girls or not.

It was that he was liking pictures of half-naked girls was what got to you.

You could feel your heart swell when you got a notification.

Chris.sturniolo made a post

You clicked on the notification. A picture popped up. It looked like Chris was at a party. He had that big bright smile the one he would always show around you.

What really caught your attention though, was that his arm was clinging onto another girl's waist.

The girl was leaning her head on his shoulder, and her arm was on his other shoulder.

You felt your heart crack. Had he found another girl? Is that why he had been ignoring you?

The girl did look perfect for him though. Golden brown hair. Crisp, green eyes. Big, perfect pink lips. You felt your heart crack even more. It looked like a match made in heaven.

You hadn’t even realized tears welled up in your eyes until they started streaming down your cheeks. You choked a sob, as you sank into your pillow.

You didn’t like your emotions getting the best of you but when they did, it was too late.

What if you were just overreacting? What if she was just a close friend?

But you saw how both their eyes showed happiness. Connection. Love.

You cried yourself to sleep that night.

___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___

Two more days passed. Two more notifications, each day. Each post with the same girl. The same bright eyes.

The same smile. The same pang of pain in your heart. You had tried calling him too, but he would just ignore your calls, or not answer.

You decided that you did want to live a sob story, so you went to the grocery store, hoping to at least be productive and get some tasks done.

You found yourself driving to target, hoping to buy some things. For one: food. It was always your comfort.

You also needed to buy your daily necessities, like toilet paper and soaps.

And you defiantly bought snacks and candy.

You thought things were going well. You thought you could avoid any possible thought of Chris at all today.

You were literally finished checking out your items.

But no. The world must really hate you.

The way your heart shattered when you heard that laugh. As you saw those brown locks of hair.

Chris.

And you heard the female laughter following. That golden brown hair. Those deep, crisp, green eyes. That girl.

You couldn’t bring yourself to move. At all. Who is she? Why do I feel like this? You couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

And the next thing you knew, they were right in front of you. “Oh hey y/n!” You heard Chris’s voice. You couldn’t utter a word.

You couldn’t hear, you couldn’t feel you couldn’t speak. Are you alright? He asked. Are you okay?

I can’t do this. You finally snapped back to reality, and you ran. You ran right out of that store. You couldn’t turn back.

He had ignored you for almost a week and a half. Hadn’t picked up any of your calls. And now suddenly acting like he cares? You couldn’t do this.

You cried as soon as you got home.

___---___---___---___---___---___---___ What time is it? Was your first thought as you woke up. You rubbed your eyes. Sighed. You needed to relax.

You grabbed your phone, a blanket, and snacks from your kitchen, and made your way to the living room.

10 things I hate about you. Thats what you decided to put.

You wrapped the blanket around yourself, its warmth covering you, protecting you, keeping you safe. Why can’t they be Chris’s arms.

You were about halfway into the movie and on your third bowl of popcorn when you heard a knock on the door. You sighed, not wanting to get up.

The knocks wouldn’t stop, so you forced yourself to answer it.

“What are you doing here,” you asked. Where’s your new girl? You wanted to ask. Why haven’t you broken up with me?

“I wanted to see if you were alright.” he said.

“You wanted to see if I was okay?” you could feel your voice rising.

“Oh Chris I’ve been great. I’ve just been ignored for a whole week by my boyfriend, not to mention that he’s been hasn’t been answering my texts of calls, and hanging out with some girl I don’t even know?”

You were crying at this point. “So yeah Chris. I’ve been doing great.” He was silent for a moment, his eyes showing pure heartbreak.

You couldn’t. You completely broke down. Sobbing.

Chris knew you didn’t like crying. That’s why he was so shocked. It broke his heart that he made you feel this way.

He pulled you into a hug, murmuring soft, reassuring words into your ear. “Shhh, you're alright pretty girl. Don’t cry. Please.” his voice cracked on the last word.

Once you had calmed down a bit, both of you took a seat on the couch.

“10 things I hate about you,” he said. “That’s always been your comfort movie.” You nodded your head.

A few moments passed. “Look y/n, I owe an apology. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out in what feels like forever.” he sighed. “What about that girl?” you asked.

That’s what was bothering you the most.

“Yeah um, she's the reason. Ally. She was one of my best friends in middle school, and she surprised me by showing up out of nowhere. She moved away right before high school- before we even met. I was just happy to see her when she came. She has a boyfriend, you know.”

“Oh,” was all you could manage with a voice crack. “I-I’m so sorry.” Guilty guilty I feel so guilty.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, many more following. For the second time, Chris pulled me into a hug, kissing my hair and rubbing my back. “It’s not your fault pretty girl. Don’t cry. I promise you.”

His touch leaves a trail of butterflies on my skin. “I’m sorry for ignoring you, my sweet girl. I promise you that won’t happen again.”

You sniffled as you hugged him burying your face into the crook of his neck. He suddenly picked you up bridal style. “Lets get you showered and ready for bed, yeah?”

You nodded your head. “Chris I love you.”

He looked down at you and smiled at me. “I love you too baby.”

tags- @tillies33ssss @theyluvme-2315 @alorsxsturn @maya555sblog

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chlorinecake · 10 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏’𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 — a yandere jungwon fanfic

𖤣 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jungwon forbid you from leaving the safe room while he was away at work, but your insatiable curiosities led you to discover secrets about his past that were better left unknown to you ~

𖥧 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nudity, forced-ish kissing and touching, hickeys (?), abduction themes, swearing, mentions of guns and violence, slow burn, angst, not proofread ~

𖡼 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k ~ Previously and the next part

✎ note: In no way does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. I write purely for entertainment and creative purposes. Reader discretion is advised.

YOU LAID YOUR head down beside Jungwon to rest, your ears still ringing as a side effect from his earlier and repetitive gunfire.

Cradling the shotgun in his hands, you thought back to the way his feline eyes keened in on his desired target, the weapon going off with sharp bangs as the surrounding air shattered with its force.

Your entire skull trembled each time he fired the trigger, wooden debris flying from the collisions.

“Wanna give it a go?,” he asked with the faintest smirk on his face, somewhat amused by your startled demeanor.

Jungwon helped you position your legs according to proper form, almost hugging you from behind as he helped you support the heavy weapon in your arms. His warm breath feathered against your skin as he whispered, “Once you've locked in your target, ease your finger into the trigger and shoot.”

You remember taking a deep breath, pointing the lens at a tall wooden plank just as a baby blue bird flew into frame, the gun's red light highlighting the creature's tiny body.

You tried moving the weapon away, but Jungwon's strength persisted around you, keeping your arms in place with ease.

“Jungwon,” you said so quietly that he almost missed it, his hold on you being predatory enough to make you feel like the prey. A glint of moisture blurred your vision as the song bird tweeted softly to itself, looking right back at you.

“I want you to shoot it, ____,” he whispered in a dull voice as if what he'd just asked of you was completely normal.

“Jungwon, I... no, I... I can't,” you pleaded, his grip on you tightening.

“It'll probably die tomorrow in this weather, love. If you can't shoot a bird, how can I expect you to protect yourself when I'm gone?,” he reasoned with you before stepping away from you, the sun hiding shyly behind a cluster of clouds as if it were also fearful of the sight to come.

“Do it,” was the last sentence you heard right before the loudest gunshot yet clashed with the calm atmosphere, your eyes shutting completely tight as you felt your finger sink into the trigger, the little bird and his evening song never to be heard again.

You felt Jungwon's hands sneak around your waist as you laid under the covers, his warmth still radiating onto you as he spoke the words, “I'm so proud of you today, love,” and drifting fast to sleep.

THE NEXT MORNING came by quickly, the now recognizable scent of mixed herbs hitting your senses the moment you sat up on the bed.

Turning to your side, a cup of tea sat on the nightstand, a dainty yet old-fashioned brown paper bag sitting beside it.

“That's your breakfast, my love,” Jungwon said, breaking the silence. “I decided to stop by the café earlier and get some of those sandwiches you like. Hopefully they're still fresh,” he said from the corner of the room as he adjusted the collar of his freshly ironed shirt, admiring how sweet you looked upon waking up in his heart.

“Thank you, Jungwon, I really appreciate it,” you said with an almost natural smile, reaching for the cup of tea to take a small sip, “Is that why you got all dressed up?”

“No, actually... I have work today.”

Even though you and Jungwon had grown close with each other before took you to his garden, your prior conversations never answered the big question of what he did for a living.

“Oh... I understand that you've never told me this before, but I'm curious about what you do for work?,” you asked, looking into the warm and foggy green liquid that danced in your cup. He wasn't looking at you anymore anyway, so there wasn't a problem with you avoiding eye contact.

“Nice try, ____, but we made a deal yesterday, remember? No more questions till next week,” he smiled, finally looking your way now as he walked over to you, giving you a small hug. “I'll be back in a few hours, but you can always look out the window and do the 'sun test' I taught you. There's also lunch in the first drawer if you get hungry.”

He grabbed a chain connected to a set of keys from off the nightstand that you didn't even notice were there til now, his leather boots clicking with his footsteps as he walked away, looking back as if saying goodbye with his eyes before closing the door.

And just like that, you were completely alone, which didn't feel or seem as relieving as you wished it would.

It's not that you felt down about missing Jungwon's presence, though, it was more so that you knew today would be much longer than any other day you've spent on this secluded garden of secrets.

Even longer than the days you had spent outside under a bush, your vulnerable nakedness and the harsh forest conditions growing a stronger bond than your thirsted gums and grimy teeth.

Of all the things you had to be anxious about under such circumstances, “boredom” happened to be at the top of your list, compelling your hands to find the silver key Jungwon had so carelessly forgotten on the nightstand before he left.

Or was he testing me, you thought to yourself, observing the green string that hung from a hook in one of the key loop's.

The thought of the mysterious greenhouse suddenly dawned on you, and the memory of its glassy sage exterior captivated your mind for a second.

You remembered Jungwon's anxious demeanor as you brought it up to him, contemplating with your own logic and curiosity as to whether or not you'd give in to the voice that was pulling your feet to do the unthinkable.

The gravely forbidden.

You only had enough will power to fight the urges for a short hour before it became too much, your feet finding the cold bedroom floor as you held the key in your hand, wandering down the hallway and through the field of trees before making your way up the massive path that led to a grassy hill.

Precisely where the greenhouse sat.

Deep down in your foolish heart, you were fully aware of how senseless your actions were.

Even though you were currently suspect to many natural dangers that came with being in the wilderness whilst unarmed, the thought of Jungwon catching you right now was an even larger threat.

But somehow, you managed to climb up too far to turn back now.

Praying on the slim sliver of hope that Jungwon wouldn't come back early today, you took a deep breath, toying with the key in the lock for a few seconds before the door hinges gave in, the cold aura of the space greeting you as you stepped in to observe.

From first glance, it was an ordinary greenhouse, shelves of exotic plants lining most of the space and the gentle sun rays peeking through the domed ceiling.

Clink.

So stunned by the beauty of his indoor garden, your hip accidentally bumped into the mini wooden table standing beside a feminine mannequin, a black ink pen having fell on the floor and rolling away before you swiftly leaned down to pick it up.

You felt your heart thump in your chest like a drum, thinking of how easily that single pen could’ve given away that you’d been in here today.

Getting up, you went to place it back on the table before noticing a rough sketch tucked beneath a diary with Jungwon’s name engraved on it in hangul.

The sketch was of a dress, one ordained with elegant floral accents and delicate lace trimmings.

“Every flower ought to have petals,” whispered Jungwon’s voice in the back of your mind, warming your heart before sending shivers down your spine.

He was truly in love with you.

Dangerously, even.

You picked up the journal, not even considering what better-left-buried secrets could be hiding behind the black leather cover front.

Not even reasoning with logic anymore as you flipped past the first page, the sound of stiff, old paper crinkling the still silence.

And for the love of your damned curiosity.

Nothing intrigued you from the first few pages so you foolishly kept flipping, one by one until it became obvious that the diary was filled with unspoken love confessions you weren't meant to see, dated as far back as two years ago.

One entry in particular caught your attention, the opening line from April 11, last year, reading “Things weren't supposed to end this way.”

It appeared to be a letter to Jungwon himself, but at the same time, to another soul...

Or about another lover.

Your breath stalled in your chest, almost in denial of how quickly a new and much more horrific story was unfolding concerning the charming Yang Jungwon.

Your eyes scanned one last line before closing the diary, the note being from his most recent entry:

“To ____, my second chance... may we blossom harmoniously together.”

A series of numbers followed after that sentence, a red splotch of paint dotting a log of information you didn't quite understand at the time but the eery feeling you got was enough to let you know it couldn't have meant anything good.

Slam.

You closed the book, just as the sunlight outside began to dim with your emotions, the realization of how deep Jungwon's insanity ran wandering through your anxious mind, flowing as a dead river in a forsaken village, infecting every person foolish enough to come and drink of his stream.

You stumbled out of the greenhouse, running down the hill with your nightgown clutched in your fists, careful not to let the lower hem of your dress touch the earthy ground on your way.

Jungwon couldn't find out about this.

He couldn't know that you knew everything now.

You stopped to glance at the sun, noticing how it was just a few inches from meeting the peak between the two trees as he'd demonstrated to you before.

He was almost home, and it was beyond baffling that you'd even started to call this place that.

A home.

You finally made it back to the shed, your own lungs struggling to provide enough oxygen to fuel your limbs as you chugged the tea you'd forgotten to drink, plopping yourself on the bed with your hands holding your chest as the mere act of breathing became harder and harder.

Closing your eyes, you hoped that the darkness would somehow help you think of anything.

Anything else but the truth.

Whoever that girl was, you were certain that he'd killed her, and if you weren't careful moving forward, you could be next.

JUNGWON RETURNED FROM work on time, but it wasn't until about half an hour later that he made his way to your shared bedroom in the shed, an unreadable yet unmistakably dark look on his face the moment he saw you.

“How many more conversations must we have before my rules finally stick in your stupid little brain?” He asked in a stern voice, still wearing his work clothes, but his hair appeared different.

More disheveled... and sweaty.

“Jungwon, you just got back... Where is all of this coming from?” You inquired in the most polite voice you could muster, sitting up on the bed as your stomach felt five seconds from exploding.

Your mind was still a bit foggy because you'd just woke up, but you were still present enough to know you needed to choose your words wisely.

Did he found out? No, he couldn't have, you were barely even in there long enough to have messed up anything he'd notice.

“I need you to understand something, ____,” he said in a sharp voice, sitting beside you on the bed before continuing, “As long as you’re here with me, you’re no longer your own person. You’re mine. And that means no one else can have you. Not even yourself.”

“Jungwon, we talked about this-”

“And I agreed on one thing and one thing only… do you remember what that thing was?”

Your hands trembled in your lap as his words came out like darts, your mind too focused on fear to even keep up, “You’re not being fair-”

“Is it not beyond fair that I respect your wishes of keeping my hands to myself? Despite how crazy you make me feel?”

“I remember…. Wonie, and I appreciate your efforts to respect me,” you answered with a cracked voice as he caressed the side of your face with the back of his hand.

“And so do I,” he smiled, tilting his head at you, “but... you’re still afraid of me... aren’t you?”

You knew that Jungwon could be emotionally ambivalent at times, but you really couldn't figure out what had gotten into him today, and so suddenly.

You shook your head at his words, “Why would you even ask me something like that?”

“Because it’s true… I'm smart enough to know that.”

“Jungwon, please don't say tha-”

“God, here we go with your whining again,” he spat bitterly while shaking his head, “you’re pleading with me and I haven’t even threatened you... Just admit it! You’re fucking terrified of me-”

“I can't take this shit right now, Jungwon,” you interrupted him, immediately feeling your heart rate increase as you startled yourself with your own words.

Your own... honesty.

“I... I just… I didn’t mean to…,” you tried apologizing before he cut you off.

“No,” he said softly, getting off of the bed and kneeling before you, your words having touched a soft spot in his crooked mind, “Don’t stop, love... I want to hear what you have to say…”

Though, you’re not sure if the smile he wore was forced or not, it helped to soothe your nerves in an odd way. Jungwon’s behavior was always erratic like this. You never knew when to expect a switch in him, which is what always kept you on edge around him.

His hands massaged your ankles, the gentle yet sudden touches making you feel stiff.

“Please,” he nodded, coaxing you to proceed, despite how uncomfortably you felt with him touching you.

“Well… uhm… I was just…. I thought we were working on this... On us...,” you clarified, “...together.”

His heart lit up at your use of the word “us” as if it were a spark to the dull wick in his hardened heart.

“And we are, my love. But I must ask you to understand that you abide by my rules now,” he whispered, hands carefully inching up your calves as his thumbs drew circles in your skin, “can you trust my rules?”

You gulped at the question, fingers fumbling with each other as you forced yourself to say what he had to hear.

“I can try, Jungwon...”

“Good… and can you trust me?... Without trying?” He asked, hands halting their movements while awaiting your response.

“I…” your words got cut in your throat, part of you drifting off into a thinking that you actually could trust Jungwon. You felt like a foreign force was pressuring you to agree. Not his hands from the outside of you, but something within.

Was it the way he sat before you on his knees? The way his feline eyes stared back at yours, singing a sirenic song to your heart? Was it something in the tea you finished earlier-

“Speak up, love,” He pressed, somehow maintaining patience with you.

“I can… I trust you,” you said, looking in your lap before meeting his eyes again, which glimmered like honey.

Natures fluorescent sweetness.

“Then… can you trust me to kiss you?” He asked, voice almost inaudible given how quietly he spoke. Before you even gave an answer, you felt his warm breath ghost over your knee, looking back at you with seduction in his eyes.

He hummed in satisfaction at your submission, sealing the space between him and your knee with a kiss, his lips soft and wet as you felt the kisses travel, your gown being lifted up over your thighs as he left pecks along the inside of them, sucking slightly as if to taste you.

Your hands found his head, trying to push him away as his kisses turned into pinches, but he pushed your abdomen down, your back meeting the bed as his hands hooked beneath your knees, spreading you open for him.

“Wonie~,” you whined out, arching your back as you felt his warmth approach your clothed core, his lips kissing your sensitive spot before you whined out again. “That’s enough, please,” you said with an exhausted breath, chest heaving with emotions you couldn't even put a finger on.

He looked up to you, face embarrassingly flushed as his lustful demeanor softened into a smile, “Was I not good for you, love?”

“No, it was fine, Jungwon, I just… I had enough,” you answered with a breathy voice, the wetness from his lips still ever-present on your skin as you struggled to look him in the eye.

His sexual advances were starting to escalate by the day, and it was only a matter of time before he took the very last thing he treasured about you most:

Your purity.

“Okay, my love,” he said, pulling your gown back down and standing up, “maybe next time I can do better than fine.”

Fuck.

You simply nodded at his words, trying to calm your breathing as your cheeks grew as hot as the sun. Jungwon walked towards the door, looking back at you one last time.

“And by the way, next time you try sneaking out while I'm gone without my permission, make sure to lock the door back so I don't find out,” he said, all of that with a devious smile on his face as he closed the door, leaving you alone before going off to prepare your dinner a few rooms away from you.

☆ Thank you all so much for reading this piece! I still feel really guilty about taking so long with this update, but hopefully y'all enjoyed it !!

☆ taglist: @squoxle @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @03sunoos @kaykay11sworld @gigiramirezsblog @hoonsyo @en-thralled @night-en-shining-armor @cutiejseong @j-wyoung @nikisdubblchococake @bambangan @wonbyf @4imhry @zhangyi-johee @valhrts @lisaaannna @lovelycassy @addictedtohobi @gardenwons @nikipedia07 @tubatusoobs @03sunoos @clarisabutterfliescupcake @yevene @heecries @rosiemiayyxy @jungwonieee @edgykoo @luvmlkw @idkhoomanmaybe @sunsinmyskies @guessm0del (still didn't forget abt that collab you wanted to do if you're still interested btw) @ayadikreino @destairea @jakehooni @jjungwonss @nikilvr @jays-property @moonchus @angelicjungwon @wonniesdoll @rosiemiayyxy @rinirumi @noviadebeomgyu @pochacco-o @hapeynaaa @ikngh @maspire @mamuljji @hnnhj @legendarycowboywinnerlawyer @enhypenlovre @stxrboyjae @f4irynono @03sunoos @itwasrem @laurradoesloveu @lalalalovelalalasworld @honestimage @ro-0327 @stwberrykooki @heelvrr @wonbinisbabygurl @jungwonloveer @jungwonsmybf @kayoiw @lovelycassy @mrswolfhard3

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lvlyghost · 1 year ago

Text

Disobedience

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Simon warned you not to go out, but a quick trip to the local pub doesn't seem like a bad idea.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

TW: angst, comfort. overprotective!simon, reader is careless, pregnancy, established relationship. another part(? idk. poorly edited. mind the english. you know the drill 💗🌝

A/N: heh, so i'm down with —another— cold and I was just drifting off to sleep thanks to the meds when this idea hit me so i had to write it down, wish it was longer though, was planning on adding more angst but if this does well a second part might happen; (simon's still mad at reader🌚). enjoy🍂🌝

Masterlist✨

"So you did exactly what I specifically told you not to do?" He mutters, pacing back and forth in front of you, who could only stare up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. You had never seen him this mad. Not in the two years of relationship you so carefully built up.

It happened the night before he was supposed to return from deployment.

Simon had been gone for two months to a special operation with the task force or so he had told you. He couldn't disclose much about his work so he gave you little-to-no information regarding his mission and part of you felt relieved, he had said countless of times that there were things that he never wanted you to learn about. So you just did what you knew best: hug him and love him endlessly. And he did the same for you.

God knows Simon Riley loved you.

But going out for a few drinks —although you really didn't have any, thank the tiny human growing inside you— seemed harmless. Catching up with your small group of three friends after not seeing each other for months was something that couldn't kill anyone. And in all honesty you were going crazy. Needed a distraction. Fresh air. Break the routine you had fallen onto.

Simon had been gone for a while, and it's something you accepted when you started dating. So he wasn't the one to blame at all. Just like it wasn't his fault that you blatantly disobeyed him when he had called you through a secure line.

'Listen to me, love.' You could practically hear the worry in his voice. Things have taken a turn, yeah? I need you to stay in. Word's spreading these terrorists are targeting... families. I- I just need you to be safe yeah? Until I get home. It'll take a day tops. We don't wanna risk it. Jus' wait for me, please."

Needless to say that you had agreed at first, and it didn't took much convincing from your friends to drag you out. After all, Simon had made sure that you were off the radar to these terrorist or mercenaries. He put so much care to your safety, little people knew about your existence; so there was no reason to be worried right? A few hours of mingling then you'd go back. it's not like you could stand being out for so long either way.

The small bump on your belly was enough reason to call it a night a few hours into the night. Your pregnancy was still at the point where sleep got the best of you. The emotional outbursts were also not rare. The morning sickness that came with it.

But now under Simon's disapproving eyes you wonder if you had taken the right decision to disregard the order he had given you. All for an innocent reunion with the girls. His big hands are on his hips, staring you down with those brown eyes that you love, just not right now. You wonder if this is what the soldiers under his command feel when they're the subject of his ire. You hold back the tears. Fuck, he's not even being so hard on you, not even raising his voice. He'd never do that to you. Disappointing him is something you are not so proud of now.

"I didn't think it would be that bad." Simon scoffs, pinching the bridge of his nose as an eerie silence settles between the two. "I know it's the dumbest excuse I- it was going to be for a few hours..."

Until he had barged into the pub. His eyes roaming around the establishment until he locked eyes with you, he had relaxed instantly. The deep pit that had set in his stomach when he got home only to be greeted by a deafening silence began to fade. Then anger reared its ugly head when he silently asked —demanded— you to stand up and led the two out of the place. The ride back in complete silence, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Why couldn't you just obey him for once? It took you hours to completely forget about his warnings. What if they laid hands on you? On his unborn child? Gritting his teeth he had stared forward focusing on anything but the thought of finding your dead body, of him scooping you up all bloodied and unreachable. Gone to somewhere he couldn't follow just yet.

Simon stalks forward sitting down on the coffee table in front of you, wood creaking beneath his weight. He leaned forward, face mere centimeters from yours as his arms rest on his thighs.

"Love." He calls you, and then he softly murmurs your name. "I'm trying to protect you..." he swallows, eyes traveling down to your small bump and then back to you again. "Both of you. If something happened..." Simon's jaw clenched, he doesn't even want to think of the worst scenarios. "We have enemies and i'd never forgive myself..." You stop him, grabbing his gloved hands and squeezing them with yours. The soft touch he had longed for these past months. He absentmindedly caressed your warm skin.

"Nothing's gonna happen, baby." You assured him, he stares intently at your eyes and finds nothing but love.

"Lost people before this way." He breathes out. And you feel like the biggest moron in the world. He's talking about his family. Simon rarely talks about them. "Hell will freeze before I let that happen again." Standing up he follows, arms wrapping around his middle. "Price set up a safe house for us, until things calm down and get the bastards." One of his hands rests on the nape of your neck inhaling the aroma of your shampoo, the other one firmly set on your swollen belly. He's missed this. Just being around you. Feeling you against him.

"You're coming too right? Missed you terribly." He rest his chin on top of your head.

"Don't think I could leave you now even if I had to."

You sigh deeply, placing a kiss on his chest; you wonder if one day the danger will stop. Simon's made many enemies along the years. But his efforts to keep his identity a secret were greater than any threat out there. Now with you and a baby in the way he'd never rest until he was sure no harm will get to you.

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 1 year ago

Text

Perfection

Self-Aware! Fyodor Dostoevsky x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Nikolai Gogol

Description: A passing comment makes you feel terrible about yourself. Fyodor and Nikolai disagree.

Set between Surprise and Sick Day

Warning: OOC. Body Insecurity. Hateful thinking during eating. Rude comments. Reader have hateful thoughts about themselves. English is my second language.

_______

You were in one of the many fast food restaurants in your city. Today you have a movie night and need some snacks for that. You were waiting in line for your turn to make order. Meanwhile, you read the menu once again. Maybe, something new was added.

Movie night was time full of unhealthy food and different movies, starting with classic films and ending up with any trashy movie you could find.

Today you were going to watch a bunch of Halloween movies. "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" and "Ghostbusters" with everyone. And, after kids go to bed, you will watch "Bram Stoker's Dracula" just to hear Bram's comments about vampires and "Nightmare on Elm Street".

You knew, that tonight's going to be fun.

"Hello, how may I help you?" asked the cashier. They looked a little bit interested in everything, that happened around. You smile.

"Hello. I will have seven big buckets of fried wings and five big french fries. Thank you."

You took money from your pocket and put them on the counter. You knew, how much you need to pay, it wasn't the first time you made the order.

Cashier's eyes widen. He looked at you from head to toes. He mumbles.

"I-It will be ready in a few minutes..."

The cashier disappeared behind the kitchen's door. You start waiting. You decide to have a better look at some pictures, that were on the wall.

While you were looking at them, you heard hashed voices coming from the kitchen.

"What? Seven buckets of fried wings and five big french fries? Won't they burst?" said an unfamiliar voice.

"They immediately took the right amount of money from their pocket. It looks like this is not the first time they have made this order. It's quite obvious, really. Just look at their... cheeks... hands... stomach... Look at their everything!" The cashier from earlier answered.

You saw his reflection in the window. He was pointing at you and making some gestures in the air. Like he was trying to draw a sphere in the air.

You became still. You tried to tell yourself, that their opinion shouldn't matter, that they just bored and thought that you were an easy target.

"They looked like a balloon. A barrel with lard!"

You grit your teeth. Will you two stop and give me my order?

Finally, they became bored and returned to the kitchen. In a few moments, you finally got your order.

You glare at the cashier, but didn't say anything. Soon you will be home, having a good time with your friends.

You stomped away from the restaurant, holding bags with food in your hands. For one moment, you saw your reflection in the restaurant's window.

Your... cheeks do look chubbier.... And arms...

You hurry to the car. Kunikida was waiting for you.

You put bags on the back sit and sat on the front passenger seat.

You were silent on your way home.

You were staring at your reflection in the car window.

Were your cheeks always that chubby?

________

This evening was too cold for a summer evening.

So you decide to put on your jacket.

New jacket... That just month weeks ago was big to you.

New jacket, that now you could hardly put on you.

Small... It was small for you.

You decide, that you aren't that cold.

_________

The table in the living room were full of junk food.

Popcorn, nachos, tacos, chips, fried wings, french fries and soda drinks.

So tasty... So unhealthy...

...so much food, that will make you fatter...

The movie was on...

And each snack you ate felt like a rock in your stomach...

_________

After movie night was over, you locked yourself in your bedroom.

You take a better look at yourself in the mirror.

You have gained weight.

It was impossible, not to do it, while living with BSD Cast. Ivan was a good baker, Junchirou's cooking was amazing, Kenji could fry a steak better, than in any fancy restaurant, Kyouka's cooking make you want seconds, and it was impossible to say 'no' to food, that was cooked by Fyodor and Nikolai.

And how you can refuse to share snacks with Ranpo, or not have a tea party with Kirako and Naomi?

You decide to lose some weight... Do more exercises, then usual.

And ate less...

________

You manage to skip breakfast.

You just said that you were too tired and want to sleep some more.

They didn't ask you any questions.

You manage to skip lunch.

You pretend to be sleeping. Still.

You were forced to have dinner.

You couldn't sleep all day.

You are dinner with everyone. For dinner, you had mushed potatoes and pork.

You ate some mushed potatoes...

...your hips will be even wider...

You ate some pork..

... your stomach soon will look like you swallowed a globe...

You were smiling and talking with Atsushi, discussing last news...

And ate... Ate... Ate...

...they were right, you are a barrel with lard...

It takes your everything not to make yourself vomit after the dinner. If you didn't lose weight...

... soon they will leave a fat ball like you...

Everything is going to be okay... More exercises and less food... It will help...

________

For one week, you were trying to lose weight.

You train with Hunting Dogs even harder than before.

You didn't notice worried glances, that Teruko and Fukuchi cast at you. You didn't notice Jounou's attempts to make you rest. You didn't notice Tachihara's and Tetchou's hesitation, while they were exercising with you.

You didn't notice, that you looked less and less healthy.

_________

For one week, you skipped meals.

You find any excuse you could. Any reason you could find.

"I am not hungry" "Sorry, I need to finish something for my university" "I need to be somewhere right now, will have dinner in the city."

You choose to ignore worried glances.

You didn't manage to skip meals completely. You ate some fruits and vegetables every day. Not enough for a real meal.

You refused to have snacks with Ranpo. You choose to ignore, how hurt he looked, while hearing your 'no' for the third time in a week.

You refused to drink tea with Kirako and Naomi. You choose to ignore their questions, if they did something wrong.

You ignored, that you became more and more weaker.

______

You were banned from going to the training area. Something about you needing some rest and stop overworking yourself.

You could protest, but Gide and Verlaine, who were guiding the entrance to the training area, didn't look even slightly interested in hearing your arguments.

You couldn't do anything, so you return home.

And you immediately were greeted by Nikolai and Fyodor. Kolya grinned.

"Hey, [Y/N], let's have some lunch! I made pampushky¹ and Fedya made borscht! You will like it!"

Borscht and pampushky...

... even more fat...

... what if, back in May, Fyodor only asked to cuddle with you, because you were fat and warm, and he was cold?...

You lick your lips and mumbles.

"I can't... I must go to the library... In university library..."

Fyodor and Nikolai stared at each other.

Fyodor spoke. His voice was soft.

"Myshonok... Today is Sunday."

You close your eyes. What reason... Any reason...

You opened your mouth, trying to say something else, when a small bun was carefully shoved into your mouth.

"Here, Birdy, try it.... Please, just eat something..." Nikolai's voice sounded pleading.

You want to spit it out. But you had no other choice, but chew.

Fat pig... Hideous creature... You can't even hold yourself together...

You swallowed.

Before you can say something else, a spoon was put into your mouth.

Borscht... Warm soup... With meat and cabbage...

And sour cream...

"Myshonok, you need to eat. Stop starving yourself." Fyodor's voice was firm.

You will gain more weight... Even more clothes won't fit you...

You swallowed.

You looked at Nikolai and Fyodor. Both of them looked happy, that you ate at least one pampushka and one spoon of borscht.

And you despised yourself.

Nikolai took a step closer to you. He put his hands on your shoulders.

"Was it good? I sure, it was. I will bring another one... Oh, and a bowl of Fyodor's borscht! Just let me..."

You didn't know, what made you do this, but you were so close to screaming at Nikolai for giving you bread. You want to hurt Fyodor for forcing you to eat soup with sour cream.

hurt them hurt them them them make them pay say that you hate Them say that you hate them hurt them HURT YOURSELF

SAY THAT YOU HATE THEM

You open your mouth...

...hate them for what? For being your friends? For sticking around? For spending time with you? For worrying about you?...

...When was the last time you ate? Have a full meal and not a piece of apple? When was the last time you spent time with others? Were you even talking to Hunting Dogs while training? Did you say 'hello' to them...

You let out a quiet sob.

And immediately were pressed against Fyodor's chest. He draped his coat over you.

"Коля, я сейчас пойду и поговорю с Мышонком. Пора докопаться до правды. Сможешь сделать так, чтобы нас не побеспокоили?²" Fyodor's voice was calm. His grip was strong. You heard Nikolai's voice.

"Я це зроблю. Вас ніхто не потурбує.³" He sounds... worried. He stepped closer to Fyodor and lift the coat.

"Please... I miss you..."

He softly rubbed his cheek against yours and stepped away.

Fyodor's coat were once again draped over you.

You didn't resist, when Fyodor start leading you somewhere.

_____

The door closes behind you.

Fyodor removed his coat.

Both of you were in your room.

Your breathing was hard.

Fyodor was just standing here. Looking at you.

He spoke first.

"Myshonok, what's going on? You haven't eaten for one week, you hardly talk to anyone. We are worried about you."

You didn't answer. You were just swallowing tears, that were running down your cheeks.

You feel Fyodor's breath on your ear.

"[Y/N], please, talk to me."

You finally found your voice.

You told him about cashiers. About your sweater. About your insecurities. About hating yourself for eating food. About wanting to hurt Kolya and him just moments ago.

When you finish talking, only your sobs were heard.

Fyodor carefully squeezed your shoulders.

"[Y/N], everything about you is perfect. You are perfect, both inside and outside."

Your eyes met with Fyodor's purple eyes. They were so soft, so full of hidden affection. His hands cupped your cheeks.

"You aren't disgusting. You should not change because of some random person comments. And you only hurt yourself. You were almost starving all this week, you stopped talking to any of us. You try to make as many exercises as Tetchou normally do!"

Fyodor put his face closer to yours.

"Please, don't hurt yourself. If you feel down, just came to any of us. We all love you and want you to be happy. And for me..."

He kissed your cheek.

"For me, you are nothing less, than a perfection."

His eyes were so warm. You sobbed and hide your face in his chest.

He was warm. His embrace was everything you need right now.

"I... I..." you can't form a full sentence. Fyodor whispered, petting your head.

"Shhh... It's okay... It's okay... It will be okay..."

Fyodor took a step back, without breaking the embrace. He opened the door. You hear footsteps.

Now you were hugged by Fyodor and Nikolai at the same time.

Now you were sure, that everything is going to be fine.

_______

After you calm down, Fyodor, Nikolai and you had lunch together. It's not only was tasty, but very filling.

Then you three had a movie marathon. You were nested between Fyodor and Nikolai. A large bowl of popcorn with butter, salt and caramel was placed on your lap. It was tasty.

You had dinner with everyone. They were so happy, seeing you again. You felt, how the rest of your worries and sadness disappeared.

But, the last of bit of your sadness truly disappeared, when you were laying on your bed, in a middle of Fyodor and Nikolai cuddle sandwich. Your head were laying on Nikolai's chest. Fyodor's face were pressed against the back of your head.

Before drifting to sleep, you feel, how Fyodor kissed you on the back of your neck.

And whispered.

"Ты само совершенство, [Т/И].⁴"

______

1. Pampushky - a small savory or sweet yeast-raised bun or doughnut typical for Ukrainian cuisine.

2. Russian. "Kolya, I’ll go and talk to Baby mouse. It's time to get to the bottom of this. Can you make sure we won't be disturbed?

3. Ukrainian. "I will do it. No one will bother you."

4. Russian. "You are a true perfection, [Y/N]."

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spicymambaae · 1 year ago

Text

Shadows Of Love

The neon glow of the "Illusion" bar cast a seductive aura, beckoning the lost souls of the night. Inside, a mix of hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses painted an enticing backdrop. Amidst the dimly lit room, Winter, a woman of striking beauty ,sat at the bar, her short brown hair falling gracefully around her face, which was as cold as the winter winds that bore her name. Possessing a delicate yet fierce beauty, she sipped her whiskey with a tranquil, distant expression that offered just a glimpse of the inner chaos she concealed.

Winter had come to this bar for a momentary escape, a reprieve from the shadows she lived in. Tonight, she wasn't seeking vengeance; she was merely seeking a brief respite from the ghosts of her past.

On the opposite end of the bar, Karina had already delved into her third glass of bourbon, the grip of inhibition loosening with each sip. Dressed in a tight black dress that exposed a tasteful hint of cleavage, the garment accentuated her exquisite curves. With an air of authority, she exuded an ethereal beauty, her raven-black hair framing her face. Her magnetic presence captured the attention of everyone in her vicinity. As she indulged in her drink, her gaze remained fixed on Winter, her fascination with the enigmatic woman growing by the moment.

Karina couldn't help but notice the enigmatic woman at the bar. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was her aura of quiet mystery that drew Karina in. Encouraged by alcohol's courage, she decided to approach her.

Karina made her way to the other side of the bar, taking a seat next to Winter. Her fragrance, a captivating contrast to her tough exterior, awakened Winter's senses. Their gazes locked, sparking an immediate magnetic connection between them.

"Bourbon, please," Karina ordered, her voice confident, though a hint of shyness lingered in her eyes.

Winter raised an eyebrow and offered a faint smile as she gestured for the bartender to comply with the order.

"Nice choice," Winter remarked, her voice smooth and sultry. "Not many have the taste for it."

Karina, drawn to Winter's aura, allowed herself a small smile. "I suppose I enjoy a bit of adventure from time to time."

Winter's eyes sparkled mischievously as she savored another sip of her drink. "Adventure can be quite enticing," she said, briefly allowing her gaze to dip toward Karina's cleavage. Her imagination wandered for a moment, picturing herself nestled between Karina's breasts before she lifted her gaze back to lock with Karina's, a newfound fascination evident in her eyes.

With an intrigue in her eyes, Karina leaned closer. "What's your idea of adventure, then?"

Winter's lips curved into a sly grin. "Wouldn't you like to find out?"

As the night wore on and drinks flowed freely, the two women shared stories and laughter, their connection growing stronger. Karina, in her slightly inebriated state, couldn't help but become more transparent about her life.

"I'm a detective," she admitted, a touch of vulnerability creeping into her voice. "I'm about to retire, and I have one last case to solve."

Winter's heart raced. The mention of her profession sent shivers down her spine. Still, she couldn't resist the opportunity that had fallen into her lap.

"A detective, huh?" Winter purred, her fingers grazing Karina's hand, sending a thrilling sensation through her. "Tell me more."

Karina leaned in closer, her words tinged with flirtation. "I'm actually working on a big case," she confessed, her voice lower. "There's an assassin on the loose, targeting police officers. I'm determined to catch him before I retire."

Winter's heart pounded in her chest as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She remembered the night her brother was killed, the police officer she had seen. Karina had been there - a slender body with alluring curves, a face of extraordinary beauty that Winter could never mistake for anyone else's.

Winter leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. "An assassin, you say? Now, that's something I find genuinely intriguing."

Karina, feeling daring, brushed her fingers against Winter's arm. "It's a dangerous job, but I'm used to living on the edge. What about you, Winter? What do you do?"

Winter's mind raced. She had a chance to use Karina's pursuit for her own revenge. She leaned in, her lips tantalizingly close to Karina's ear "I dabble in a bit of this and that," she replied, her voice a low purr. "But tonight, I'm here for a different kind of thrill."

The two women continued their conversation, their words intermingling with charged tension and an undeniable undercurrent of attraction. As their conversation deepened, accidental touches became more frequent, fingers brushing against enticing curves with a tantalizing softness. They inched closer, the magnetic pull drawing them nearer, their breaths growing heavier, as if they were getting drunk on the intoxicating proximity of one another, their words blending with the sweet, heady promise of desire. Karina, under the influence of alcohol, was inadvertently revealing more than she intended. Winter, seizing the opportunity to have fun, decided to play along.

"I've always had a taste for danger," Winter admitted, her fingers lightly tracing Karina's thigh and she felt her shiver.

Karina's cheeks flushed as she leaned closer to Winter, their breaths mingling. "Why do I have the feeling that you are the danger?”

"You think I might be that assassin?" she asked jokingly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Karina nodded, her eyes never leaving Winter's. "I'm not sure," she said giggling, "but I'm determined to find out."

Winter felt a thrill of excitement, a rush of adrenaline. She knew she should run, should disappear before it was too late. But the thought of spending more time with Karina, of getting closer to her, was too tempting to resist.

"Then let's play a game," Winter said, her voice low and seductive. "Let's see if you can catch me."

Karina smiled, her eyes full of lust and fire. "I'm up for the challenge."

With a devilish glint in her eye, Winter stood up, taking Karina's hand. "Come with me. I think we should continue this somewhere more private" she whispered.

Karina's heart raced as the anticipation built. Little did she know that this encounter would mark the beginning of a passionate and dangerous journey, where love and revenge would entwine in ways neither of them could have ever imagined. ----- Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4/ Part 2 AO3

#aespa #aespa smut #kpop smut #winter smut #karina smut #jiminjeong #jiminjeong smut #winrina #winrina smut #fanfic #aespa fanfic #yu jimin #kim minjeon

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vampirevatican · 1 year ago

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Performance

pairing - hobie brown x black gn! reader

genre/tags - 1.6k words, fluff smut, teasing, edging, porn w/plot, aerialist reader (pole and hoop)

notes - personally, i love shenanigans. i love the will they won't they, slow burn, anime walk-ins, misunderstandings that are more funny then frustrating. the target audience is me, did my damnedest to make it gender neutral tho, and i hope y'all enjoy.

summary - you and hobie have been together for awhile now. sharing in each other's company, chilling on his house boat, him visiting your apartment, movie nights and show binges, washdays, platonic to romantic cuddles. though something you never stopped doing was trying to catch him off guard.

You didn't expect for him to visit today and you weren't about to drop by his houseboat either. It was the weekend, on weekends you lounged around your home not intent on going anywhere unless you absolutely had to. Binging shows and being sprawled out on the couch was part of this weekend ritual. Comfy clothes, small bags of chips, drinks, a few cups, and a bowl were strewn about the coffee table. It's only Friday but to soak in the rest and fun of three days it was always better to get a head start. Sitting up from your comfy position you muttered, “Guess I better do something.” Lazing around for too long wasn't in your best interest. Usually, you'd fall asleep or have to remind yourself that doing nothing isn't bad.

Making your way to a room you set as a workout space but also a sort of gaming room. It was big enough that it could fit a whole desktop setup on one side, a pole in the corner, and a place to set up an aerial hoop. It was kind of a play place for yourself, another area to unwind but in a more active way. You started to stretch first as you turned on your favorite playlist to wind down too. Feeling your body become looser, easier to bend and do more, you hopped up onto the hoop. Holding onto the sides of the hoop you let your body bend over the bottom of bottom of it, using your leg to spin you slowly around. After a moment of just spinning, adjusting your body to the rigid circle, you sat up to try out routines to some of the songs on your playlist.

Being in the zone, and the music being loud, you didn't notice‘your boy’ walking through the front door. As you spun, did flips, legs spread to closed, from the top of the hoop to the bottom in a cropped tank and underwear. He didn't call your name, hearing the music he had a feeling you wouldn't hear him, but that's when his spidey senses kicked in. Rushing to the room you were in he stopped seeing you drop from the hoop and just hang on to it. Your eyes were closed, a smile on your face, and looking at peace. Hobie just leaned against the wall watching you. Landing on the floor you were about to head to your pole but upon opening your eyes you spot him.

"You like what you see?" and he just nods, walking into the room to sit down in your gaming chair. He's been in here before and even asked what the hoop and pole were for. Hobie definitely knew about the pole, he wanted to hear it come from your mouth, but you shut him down with an ‘exercise.’ being a bit distracted that day with your computer. Getting beside him, slightly bending over, you turn down the music and set up another song. "Looked absolutely stunnin' up there, how long you've been a' it fo'?" He leaned back a bit in the chair, deep brown eyes focused on you. "To get that good? Some years. Before you came in? A couple of hours at most." You smirked looking down at him, "What, you tryna get up there?" He shrugged, which was a sign for you to possibly teach him someday but noticing the way his pants seemed a bit tighter in one spot, it wouldn't be today.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you two were locked in a staring contest for a moment. That is until his eyes started trailing your body. Tracing your brown skin, your twists with added hair were pulled up into a bun and the parting was still fresh, though the baby hairs had sweated out a bit. "You just gonna stare at your peng black ting or are ya gonna say somethin'?" You mimicked his slang as your smirk turned into a smile and he mirrored it, letting out a low chuckle, "Low it, peng ain' enough to describe you righ' now love." He looked so relaxed in your chair, manspreading, hands on his stomach, eyeing you so intensely. Walking to the pole you told him to hit play on the music you had set up.

"What, you're gonna put on a show for me?" He said and was met with your eyes looking back at him with the same intensity, hand on your hip, "You don't wanna see some ass?" He was quick to listen to your request after that, swiveling from the computer and immediately to you. Watching you just made the bulge in his pants become more noticeable and the ache to do something about it stronger. The simple sensuality of the chorus and the picked-up moves and tricks when the song hit its verses. Sure he was horny as hell, but also enraptured by the skill. As the song slowed down you were wrapped around the pole, spinning slowly. The glow of the led lights around the room reflected on your brown skin in the same way it did his and his piercings. Etheral. That was the word that came to mind as he watched your little show.

"C'mere." He paused the music without looking and went to pull you closer, shooting a web at your wrist and you stumbled forward giggling. You sat on his lap and rolled your hips to which he tossed his head back and let out a low grown and a laugh of his own. Placing his hands on your hips and swooping in to kiss and lick at your neck. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he picked you up. Legs clinging to his thin waist, folding over each other. Your lips lock in a heated makeout session and before you know it he's looming over you on the bed.

His mouth trailing from you neck to your chest as he left kisses and marks on his way down his hand was in your underwear. Teasing at you as your low whimpers and whines told him just how much you wanted him. Hobie stopped, lifting your legs to be on his shoulders, "Get louder for me, you know you wan' to" Looking down at him, squinting as he shot you that all to confident smirk before eating you out, and now it was your turn to follow commands. Your small whimpers turning into moans and crys of his name. Hobie was always skilled getting you to be more vocal.

Hobie's mouth and fingers prepping you, pleasuring you to unbelievable heights, everytime without fail. Right before you reached your climax he stopped all together earning a frustrated whine and pouting from you. "Hol' on, can't let your hair being up go to was'e can we?" He helped you to sit up before getting off of you to take off his jeans; belts and chains falling to the floor. You couldn't help almost pouncing on him as you pulled down his boxers to reveal his dick. Taking a moment to just stroke at it, kiss and lick at the tip; hearing his own whines and pleas for more, you obliged.

Taking him in to your mouth and throat as much as you could before you started to gag slightly. Hobie always put your gag reflexes to the test, but you neverminded it. Everytime you gave him a blowjob his praise made you want to do more, hear him more and he always made sure to keep you at a pace that had you comfortable to drooling. Draping your arms around his waist as his hand guided your head back and forth on his shaft, he could feel himself getting closer and that's when you pulled away with one gentle lick to his tip.

Pulling him back on top of you by the hem of his shirt you whispered to him, "Enough teasing," Hobie slid off your underwear as you moved to help him and finished your sentence, "unless you want to be left high and dry tonight?" He shook his head, "Not my intentions a' all babe." Kissing and biting at your neck once more as he slowly slid in. There wouldn't be more teasing, but he always had to get some kind of comeback in if he could.

Feeling him bottom out inside of you, the two of you let out a groan of euphoria before your legs went around his waist again. His pace slow, his hands running up your sides and rubbing circles into your hips; to fast, those huge palms gripping your hips as praise and groans fell from his lips and to your ear. Hobie's face was nestled in the crook of your neck, your legs shifted from his hips to his shoulders, as he plowed into you. Going as deep as he could, "Fuck, got a... vice grip.." he muttered, barely being able to utter his usual flirtatious teasings. He was close; egging him on didn't do any better because you were just as fucked out and desperate to cum as he was. "Yea, then... cum for me baby.. let it all out.~" The ‘out’ became a scream of your oncoming orgasm as you felt him reach down between you two to help you along quicker. Releasing at the same time he helped you ride the wave of your orgasm by gradually slowing his pace before pulling out and swiping his fingers at your entrance to get a taste, you stared at each other again. Watching him lick his fingers clean, "After you've gotten ya rest, we can pick up again." He said then kissed your forehead before getting a towel to clean you up.

#hobie brown smut #hobie x black!reader #hobie x gn reader

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presumeddeaddie · 5 months ago

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listen i know this is probably tired. wrote about a million times. but i can't ever get this scene out of my head, it means the world to me and i just wanted to write about it so i did and it's cool if anyone else wants to cry with me abt it.

"Yeah, that'd be gr--"

Buck's eyes are open for one second, feeling a deep sense of pride for the man before him; of course, Eddie's the reason that a child is saved from an unnecessary demise and also won't have to live with the pain of being the accidental cause of his mother's death. In the next second, his eyes are forced closed instinctively and he lurches back some when his face and upper torso are suddenly splattered in a mist of a hot, low-viscosity fluid.

Once his eyes flutter back open, Buck knows and feels that something is wrong before he sees it. His ears are ringing, and the smell of hot metallic is familiar enough to be classified immediately as blood. What isn't familiar to him is the taste. Sure, he's tasted blood before, something that can be argued as a part of the human experience, but he's never tasted this blood before.

Buck can't make sense of it. He's tasting the hot, red blood of Eddie. How, when Eddie was, just a second ago, standing before him, talking and unharmed and ready to continue being the upstanding man that he is by accompanying Charlie to the hospital? What has happened in the blink of his eyes to change, well, everything?

His senses are overwhelmed, cloyed with the smell of copper and acrid, hot powder, and the taste of salt and metallic (later, Buck will come to the conclusion that the blood also tasted of something distinctively Eddie, though he'll never voice that crazed thought out loud). His ears are still ringing, external stimuli sounding muted and far. By far the most overwhelmed? His sight.

His eyes lock with Eddie's, and it's as if everything else outside of Eddie's eyes is frozen still. Time, and even his breathing, might as well have stopped while Buck stares into Eddie's eyes, which conveys a story that mirrors what's being told by Buck's eyes. Confusion.

Eddie's eyes are the only thing Buck's mind can focus on. It's on those big, brown eyes Buck usually loves to look into. His own eyes remain fixed on Eddie's, following them all the way down to the ground where Eddie collapses, losing Eddie's eyes in the process. Buck tries desperately to understand, simply unable to comprehend what everyone else has processed right away--Eddie's been shot.

The only thing that brings Buck back to reality and away from his undying gaze on Eddie is when his side slams into the door of the fire engine cabin behind him. This both breaks Buck's spell from watching Eddie and turns his limbs back online when Captain Metha's weight brings them hurtling to the ground. It seems to work in kick-starting his breathing back up as well, a low gasp escaping past his lips as clarity starts to arrive.

"Get down!" "Shots fired! Shots fired, firefighter is down, I repeat: Firefighter is down!" "Shots fired! Shots fired!"

Shots fired, as in multiple shots? Buck's been so zeroed in on Eddie that he doesn't realize another shot had been fired at Captain Metha who raced to get Buck (clearly frozen in shock) down to the ground and out of the way as an open target for whoever started this nightmare. Even at that moment, he doesn't linger on the thought, too busy shifting from his side onto his belly. Mehta's bearing down on him, so instead of getting up like he wants to, he adjusts so that he can find Eddie with his eyes again.

When he notices the large pool of blood spreading from Eddie's body, the panic and horror he feels lodges his heart into his throat, robbing Buck of air and sanity for a long moment. This can't be happening. This can't be real. Everything was perfectly fine, and now, Eddie's seriously harmed.

He fights to find Eddie's gaze again, and when he does, Buck's eyes hold firm. He continues to feel the panic building up so quickly that he's panting for air, unable to alleviate it.

Each and every passing second, he hopes to wake up from a nightmare and find that his brain's being astonishingly cruel, but instead, he sees Eddie growing still and his eyes slowly losing focus until they flutter closed.

No. This isn't happening. Buck doesn't want to accept it.

He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants this to be anything other than what it is.

Eddie's been shot. Eddie's dying.

The fear and agony Buck feels at the notion of losing his partner to this is so acute that he has to shove it deep down, refusing to let it overtake him and drown him. Buck had to do something similar a while back when a well had collapsed on top of Eddie, who was 40 feet deep inside of it, during the rescue of a child, allowing himself a brief fit of intense grief before he resolved to save Eddie; He didn't care if anyone else thought it was a lost cause. The day that Buck gives up on Eddie is the day that he's no longer breathing. It was true then and it's something that will be true forever.

No. Eddie's not dying. Buck isn't going to let him. Buck's going to save him.

#i just have such an obsession with this scene #i don't think i'll ever get over it #shooting arc my beloved #911 #911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie ficlet #a deeyonce production #911 ficlet #buddie fic #my buddie fanfics

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4kimji · 11 months ago

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pair: assassin!mingyu x assassin!afab!reader

summary: you run into your rival during a mission

warnings: not reread, soft!dom gyu, unprotected sex, praise (female receiving), pet names (baby, darling), big dick! gyu, reader is obsessed with mingyu’s muscles, and more that i prob missed

wc: 1.1k

You set up the Snow Owl in front of yourself on its little stand. The supposed “club” was spacious, balconies decorating both sides of the dark, lush brown walls. People were dressed up in their finest attire, holding drinks that were half drunk while chatting their faces off.

The loud voice in your earpiece startles you, “Y/L/N, do you have the target?”, they ask.

“Not yet, Y/F/N. Still trying to acquire him.”, the assassin replies.

“Alright, get him soon. Be safe.”, your teammate coos, making kissy noises in the earpiece after finishing her sentence. You rolls her eyes but soon smiles once your teammate disconnects. She was so odd, but that’s Y/F/N for you. You put your eye into the white rifle. Your bangs were long, yes, but that never stopped you. You crouch down to get the best view of the attendees. You search for a while before seeing the last person you wanted to see. Shit. Why is he here? You internally facepalms yourself, seeing the black, long haired man. You knew he was given the same mission, so why don’t you work with him? The reason? The reward. 1 billion won. All of yourself. Who wouldn’t want that? Though, he was handsome. His long, veiny fingers holding a small shot glass. His left hand was near his waist. He was also looking for his target.

“Kim Mingyu, you asshole.”, you snicker. You move your small rifle peephole towards the door and there he was. Park Jaesung, the sick, money laundering motherfucker that you had to kill. You smirk and start to pull the trigger, knowing all that money was yours. Until, a loud shot rings in your ears. Fuck! You move your whole head out of your gun and see Mingyu with his gun out. You pack up your sniper skillfully before jogging down the stairs. You take a few steps closer to see the CEO lying on the ground. You could see the blood forming a huge pool around his head, the big bullet hole pierced through his forehead. The 6’2 man starts chuckling behind you. You didn’t even have to look back to see who it was.

“Well well, Y/L/N. If you want a loan, just ask.”, he whispers in your ear while placing his big hands around your waist, moving his hands up and down. You turn around to see the fucker who just stole your kill. You could act like you hate him all you want, but seriously, his looks were no joke. You wanted to suckerpunch him so bad, but at the same time, kiss the smirk off of his face. By this time, the space they were in was empty due to everybody running to get to safety.

“Lucky for you, Kim. I don’t need any loans from you.”, you cheekily answer. And there it was. The smile that made you melt every time she saw it. He leans in so close that your noses are basically touching. If you never had her high heels on right now, you wouldn’t even be half of Mingyu’s height. You extend your body a little more before connecting your lips with the man in front of you. You set both of your hands on his face, your thumbs rubbing his cheeks softly while his hands stay on your waist. When you let go from the kiss, a line of saliva connects from Mingyu’s pink, soft, and plump lips. You run your hands down his chest, feeling his hard rock abs through his shirt.

“So, my place?”, he asks.

When You get to Mingyu’s house, he lifts you up bridal style and lays you down softly on his bed. You cup his face and lock your lips with his. Both of your tongues moved together in harmony. He smirks into the kiss when you start palming his cock. It felt like the ocean was forming in your panties after you felt how hard he was. Just for you. You were supposed to hate him. He’s literally your rival. Mingyu breaks you out of your trance when he starts mumbling about how badly he’d been waiting for this. He starts leaving wet kisses and love bites down your neck and across your breasts. You unbuckle his belt with little to no struggle. The sight of his thick, girthy cock made you even more horny than you were before. You felt the room’s cold air fall onto your clit, realizing that Mingyu had ripped off your panties. Mingyu grips the base of his cock, while slipping it into you with no struggle, your wetness acting as lube. His big member was stretching your walls deliciously, causing you to let out a strained moan. You've been waiting so long for this particular moment, so why not take it? You push the stronger man down onto the soft pillows and straddle his lap. Your hand nudges into his biceps as you settle down onto his length.

“Ah shit, you’re so fucking tight.”, Mingyu moans. You can only whimper in response, losing yourself in the pleasure. Mingyu’s big hands land onto your ass, guiding you as you bounce on him with all your might. You look down at Mingyu, seeing his eyes roll all the way back.

“G-gyu, fuck me harder, please?”, you innocently ask. Mingyu breaks out of his pleasure bubble and finds his hands moving up to your waist, laying you down on your back. Your hands automatically move to his shoulder blades, digging into the skin. Mingyu starts thrusting quickly into you, trying to find his release. You feel your legs, wrapped around his waist, go numb. You want to last as long as you can, but the way Mingyu was fucking you, there was no way you would.

“Mingyu, fuck, I’m so close.”, you cry out. Your hands were long gone from his shoulders, now found tangling his long, black hair.

“I’m close too, baby. Just wait for me a little.”, the man replies. You lock eyes then soon lock lips. You can tell Mingyu is on the edge when his thrusts start to stutter. Your stomach feels like it’s burning, the euphoria of his cock affecting you in every way. Mingyu lets go of your lips, hearing your moans, knowing your orgasm is right there.

“Fuck!”, you drag out. Your eyes are shut close, and your cunt clenches around Mingyu’s dick, wanting to milk all of the cum out of him.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. Cumming only on my cock, yeah? For me?”, The rope in Mingyu’s stomach is broken also, his white liquid filling you up. His body slumps next to you, hands still hugging your waist as if it was a handbag. Your eyes flutter open, diverting your first gaze to the sweaty man next to you.

“So… what does this mean for us?”, Mingyu asks. You shrug while burying your face in his chest.

“Let’s not worry about that.”, you giggle.

a/n: um hey... this is my first post LMAO it's not that good imo. if you like it, please like and reblog it takes 2 seconds ! :)))))))

#seventeen #mingyu #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #svt #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #mingyu fluff #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #svt smut

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fandomnerd9602 · 1 year ago

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After a Big Fight…

A Force Headcanons

Toni Stark (Katie McGrath)

Toni always locks herself in her lab. Some small part of her believes that she could fix anything in her lab. This recent fight dealt with her constant need to build so many different suits to protect you. Giving her some time, you head down to her lab. No words, you just sit there next to her. She locks eyes with you and leans into your shoulder.

"I'm sorry" she whispers.

You kiss her forehead, "I'm sorry too."

Stephanie Rogers (Margot Robbie)

You always find her running around the famous Lincoln Memorial Reflection Pool.

"You told me you can't always run away from your problems" you wait on a bench for her as she runs up to you.

"I don't normally run" she huffs, "but I'm scared. Scared that I might lose you"

"Then please don't run from me"

Thora (Katheryn Winnick)

After an argument, big of small, you can find Thora at the training grounds. She throws Stormbreaker at a target as you approach her.

"Care to join me?" Thora asks

"Yeah I could improve my throw a little" you shrug

If she invites you to join her, that's usually an invite for you and her to talk things out.

Bree Banner (Rachel Weisz)

Hulk's anger came thru once. Bree pulled off her glasses and whispered, "oops...darling...I-I...I'm so sorry"

She ran into her room and locked the door, crying her eyes out over letting the Hulk's anger come through even if it was so brief.

You waited until she was ready to come out and you embrace her and comfort your girl.

Clara Barton (Melissa Benoist)

After she lost her fellow Avenger and best friend, Nathaniel Romanoff the infamous Black Guardian, Clara went down in a spiral. Her comfort became a bottle. Not an angry drunk or anything but you worried that you'd lose her too.

"I can stop when I want" she'd whine

"Baby I lost a friend too." you told her, "I can't lose the love of my life too. And the kids can't lose their mom"

Clara looked to a small picture of her kids, "okay"

Becca Barnes (Alexandra Daddario)

It scarred her. The anger, it all came up and she could feel the Winter Soldier programming came through. Without even a moment's hesitation, she ran. She kept running, even though you were calling out to her.

You followed her, all the way to the closed Captain America museum. She sat on the steps leading to the entryway and you just sit next to her and let her work through her feelings.

Petra Parker (Millie Bobby Brown)

She let the influence of the Black suit cloud her judgement. Petra screamed at you because you stopped her from killing a villain.

"That's not who we are!" you begged her

"Stay out of my way!!!" she scream back at you and then immediately fled, crying her eyes out.

She swung to your place a few days later, the suit gone. Petra approached your room with a box set of her favorite Star Wars movies. Her eyes were red and puffy with her grief. You welcomed her in.

Penni Quill (Dakota Johnson)

Penni tries to play it off every time you and her have had an argument.

"Even Sam and Diane had their arguments" she'd tried to shrug it off, little tears still on her face.

"Baby can we please talk?" you try to ask her.

"Okay" she'd take a deep breath. "I know I'm thick headed..."

"I need you to take better care of yourself too. You're my whole world, Penni"

"Okay."

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withthewerewolves · 1 year ago

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GoldenHeart Fix-it AU

Ok, so I know that everything between Ballister and Ambrosius needed to happen for themes, and parallels, and narrative foils, and all that freestyle jazz. I realize that changing this sort of ruins Ambrosius’s character, and makes Nimona a sidekick in her own story, and such. But consider this-

It made me Sad.

So what if an AU where Ambrosius is messed up by being the direct descendant of Gloreth in a slightly different way, and is a little less hinged as a result.

The beginning goes down exactly as it does in the movie. The sword pommel lights up, the queen dies, Ambrosius swings his own sword. There’s a moment where it all freezes, Ballister still on his knees, gripping the place where his shoulder ends, big brown horrified puppy eyes locked with Ambrosius’s, begging for something (forgiveness? understanding? his arm back?) that Ambrosius can’t pull his scattered thoughts together long enough to give him. And then the jumbotron crashes between them, and when the dust clears, Ballister is gone.

I don’t know exactly how long it is between the Night of Knights and when Nimona finds Ballister. It has to be long enough for him to:

a) find the hideout and equip it with what he needs

b) design and build a prosthetic arm (using his nondominant hand)

and c) heal enough to install said arm.

It also can’t be too long, because:

a) the knights haven’t managed to track him down yet (perhaps this is giving them too much credit)

and b) the story is still all over the news.

I’m thinking this means less than a month, but not very much less.

In the movie, Ambrosius spends this time doing…something unimportant. Crying in his room? Punching training targets until he can’t stand up? Researching survival rates for unintentional arm amputation? Doesn’t matter. In this AU, he spends it spiraling. He starts with one absolute: Ballister wouldn’t do anything bad. He saw the sword kill the queen with his own eyes, from much closer range than his nightmares would prefer. Alright. So why, then, WOULD Ballister do such a thing?

He’s already struggled enough with the pressure to live up to Gloreth’s memory. We see that this sits heavy on his golden shoulders, and that both the Institute and the people put him on a pedestal. He’s seen the way the other trainee knights treat Ballister. We see that it bothers him, that Ballister instinctively holds him back from fighting Todd, as if this has happened before. We know that he knows that Ballister has worked harder than anyone, that he’s the best in their year, and that his lack of noble blood may (will) still ruin things for him. We know that he cares about protecting people, that he considers that to be a knight’s job. We see him choose to protect civilians, clearing the streets, when all the other knights rush to fight the monster. He can't be totally satisfied with the Institute’s training and ideology.

He doesn’t eat (he can still smell the burning flesh as his sword cauterizes Ballister’s arm, even as he cuts through it). He doesn’t sleep (his dreams are nothing but green light and Ballister’s pleading eyes). He reads a lot of anti-monarchy blogs. Maybe he finds some futuristic-fantasy Karl Marx. Maybe there are some activists protesting systemic inequality and they have a website with a list of useful terminology and their definitions. He absolutely does not research mortality rates for unintentional arm amputation. He stops telling himself that has no clue where Ballister might have gone (maybe it's time to give up lying to himself altogether).

He leaves the Institute. He maybe says some imprudent things as he’s leaving ("Bal was right! Any system that allows you (Todd) to be a knight deserves to be brought down! Tyranny never wins for long!”). He sort of wants to leave his sword and armor behind, possibly with some amusing graffiti scratched into them, but he doesn’t know what Bal might be planning, if he might need it, and surely it’s symbolic, to attack the Institute using the tools of its oppression? On that thought, he does make one tiny detour on the way out.

He finds Bal. There was only one place for him to be, once Ambrosius set aside the need to arrest him and let himself remember. I think it has to be before Nimona finds him, because Ballister puts on the new arm right before, and I want him not to be wearing it when he cautiously opens the door to his crumbling hideout to find Ambrosius framed in a shaft of late-afternoon sunlight, hair limp, eyebrow twitching like it used to before big exams, eyes maybe the tiniest bit wild.

“Ambrosius?” Ballister is pretty sure he isn’t hallucinating. Yeah, the initial wound was rough, and the shock got to him, and he definitely had a fever for awhile there. But he’s been lamentably rooted in reality for weeks now, and he thought he was over that little mental hitch every time he heard a noise in the next room and realized anew that Ambrosius wasn’t the one making it.

“Thank Gloreth,” Ambrosius says, because he may not have researched unintentional arm amputation but he does have an overactive imagination, and here Ballister is, upright and maggot-free and wielding a broken mead bottle.

He has a speech planned. He’d recited different parts of it over and over on his way here. There were some good bits in there.

Instead, he sees the gap where Ballister’s arm should be and loses the structural integrity of his skeletal system. “Darkness Beyond, I chopped off your arm.” His voice is mostly air pretending to be sound.

“Uh,” Ballister says. “Yeah.”

“I need to sit down.”

Ambrosius maybe clanks a little as he sits (it’s not a fall if you state your intention before you hit the ground), but it’s ok because Bal is wearing his armor too (except for the right vambrace - nope he can’t think about that or he’ll vomit) and he clanks too when he crouches in front of Ambrosius, filling his entire visual field (the edges will come back eventually, he can still see the important part).

“I CHOPPED off your ARM.”

“Are you here to -”

“I chopped OFF your ARM.”

“You were disarming a weapon -”

“Who even does that? Who chops off people’s arms?”

“You were just following our training -”

“Arm chopping is NOT a LOVE LANGUAGE.”

“Forget the arm!” This catches enough of Ambrosius’ attention to drag him back into himself, because Ballister doesn’t actually get upset that often. He can’t afford to, not where the other knights or their trainers might see. He especially can’t afford to, when it’s just the two of them and Bal has to shove all the anger back down himself.

“I don’t think I will ever forget the arm,” he says, but he smells Ballister’s sweat, like after they used to run miles in heavy armor, instead of roasting meat. He sees confusion and concern in Ballister’s eyes, instead of that horrible entreaty he never managed to answer.

Ballister clunks to the ground beside him, back to the stone wall, missing arm shielded by his body. “No. I don’t know that I will, either.”

Ambrosius doesn’t know what thoughts Ballister is caught in, but he can’t help drinking in his silhouette, familiar and beloved and so much more fragile than he’d ever imagined.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asks, even though he told himself he wouldn’t.

Ballister turns toward him enough that Ambrosius can see the bitter quirk of his lips. “For the arm? Or for thinking I would kill Queen Valerin?”

The last minutes have been the closest Ambrosius’s mind has been to still since that series of frozen seconds after Ballister’s sword flashed, followed by his own, but now it screeches to a halt. “You….didn’t?”

Ballister’s head swivels slowly to look at him, like in one of those scary movies Bal likes so much.

“Why not?” Ambrosius asks. It isn’t the question he means to ask.

“WHY NOT?!”

“I mean - because the monarchy is an outdated system that prioritizes bloodlines over ability - and the whole idea of nobility is classist - and the other trainees were awful to you just because you grew up on the streets - and why do we even HAVE kids growing up on the streets, do you know how much the Institute’s operating budget is? We could fund a million orphanages! Or -”

“You think I would kill the Queen because some assholes were mean to me?” Bal is not tamping his anger down now. Ambrosius reminds himself sternly that Bal doesn’t like being angry, so it’s rude to think about how hot it makes him look.

“No! I knew you’d have other reasons!”

“The Queen is the one who LET me train to be a knight, even though I’m common born!”

“She shouldn’t have had to let you, you more than earned it -”

“So you thought I would KILL someone?!”

Ambrosius doesn’t have anything to say to that. He’s busy trying to re-sort all the stuff he JUST re-sorted to make room for Ballister killing the Queen, to make room for him NOT to have killed her. Does that mean he should put it all back where it was? How can he, now that he’s seen? He isn’t sure he wants to. He slumps back against the wall. After a moment so does Bal.

“So what…did happen?”

Bal swallows hard, his nervous tell. He doesn’t look at Ambrosius. “I don’t know.”

Ambrosius is running on fumes, and he’s had to reorder his worldview twice in a short period of time, but he does still have a brain under the fabulous hair. “Someone framed you.”

Bal glances at him through the corner of his eye. He’s somehow both more open and more closed off than Ambrosius has ever seen him. “Yeah.”

“Were you the target? Or the Queen?” Yeah, he’s been reading the anti-monarchy blogs, but no one seems to have any specific issues with Queen Valerin. She’s fine, as far as queens go. No one has mentioned assassinating her. Actually none of them seem to have any plans whatsoever. But the activists have plenty of plans, and they didn’t talk about assassinating her either. Isn’t there supposed to be a different internet, just for criminals? Maybe they talked about it there?

“Gotta be the Queen,” Bal says. “Which means the real killer is still out there.”

"Hm," Ambrosius says, because he's thinking about all the stuff people have been saying about Ballister, both online (where he can scroll past it) and in the Institute mess hall (where he cannot). He's wondering if Todd, who is unfortunately not as stupid as he looks, could have pulled off something like this, when he feels a light touch against the outside of his thigh, where his chainmail doesn't cover.

It's the first time Bal has touched him since before the ceremony. It's just the barest brush of the side of his hand, and could've been accidental except for how it's carefully placed so he can feel Bal's body heat through the cloth of his trousers, and how he knows that Ballister doesn't touch people by accident.

Ambrosius can't tear his eyes away from Bal's hand. He's not wearing his gloves (glove). The skin on the back is cracked like it gets in the cold season, unless Ambrosius sits on Bal and applies the moisturizing cream himself. The nails are ragged and bitten close to the quick, and something dark is trapped under them, possibly the same something that's streaked along the base of his thumb.

How's he supposed to clean under his fingernails with one hand? How is he supposed to WASH his hands, for that matter? Ambrosius quickly stops thinking about it. He’s here now. He'll clean them himself.

"Do you believe me?" Ballister asks, and Ambrosius darts his gaze up to Bal's face. It's turned away, as if he can't stand to see the answer to that question.

Bal's chin is scratchy where he hasn't been maintaining his facial hair, but Ambrosius revels in how warm and alive he feels under his fingertips as he tilts Bal's face toward him. "Bal," he says. "Of course I believe you."

Something in Bal's eyes breaks, or heals, or cleaves like a sword through bone. He slumps, suddenly looking like a teenager playing dress up in the huge armor he'd worked so hard for. Ambrosius wishes he wasn't wearing his own, because Bal tips so that his head is buried in Ambrosius’s chest, and that would be so much more satisfying for both of them without a chestplate.

Ambrosius buries his face in Bal’s hair (lank and unwashed, but smelling so much like BAL that he wants to roll around in it) and maybe cries a little. Bal maybe cries a little too. Ambrosius makes a mental note to get them both out of their armor as soon as possible because he needs to hold Bal properly, feel the warm living weight of him, maybe lay down and pull Bal over him like a blanket, revel in the soft puffs of Bal’s breathing, the chill of his toes, the flutter of his eyelashes against Ambrosius’s skin, the physical realness of him. All the little details his imagination could never get right.

Probably he does get to do this. Probably he gets them bathed and wearing fresh clothes (he probably packed a duffel bag from their shared dorm room), and maybe feeds them both some canned beans he finds in Bal’s mostly empty cupboards. Probably Bal shows him the prosthetic arm, which is nearly finished, and lets him marvel over the genius of it. Probably he says that once they’ve got Bal’s name cleared he should become an engineer, what was he doing wasting a mind like that on being a knight?

Probably they get to take a nap, pressed together on the couch. Probably Ambrosius is horrified anyone has been sleeping on that biohazard, let alone someone with a healing wound. Probably he’s too tired to come up with anything better.

If we’re kind, we could maybe give them just this one sleep without any nightmares. They need to be firing on all cylinders, because they’re going to be woken by a loud banging at the tower door.

I personally think it would be very funny if Ambrosius is completely on board with all of Nimona’s plans. He probably pushes for non-violence if possible, and then when that fails, for at least leaving innocent civilians out of it. Nimona isn’t convinced the civilians ARE innocent, but Ambrosius has some ideas for breaking stuff that intrigue her. Bal is horrified by the entire conversation, and has to be talked out of just going to the Institute and explaining himself. It works this time though, because Ambrosius knows exactly how unreceptive the Director is going to be.

Todd is the one leading the search this time, so he probably leads them in completely the wrong direction while our heroes talk to the squire. But if they do have a confrontation, it’s worse. There’s no intention to arrest them unharmed. There’s no chance to explain. No relationship talk over locked swords. He’s got the knights shooting to kill.

I’m not sure how Nimona reveals her shapeshifting. Probably Ambrosius is just as upset as Bal is, but he and Nimona are anarchy buddies. He makes himself take a step back and examine his initial reaction, possibly while narrating his thought process. If he didn’t condemn her for skewering guards on her rhino horn, he can’t condemn her for HAVING a rhino horn, can he?

Maybe the happy ending for them is this AU is different from the happy ending in canon. Maybe after they release the video of the Director, they do set out together to explore the world beyond the Wall, all three of them. But it isn’t because they’re afraid of the kingdom or the people in it. It’s because they aren’t tied to the kingdom anymore. They’ve all moved past the boxes the kingdom would try to put them in. They don’t NEED the kingdom anymore. None of them are going to be alone.

And adventure awaits.

#nimona #ballister x ambrosius #please talk to me guys #I wanna DISCUSS #my writing #not!fic

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