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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 20 days ago

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academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

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“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetical torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies.

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.”

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent.

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?”

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his.

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects.

“If I may.”

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will.

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use.

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given.

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.”

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate.

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table?

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all.

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were.

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.”

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness.

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!”

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?”

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.”

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided.

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that.

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan.

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront.

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves.

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.”

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.”

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce.

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones.

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.”

“But they’re so heavy.”

“Well, what would you use?”

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow.

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.”

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted.

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.”

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?”

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat.

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact.

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.”

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead.

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?”

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.”

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for.

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?”

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin.

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled.

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders.

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

��The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one.

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair.

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place.

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine.

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.”

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin.

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work.

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh yes. You’re about to.”

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement.

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.”

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other.

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor craved to postpone the main course.

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face.

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss.

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites.

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind.

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness.

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him.

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin.

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman.

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.”

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.”

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief.

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you.

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter.

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp.

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye.

“Why should we limit it to just that?”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor arcane smut #viktor x fem!reader #arcane smut #viktor arcane x reader #no beta we die #viktor x f!reader

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hxney-lemcn · 8 months ago

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I Love You~ — NRC Students x gn! reader

summary: How Twisted Wonderland boys react to you saying "I love you."

tw: stalking (Rook), slight angst for some, mainly fluff.

a/n: this is the most I've written for for so many characters. I hope I did them well, I even wrote for characters I'm not confident in. Also, I swear they don't all just say I love you too back, Heartslabyul boys are just too sweet not not (for the most part).

wc: 4.5k (~200 each character)

Master List

Your feelings had been building up over time. It got to the point that it felt like all your feelings were bubbling over. It was only sooner or later that the depth of your love was going to spill. You only hoped that it wouldn’t scare him away.

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

It wasn’t the first time you said those damn words that sent his heart into cardiac arrest. ‘Love you,’ You would chime playfully as he seemed near to scolding you for something or another. He hated to admit how effective those words were on him, it didn’t help how you said it so casually. Yet this time was different, your tone being nothing but soft, your eyes nothing but warm…he wasn’t prepared for this. Avoiding your loving gaze, Riddle could feel his brain melt, his tongue felt like lead, and his heart was beating erratically. When your gaze turned worried, shying away the longer he stayed silent, he somehow gathered the courage to respond.

“I-I love you too.”

❥ Trey Clover

It was no secret how much you both cared for each other. You both seemed like a married couple to the other students. You never really needed to say anything out loud because your love was shown through actions, the way you both smiled at each other, and how the other was always on the mind. Yet hearing you say those words out loud shocked him. What shocked him even more was how much he longed to hear you say it again, and again, and again. It didn’t take long for him to regain his composure, smile brightening as he didn’t even hesitate to respond.

“I love you too~”

❥ Cater Diamond

He always hid behind a smile and a flash of his camera. People would say his care for you only ran skin deep, but you knew otherwise. You had managed to wiggle your way through Cater’s walls and that scared him, but it also brought a sense of relief. His compliments towards you were genuine, showing you just how much his fans loved you (an extension of his own love). He’d always say he loved you playfully, sending a wink your way making you nearly combust…and you’d respond in kind (unknowingly doing the same to him). So when you said those three simple words, your tired eyes fluttering shut as you snuggled into his blankets, he felt like he was going to puke. He felt like a complete coward that he could only reply back after you had fallen asleep, vowing to show you just how much he cared the next day.

“I love you more than you know.”

❥ Deuce Spades

We all know that Deuce isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, yet you found that endearing. The way he showed his care for you was so obvious it was hard to ignore. How he clearly favored you over Ace, sending threatening glares to any student who dares to look at you the wrong way. You had never felt safer than when you were with Deuce, so you’d try to reciprocate…yet he always seemed to outshine you in your made up care competition. Yet you quickly found his weakness after he shied away after you hugged him once. So when he did something so endearingly silly, it was only natural for those three words to slip…rip Deuce. He stammered, face blazing red as he tried to wrap around what you said, trying to untangle any hidden meanings. Bashfully, he couldn’t meet your eyes as he responded.

“I…love you too.”

❥ Ace Trappola

This menace. He flexes all the time, claiming how you must love him with the way you follow him like a puppy. Yeah…he makes it hard sometimes. So out of spite you’d go to Deuce, causing Ace to sulk. It was in those moments that you realized he was lowkey (highkey) projecting his feelings onto you. It helped you deal with his unabashed praise for himself. You found yourself teasing Ace back, poking him and irritating him (he did find it annoying but he’d rather your attention be on him then anyone else). He’d show off during his games, always looking towards you and making him a clumsy mess on the court. When you finally muttered how you felt (somewhat bitterly) Ace felt his brain shut down for a second before quickly rebooting, a shaky smirk on his face with bright red cheeks as he replied.

“Of course you do! Who wouldn’t- OW! Okay, okay, I l-like you too I guess.”

(bro couldn’t even say love you back 💀)

❥ Leona Kingscholar

To anyone who didn’t know him, they’d think he was indifferent to you, if not annoyed by you. Yet to your and Ruggie’s keen eyes it was easy to see his affection for you crack through his impervious exterior. How he’d drag you with him for his constant naps, how he’d let you play with his hair, and how he’d glare at anyone who seemed to get a little too friendly with you. Leona didn’t like being vulnerable, after all, showing your belly meant submission and death. So when you said those three words he’d dreamt of you saying, how lovingly you were staring at him as you fiddled with one of his braids, he felt his scowl worsen at the fluttery feeling in his chest. His green eyes glanced away, his face softening back into a neutral expression.

“I better be the only one you say that to, herbivore.”

❥ Ruggie Bucchi

He’s another one that people can’t tell if he likes you or is using you. Whenever you were seen with him you were helping him with chores (in reality you only helped him so you both could relax together afterwards). It was clear how much you cared for him, bringing him snacks, helping him with chores, offering to pay for his meals (rip your already bare wallet). In return, he’d share with you. A feat that no one had ever seen him do before. Ruggie never felt guilty for taking/getting food…that was until you never seemed annoyed by how much he took from you. So he felt it was only fair if you had some too…you did pay for it after all. He found his tail wagging when you smiled at him, hugging him, or even when you ruffled his hair. So when you said that! Those words he never expected to be uttered from your lips, let alone aimed at him, his tail just couldn’t stop moving! No matter how composed he seemed, it was like his brain was on fire (insert that spongebob clip).

“Shishishi, I suppose I might feel the same…the price for that information is the other half of your donut. Shishi.”

❥ Jack Howl

This guy. Definition of tsundere. Acts like he wants nothing to do with you while sticking by your side for as long as he can. The nice thing is that he helps you become more healthy. He never forces you, but you feel more inclined to join him in his ‘morning’ jogs (his morning jog is way too early for you so it's technically his second jog of the day and he calls it his wind down jog). Everyone can tell how he feels for you, it's clear in the way his eyes are always searching for your comfort, how he steps in when someone gets too pushy, or when his tail sways when all your attention is on him. Another guy you feel super safe with. The two of you were studying when you said it, atmosphere warm. Jack’s ear twitched, unsure if he heard you correctly, eyes searching yours for confirmation. When you gave no indication that you were joking or being silly, it felt like his heart flipped.

“I…care about you…as well.”

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

He is sneakily unseaky about his feelings. One moment he’s treating you like an actual valued guest with no hidden intentions (😒) and the next he’s lowkey (highkey) flexing on you. Mixed signals because you aren’t sure if he’s trying to make you feel bad about yourself or if he’s trying to make himself look better to you. “Oh don’t worry, this won’t put a dent in my pockets,” He’d say with a smug smirk (you’re lowkey side-eyeing him). One time you poked him to see how’d he react and it was super amusing. Ran away with the brightest blush you’d ever seen claiming he had work to do…yeah…right. When you realized he is in fact trying to impress you (and realized it was really fun to tease him with affection), you became more comfortable around him, looking forward to the next time you could visit the Mostro Lounge. It got to the point that Jade would just bring you to the VIP room (if Azul wasn’t busy swindling a poor soul). When you spoke those words it came out of seemingly nowhere, Azul spilling ink all over a contract he just finished writing. He was so close to darting out of the room, face ablaze, hands trembling. Do you know just how powerful those words are?

“P-perhaps…d-do you…I-I think…” (You broke him, don’t worry he just needs time to collect himself. He loves you too 💖)

❥ Jade Leech

Rip. It kinda takes a lot to catch his eye (do you even want that?). He found it amusing how kind you were, you wouldn’t make it for a second in the deep (k…). Yet what really caught his eye was that you were a green thumb. How you recognized one of his mushrooms and the gleam in your eyes as you stated all you knew about it (not much, but more than anyone else he’s met). Now you have a scary eel that pops up every now and then. Jade only cared about mushrooms, but now on his hikes he’d spot a plant you liked (every now and then bringing it back for you). Downside, you now had Floyd’s attention as well. I mean c’mon, his brother finding interest in someone? He just had to check the guppy out…thankfully Jade stopped him from squeezing you (a true testament of his care for you). The words spilled out of you when Jade had offered to…’help’...with a certain…’problem’ of yours (an annoying student who wouldn’t leave you alone). A look of pure shock washed over his face before it quickly turned into a cunning grin, something that sent the hairs on your arms to raise.

“My my, what a bold statement. Please, treat me gently would you?~” (He did not forget about your ‘problem’)

❥ Floyd Leech

Rip #2. You know he cares (sometimes) when he stops calling you guppy (sometimes he does it just to annoy someone cough Riddle cough). Your case was a mix of both. One time when Floyd wouldn’t stop poking your cheeks you poked his nose with a ‘boop’, and he had deemed you boops. Also wouldn’t stop booping you back after that. He is not ashamed at all. He’d squeeze you, drape over you, pick you up, poke you, nearly kill you. The usual. You always would pretend to be annoyed (although sometimes that annoyance was very real) and Floyd always found your reactions hilarious. Although he had his bad moods, 6/10 times he’d feel better when you booped him. Jade would tease him, Azul would ask you over to the Mostro Lounge more often, even Riddle would avoid you (because where you were Floyd had to be nearby). When he was in a bad mood and you booped him while saying “I love you~”, Floyd froze. Sharp eyes watching your every move like the predator he is, a wide grin revealing his sharp teeth.

“Awwww, I love ya too Boops! Now lemme squeeze ya!”

❥ Kalim Al-Asim

Where do I even start? He’s loving on you the moment he sees you. Hugs, cheek kisses, hand holding, it's all normal to him. He cares about you so why wouldn’t he show you? Poor Jamil, he was really stressed at first, unsure what your intentions were. So to start, you had to prove yourself to Jamil, Kalim had accepted you the moment his eyes landed on you. The more you hung out, the clearer your affection for Kalim shined, and you two were basically a married couple at this point. It was easy to care for him, reciprocating his affection without hesitation. Idk there's not much to say about him, he’s just a loving and carefree guy. It was when you both were winding down, hanging out with just the other, doing some homework (one of the ways you proved yourself to Jamil). Your dreary eyes watched as Kalim swayed in place, his eyes soon meeting yours. His beaming smile had all your defenses down, words falling out without you realizing it. It wasn’t until Kalim jumped at you, squeezing you tightly, face nuzzling into your neck.

“I love you too! We should get married!”

(😅)

❥ Jamil Viper

It’s admirable that you managed to break down Jamil’s walls. He was even more surprised at how your attention would always seem to land on him instead of his insufferable prince. No matter how much Kalim basically begged for your attention, your eyes would always drift to Jamil, a warm smile on your lips when your eyes met. He showed his affection for you in how he looked after you. He had grown up taking care of someone, and although he found himself hating Kalim for his position, for Jamil’s spot in the world, he found himself enjoying caring for you. He loved how your eyes lit up when he offered you lunch, he had made too much anyways (riggggghhhht…), he felt his heart flip when you offered to help clean up or when you offered to help braid his hair. It was still hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that you truly cared for him and had no ulterior motives. His heart beat erratically when you said those words, when you looked only at him so lovingly, how your hand caressed his cheek so tenderly. It was all so overwhelming and he pulled away, pulling his hood up to hide his blush. His tongue felt heavy and he wasn’t sure if he had the heart to let himself be so vulnerable.

“Let’s continue this later…but rest assured I feel a similar way.”

❥ Vil Schoenheit

Ohhh boy. Vil, as much as I love him, might be a bit overbearing at first. If anything, you’d feel ashamed about yourself at first. You never seemed to be good enough as Vil would always find something to pick apart about you. You’d eat too many carbs, your uniform was wrinkly, your eyebags seemed to be more pronounced. When you snapped, crying and pleading for him to just stop, that you knew you weren’t beautiful or perfect like him and you didn’t want to hear it anymore, Vil had to rethink how he showed his care. He didn’t say those things because he thought you were ugly or terrible, he only wanted you to better yourself. To become more healthy and to take better care of yourself. Reflecting, he realized just how mean he seemed…enter the spoiling. Instead of nit picking you, he would give you stuff without a word. You found yourself with skin care products made by him (he didn’t want to taint your skin with bad ingredients), he would bring you a balanced lunch (perhaps breakfast and dinner too, if you’d be kind enough to join him), and he’d gift you outfits that complemented your figure perfectly (sometimes he’d have to get them costume made). It was a bit of a shock at the drastic change, but you found yourself doting on him more as well. You both were having dinner together, Vil complaining about his coworkers and you talking about whatever you were into at the moment. When he mentioned something he’d think you’d like you found yourself sweetly telling him you loved him. He was astounded, eyes locked on yours. As much as he tried to be composed, he couldn’t deny the fluttering of his heart or the heat on his cheeks.

“I love you as well, my sweet potato.”

❥ Rook Hunt

This man 💀. At first you were terrified. Man was literally stalking you. You even went to the professors for help because excuse me? Stalking bad. And as much as Rook took amusement in your actions, he decided to finally get to know you…face to face (he already knew a ton about you). You gave him bombastic side eye when he first was trying to talk to you. He’d pop out of bushes (strangely no leaves stuck in his hair), he’d appear right behind you…one time he seemed to appear from literally nowhere. Against your own will, you warmed up to the freak. When he wasn’t continuously complimenting you, you found him to be funny. Rook is also unashamed about his love for you, he’d shout it from the roof tops if you asked. He also took the fact that you were warm to him as a sign of affection. You didn’t nearly deck him for popping out of the bushes this time? Oh mon chéri, his heart melts that you felt his presence to be so comforting. It felt weird, Rook had complimented you many times, spouting about how much his heart yearns for you. You almost didn’t want to tell him that you loved him, a bit spiteful since you knew how smug he’d look afterwards (you’d never live it down either). Yet when Rook handed you a rose, spieling about how it could never compare to you, you found yourself crumbling. Instead of that smug look you expected, he looked genuinely happy. Green eyes bright and shining, smile so wide you thought it split. Yet that gleam soon looked like that of a predator who finally caught his prey.

“Mon chéri, my heart weeps with joy, I cannot imagine a world without your brilliance shining. Avoir son cœur est la plus grande récompense.”

❥ Epel Felmier

Epel is a tough nut even if he looks cute. He’d tease you mercilessly (Ace moment) on some days, while most he found himself complaining to you. Vil would work him tirelessly, and he can handle tough work! You’d sneak him candy or some jerky (that was more manly than candy). He found himself always trying to impress you, whether it be carrying something heavy or showing you his grades (he improved from last time okay). He loved how you complimented his strength or his intelligence, but deep down he was scared you saw him as a cute prim boy that Vil was trying to turn him into. If anyone tried anything with you he’s the one you’d go to, making his chest puff in confidence. Of course he’s trying to not fight so Vil won’t punish him, but a stern talking too wasn’t out of the picture. You both were relaxing under a tree. You mindlessly watched Epel as he carved an apple, handing you pieces when they were cut perfectly. Another one who can’t handle it when you say it. Eyes wide, shoulders hunched, face matching the apple he was holding.

“Ya c-can’t jus’ s-say that! Y-you tryna k-kill me? ‘Tch, you’re lucky I like ya too.”

❥ Idia Shroud

He’s such a simp. Some days he can barely squeak out a word to you, hiding himself in the comfort of his hoodie, others he’s flexing on you about just how much more he knows about a game than you. When he’s feeling extra generous (trying to get y’alls intimacy meter up to max) he’ll buy you the fancy currency in your favorite gacha game, go on, do as many ten pulls as it takes to get your favorite character up to max level. His favorite moments are when you both are watching an anime together, in the same bed…it makes his heart explode just thinking about it (dudes on the opposite side of the bed 💀). What makes him care for you even more is how you interact with Ortho. You two are his favorite people and seeing how well you both get along just further warms his heart. When you muttered those words to him, he literally screamed. Hoodie up, hiding under his blankets, his hair the brightest pink it’s ever been. He felt light headed and he was sure if he opened his eyes his vision would be spotty.

“G-gah! Your charm is maxed out! It’s n-not fair that you had the special dialogue to insta kill me.”

❥ Ortho Shroud (platonic only obvs)

He is just a little ray of sunshine. He’s the reason why you got so close to Idia in the first place. He’s always on the hunt for any potential friends for him and his brother. You were always sweet to him, doting on him and calling him cute. Ortho honestly thought of you as another sibling (might as well be with how much you hype him up). Ortho would always try to accompany you if he had time, always ‘hinting’ at you to visit his brother (bro is not hinting, straight up just asking). He felt his cpu warm as he processed his happy feelings at watching you and his brother get along, as well as when you always brought Ortho over to join you both. It didn’t take long for you to tell Ortho you loved him, I mean he was just so adorable!

“I’m so happy! I love you too!”

❥ Malleus Draconia

I hope you're ready to become a royal beside him. He shows he cares with grand gestures (which Lila helps make them smaller gestures). Malleus is used to people fearing him, and the fact that you didn’t? Man was gobsmacked. He shared his interests with you, and you shared yours with him. He would research anything you said that he didn’t understand (it was even better if you were the one teaching him). If you thought your affection was spilling over, Malleus’ was flooding. It turned into him giving you fine jewelry, clothing, flowers, food, you want it, it's yours. He cared for you greatly, and he was unsure how else to show his affection. You gave him a hug? He’d hug you now as a greeting. One time you booped his nose and he went cross eyed following your finger. You’d almost spilled your guts then (I’m surprised you didn’t cus that shit’s adorable). You always confused him with your cute forms of affection, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It seemed impossible for you to keep in your love any longer on a bright, moonlit night. As you stared into the night sky, you spilled those three little words that unknowingly sealed your fate. Malleus felt his heart be set aflame, eyes taking you in. It was then that he finally thought of a perfect ring for you.

“I love you as well, child of man. More than you could ever imagine.”

❥ Lilia Vanrouge

As silly and carefree as he was, Lilia wasn’t ready to love again. He had his family, and that was all he cared for. So when he found himself messing with you more, missing when you weren’t around, wanting to cook for you (rip #3), he felt scared. Love never went well for him, it was almost like he was cursed, and those he cared for were ripped away from him. Yet you were so sweet, trying his food and trying to give him pointers on how he could improve. The cute scared face you made when he popped out of nowhere. Gosh you made it so easy to love, it was honestly unfair. He was supposed to be the cute one! You can’t go stealing his title! You also found it a struggle to love Lilia. You knew he was older than time itself (💀), and honestly you felt a bit weird for falling for him. I mean, you were so much younger, and he was a fae. It just seemed like a lot, so you kept your feelings to yourself. That was until one night, Lilia was tucking you in since you fell asleep on him, and you muttered those cursed words as you drifted off. He actually avoided you for a few weeks after that, and you felt embarrassed that you slipped. It wasn’t until he could no longer avoid you, missing you too much and having thought it through enough.

“I hope you understand the weight of your words, after all, us fae stay with our partner for life.”

❥ Silver Vanrouge

He is so easy to get along with. He’s always looking out for you, offering you snacks when you're hungry and handing you water when you haven’t drank any yet. While he does find himself dozing off a lot, he appreciates when you try to poke him awake or go over the material he slept through. No one even questions your status, they just assume you're together with how lovey dovey you both act. He’s fallen asleep on your shoulder more times than he can count, his soft hair tickling your neck. He’d apologize when waking up, but you were too entranced by not only his beauty but the cute animals that now surrounded you both. Not to mention the way your heart would pitter patter as he would promise to defend you, his shining eyes showing complete seriousness. You had whispered your love for him when he was sleeping, gently playing with his hair. You thought he wouldn’t hear, but boy were you wrong. His soft eyes blinked open sleepily, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Am I dreaming? I hope I’m not, because I love you too.”

❥ Sebek Zigvolt

Another tsundere ass. He gets overwhelmed by his feelings for you so often I’m surprised your eardrums aren’t permanently damaged from his constant yelling. It was confusing for him because the only other person he felt a somewhat similar feeling towards was Malleus Draconia, and you were nowhere near the level of the future king of Briar Valley. He’d take his strange feelings out on you, inadvertently pushing you away. Thank the sevens for Lilia (or not) because the bat fae would always have something to say about Sebek when he’d see you. “Have you heard of how brave Sebek was?” “Have you seen how cute he is when his face turns red?” Thankfully, Sebek got used to the pitter patter he felt when you smiled at him, no longer scolding you for…smiling? Another one that you learn tends to project. He’s degrading you for being human? Well he’s half human too, so he probably feels the same about himself more than you. Which causes you to try and compliment him more…which leads to him shouting, cycle repeats. I hope you brought ear plugs, cus the moment you spilled your guts, the soft atmosphere turned harsh. His face lit up red as his shoulders rose to his ears, be prepared for a flustered, shouting croc.

“C-cease your tempting words human! I-I only have eyes for Waka-sama! I have no time for foolish endeavors that will ruin my position! W-wait, don’t l-leave! I n-never said I didn’t f-feel the s-same!”

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sixosix · 1 year ago

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wanderer can fly; you cannot. he makes it his problem.

“What? Giving up already?”

“Shut—” heaving, you barely have the energy to flip him off, “shut the fuck up. Fuck off.”

Wanderer chuckles, all low and mean, as if his entire purpose in life is to ridicule you. He continues ascending overhead, moving and looking like an angel, but the words that come out of his mouth are far from angelic. “Careful, now. I know you overestimate yourself, but I won’t save you if you continue to scale a mountain with one hand.”

“Stop agitating me on purpose then!” You nearly slip from the intensity of your yell, but thankfully, it isn’t your time yet.

“How can I? You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Grumbling, you focus back on the mountain. Cute when mad. He must think he’s goddamn adorable, then.

You’re starting to lose sight of dents or protruding surfaces to get a hold of, and the mountain is getting steeper. You curse under your breath. If only you had Geo or Dendro—that’d help a lot much more. Maybe even Anemo, but that would be admitting defeat to the man who’s currently watching you intently.

Wanderer scoffs when your breath hitches, the surface you’re holding onto crumbling. He descends until you’re eye level. “Idiot, I told you that it’d be safer if we didn’t climb this all the way.”

“I know my limit.” Maybe. You may or may not have gotten a little over-competitive and jumped a few times, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Not more than I do,” he says.

“Don’t say it like that, weirdo.” You appraise the mountain overhead and, with a sunken stomach, realize that he’s right. There’s still a long way to go, and it’s a long fall back.

“Damn,” you say. You turn to Wanderer and blink up at him with wide eyes, hoping he would take the hint without having to say it outright.

Wanderer sighs, holding out his arms. “Jump.”

“Are you serious?”

“I won’t let you fall—of course I’m fucking serious.”

You grit your teeth, wondering if it’s easier to humiliate yourself and jump into his arms or to let gravity do its work.

“Hey,” Wanderer says, gliding closer and hovering an arm behind your waist. “No stupid ideas. Just jump and hold onto me.”

It’s always unsettling when Wanderer is not acting all bratty, like you’re not quite sure if you should goad him back to being mean or watch him bristle when you point it out. It’s been happening too often recently. That must be saying something about him if his soft moments are scarier than his jabs.

Wordlessly, you reach out for his shoulder with one hand and hold back a yelp when the lack of balance causes you to slip. You hold on tight around his neck, eyes wide and heart jittery. Wanderer secures his arms, moving in one swift motion. Before you even know it, he has one arm on your back and the other under your knees.

“How convenient it must be to have a ride as your companion,” Wanderer mutters in amusement at your relieved face.

“Yeah. That’s why I keep you around,” you say as he glides upward, barely straining from your weight. He looks as unaffected as ever.

He looks as infuriatingly and devastatingly beautiful as ever.

“Ha,” his smile is all sharp, “and not because you have a little crush on me?”

“You follow me around because you do. Don’t get it twisted.”

He snorts, tipping on something a little more genuine. You wisely decide to stop ogling at his face and enjoy the view of the sky instead. The blue of his clothes and the shade of his eyes are much prettier, but you’d rather lose that than start squirming in his arms. Not when he’s carrying you bridal style and all.

Finally, he descends, hardly disturbing the grass with his grace. He sets you down, arms crossed, as you pat yourself off from dirt and stuff.

“Well?”

You eye him warily. “What do you want?”

“Some semblance of manners will do,” he says, then leans close as if he’s baring his face for you. He’s been less and less subtle recently, too.

Nonetheless, you find yourself smiling. The things he’d do just to get a kiss—it nearly makes you laugh out loud. But then he’d start getting all irritated like a cat, and you much prefer when he’s sweet like this. Sweet in his very Wanderer way, you mean.

You kiss him on the cheek. He puffs up like some proud peacock. He calls you adorable all the time, but he’s the one who’s acting like this. It’s no wonder you keep him around.

#genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin impact x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin drabble #scaramouche drabble #wanderer fluff #genshin impact

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shegetsburned · 7 months ago

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❝ a man of honor ❞ w. kento nanami 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest reader. this author finds herself bearing the most curious of news, for it isn’t without surprise that the viscount nanami has caused ruckus amongst the young ladies of the ton, upon his arrival. gracing us with his presence, he has not yet announced himself eligible for this social season and, i believe, does not intend to do so. but doesn’t love find itself in the most peculiar of places when one least expects it? • — a/n. let’s just say that bridgerton has, yet again, a hold on me, also, i am in no way an historian nor a perfect writer but i do hope y’all can enjoy this different little piece.

.nsfw.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who, despite himself, had found the need to return to london for a matter of affair and is set on departing as unbothered by the social season as he was when he first arrived.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who has never taken his social standing lightly and knows he’ll be the object of many desires considering his status as a seven and twenty years old unmarried man. described as a man of honour, suited for the finest lady, but buried in his work and duties.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who attends most balls, making quick appearances here and there and avoiding hungry mamas at all costs, partially hiding in the gardens or engaging in business conversations with other suitors, always eager to return to his chamber. that was until he found the most beautiful excuse to not participate in any courting competition and declare himself ineligible to the ton. you.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who had found you hiding in the very same place he was, that night. a very debutante, who didn’t feel yet a need to marry. you had approached him in need of advice, not in need of a husband. you knew who he was but had no intention nor expectation for any kind of courteous exchange. you just wanted to know how he was successfully avoiding many of his greatest admirers without breaking a sweat.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who did not give much thought to the both of you talking at first, it was easy and the conversation never felt forced. you did feel like a breath of fresh air. you had attracted attention amongst the men of ton quite easily with your gorgeous smile and attentive gaze, which kento had immediately noticed but when you felt like he was really listening to the words you uttered, you became quite acquainted to the viscount’s presence.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami whom you had invited for dinner with your family and was confirmed to be quite the gentleman everyone said he was. well, at least, that’s how he appeared before your family. from across the table, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. the way you parted your lips to eat or placed your mouth so carefully around the gorgeous glass to drink hypnotized him. your warm smile and laughter were music to his ears, therefore most of his attention was directed towards you.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami whose thoughts becomes dreams in a matter of weeks. your body draws itself in his head. every time you graze his shoulder with yours, his heart flutters. he’s almost ashamed to admit that he’d rather sleep than awaken alone in his bed when he’s been having the most indecent dreams about the gorgeous debutante he’s unable to have. your words resonate in his sleep until they become pleads and moans he wishes to hear.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who despite his title, his honor and even his words, became aware of the fact that he wanted much more than being friends with you. although he didn’t want to burden you with his occupied life, he couldn’t help but boil when one curious man came to your encounter, asking for a dance. you weren’t a fool and quickly noticed the viscount’s name written all over your dancing card moments later. you did wonder how it would look to the eyes of everyone else, but he surely didn’t care.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who has privatized your company not only by dancing with you all night during the ball but also by inviting you to his estate in london. it wasn’t long before you realized how occupied he was but also how he tried his best to escape your chaperone and have you all to himself in his bureau.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who loathes the thought of not having you close to him. he had offered no ring nor promises, yet here he was, teaching everything your mama hadn’t. taking away every ounce of purity you once displayed to every other eligible suitor with his careful hands. you could still feel his lips along your neck and his hold around your waist hours after the act.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who truly believes he is a man of honour, even with your legs parted for his hand to explore your most sensitive places with your naked back against the walls of the library of his estate. the sound you make, he wished no other men to hear when it graced his ears, hurrying his movements and developing the most intense of needs. he trailed your back ever so gently to detach and remove your gown with such delicacy it made your whole body shudder.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who, despite engaging in such shameful activities, roams around you, just as before. having eyes only for you and ignoring every little distraction that came his way. the rest of the ton surely did wonder how the most anticipated pairing of the season will officially come to be. many questions lingers in one’s mind when two individuals such as yourselves spend so much time together. had he purposely made you wait to attract the other suitors’ attention and find you as desirable as he did? had he already compromised your integrity and claimed you for himself in secret? he did fancy himself the gentleman, so why hadn’t the big question been asked already?

surely, you did know it wouldn’t be the last time you’d be able to call him "my lord" and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time he’d be able to look at you in the eyes and call you his lady.

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madamechrissy · 13 days ago

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🎁Baptise in Your Thighs Till it Hurts 🎁

🎁Pairings: Satoru Gojo x Reader x Ryomen Sukuna

🎁Summary- You are broke for Christmas, so you decide to take an offer to strip for some powerful CEO's, what you don't know is these two hand picked you, and now they're fighting over your body for Christmas- PWP there is NO PLOT lol

🎁CW- MDNI- Oral sex (m and f recieving) degradation, dollification lowkey, lots of dirty talk, Sukuna calls reader slut, whore etc- rough sex, threesome, eifel tower, multiple orgasms, p in v sex, multiple creampies, decorating reader w/xmas lights, Satoru whimpering and going feral, Sukuna smacking us around a bit, teensy bit of coke use, they're yandere, competitive sex 🎁WC- 5.1k

Comments and reblogs appreciated if you enjoy this smutfest (I'm shaming my ancestors with this one- (this header too cute for this FILTHY shit fr- this was a gift for hitting 3k followers- ya'll CHOSE thislol<3)

You’re not quite sure how you ended up here, dressed in a slutty christmas mini skirt, with white floof on the bottom, bright red fishnets and a little red top that’s covering almost none of your tits, dancing for a room of CEOs and business men. Handsome, tall, gorgeous fucking CEO’s, when you’re not in fact a stripper, on the night of Christmas Eve.

The offer had been way too good to turn down, you are slam broke after Christmas shopping and bills. There were a few other girls there, some already giving the men lap dances, the two men that are watching you eagerly, however, are Mr. Gojo and Mr. Sukuna, the ones that run this entire sky high building.

Mr. Gojo was towering tall, with shocking white hair and insane blue eyes, smirking as he watched you dance under the red glow of the giant room you all are in, it’s some insanely huge VIP room. Mr. Sukuna sits right by him, an ankle crossed over a knee, smirking at you as well, his shoulders are so broad it’s like that suit has to stretch over him, even his dress shirt is stretched on his strong chest.

He has tattoos decorating his hands, you wonder if they’re everywhere errantly as, they both watch you and murmur to themselves, you get self conscious, you wonder how you even got such an offer for this much money. Surely these men could get whoever they want, and probably experienced girls, you’re just a barista, and you only know them from serving their coffee.

One day one of their assistants came in and offered, so here you are, making more tonight then you would all month. You feel a set of ruby and azure eyes drinking in every inch of your body, as they sit alone on that red sofa, Gojo is sipping some fruity drink, Sukuna, whiskey on the rocks, vastly different, yet they both contain this cocky, rich aura.

“C’mere, sweets.” Gojo murmurs now, crooking two insanely long fingers, as the other women are taking the various men over to different rooms, giggling and running with drinks.

Is this… some sort of sex party!?

You walk over nervously, trying to get used to the insanely high platform heels, when Satoru yanks you on his lap, big hand splaying the smooth expanse of your back, bare in the scanty outfit. “Hello, Mr. Gojo.” You murmur, and he chuckles, hand slipping down to grip your ass as you sit on his thigh.

“You’re so cute. Isn’t she, Ryomen?” Satoru says softly, and Sukuna grins now, slipping a hand up your fishnet clad thighs, you gasp at the sensation.

“More than cute. Fucking sexy.” He snatches you off Satoru’s lap in two seconds, and Satoru huffs.

“Excuse me!? Rude.” Satoru snatches you back up, like you’re some toy, some little doll they’re playing with. “Me and her were talking.”

“I don’t wanna talk.” Sukuna has you back now, straddling him, it’s literally fucking obscene how you’re pressed against him, the only thing under this skirt is a bright red thong.

“Excuse me now? Are you all competing over me?” You ask, Sukuna snorts, gripping your chin roughly, squishing your cheeks.

“Mouthy brat, huh?” You glare, earning his eyebrows arrogantly.

“Ooh, she’s so cute mad, look at that nose scrunching up.” Satoru cooes, coming close and inhaling your hair, exhaling against your neck, tickling you.

“Are you sniffing me?” You demand.

“Oh she smells so good.” Satoru pulls back, grinning at you, and Sukuna turns your face to him roughly.

“Attention on me.” You roll your eyes, and earn his glare.

“I got paid to dance, not to do anything else.” You go to hop up, turning away, for you to get a resounding smack on your ass. You gasp, turning back to the two of them feigning innocence. “Listen, you two can fuck whoever, look at you all.”

They both stand now, Satoru directly in front of you, pressing you back against Sukuna’s hard body, men towering over you, men that smell good, that look good, that feel good. You gulp a bit, trembling now, feeling your nipples perk up, pressing on Satoru’s abdomen, and heat pool in your stomach.

“Sweets, all we want for Christmas is you.” Satoru says softly, leaning down, cupping your face, while Sukuna roughly grips your hips, his hard length already pressing on your back, as his mouth comes to your neck.

“You’re so fucking corny, Satoru, shut the fuck up.”

Satoru glares. “Yeah, fuck you, I’ll keep her to myself.”

“No you won’t. What he means is, we’re having you tonight, brat. We only want you.”

“We have only wanted you. Pretty barista.” Satoru smiles and kisses your lips now, with a lour ‘mwah’ earning Sukuna to turn your face to him, slamming a kiss, brutal and needy.

“You all… um I… mnh!” You cry out when Satoru’s cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and Sukuna’s big rough hands slip around to your tummy, pressing on it, touching you over your panties, moaning.

“Already wet, Satoru. She’s so easy.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m an object. Assholes.” You glare back up at Sukuna, he seems even more pleased, Satoru reaches and touches you now too, making the panties sticky and drippy, as you clench around nothing.

“We’ll pay you double for the night.” Satoru says, and you sigh, shaking your head. “Triple?”

“I won’t fuck for money… I don’t even strip you know. Mnh!” You’re crying out again, head falling back on Sukuna’s strong chest, his starch dress shirt brushing your skin when he bites your neck, hard.

“Then let us keep making you cum all night, pretty.” Satoru’s biting the other side of your neck, your legs wobble so much you think you’ll just fucking collapse.

You feel the music thrumming along with your pounding heart and racing pulse, streaming through your veins, when Satoru’s walking you backwards, and you end up right on Sukuna’s lap. Satoru slides down your panties as Sukuna pulls up your skirt, his other arm wrapping your waist, while Satoru eyes your pussy, moaning while he gathers the slick pooling there.

“Oh my god she’s so fuckin’ pretty.” Satoru cooes, kissing the hood of your clit, you gasp at it, hands pulling on his hair. “Yes baby, pull me.”

Sukuna pulls your thighs apart as they threaten to close, laughing softly in your ear, his hands holding you open as Satoru’s part your lips. “Gotta get you nice and ready for us, brat.”

“Wh-what… I… Gojo!” You scream his name as he swipes his tongue up your slit, all while Sukuna is wrapping a huge tattooed hand around your throat.

“Satoru. While I’m drinking your pussy.” He looks up under snowy lashes at you, tongue dripping with saliva and your arousal. “She’s so yummy.”

Sukuna takes one of your hands, making you touch your puffy clit, then sucking on your finger, groaning out. “Fuck you taste good. Why don’t you cum for us, let’s feel you.”

You weakly whine out as Satoru is licking you again, this time fucking you with his tongue, Sukuna sloppy kisses you, biting your lips until they’re swollen, choking your throat tighter until you can’t breathe. Everything goes fuzzy as his ruby eyes glint, watching you hungrily as he squeezes away your oxygen, and Satoru’s tongue is in your velvety walls.

His nose bumps your clit as the wet muscle fucks you, until you’re screaming out, a hand pulling at his hair and earning his groan, when he flicks his tongue up to swirl your clit, making you cum so hard you nearly pass out. It washes over you in waves, all while Sukuna is controlling your breath, you scream out weakly, gushing wetness all over Satoru’s pretty face.

“Could crush your throat, y’know?” Sukuna whispers in your ear, letting you go as Satoru leans up, glistening from you and kissing you. You eagerly kiss him back, leaning up and crying out as Sukuna plunges two fingers in your slick hole, groaning at how your walls flutter. “Slutty little cunt.”

“Fuck.” Is all you manage, gazing at Satoru’s eyes, and Sukuna scoffs.

“I wanna keep you, I’ll eat you all the time.”

“That’s enough, up brat.” Sukuna taps your hip, Satoru helps you up, unsnapping your little bra, exhaling as your tits are revealed. Sukuna’s in front of you now, however, and Satoru sits, pulling you on him, pecking kisses up your neck as Sukuna’s pink hair is in your fingers, you pull at it and earn his moan. “Go ahead, put me where you want, little slut.”

“Little… you… ah!” He plunges his face against your cunt, devouring you at a pace you can’t stand, Satoru laughs now, turning your face to look into his pretty eyes.

“He’s so rude, I know Sweets. Oh…” You’re grinding on Sukuna’s face, head thrown back as you scream out, Sukuna bites your clit hard, the pain pricking you as Satoru is squeezing your tits. “You trying to outdo me!?”

Sukuna comes up for air, a psychotic look now on his face, he undoes his tie just a bit, before spitting on your clit, you’re gasping now. “I’ll always outdo you.”

“Will not!” Satoru says, but Sukuna plunges two fingers in your cunt, pressing up and down, working them in and out so quickly you’re a drooling mess. “Aww, look at her, so fucked out already.”

“Drooling, stupid pretty face.” You can’t manage a glare when Sukuna is fingering you like this, thick, long, calloused hands, and Satoru is pinching your nipples, kissing you and drinking in your cries, as Sukuna dives back down, one hand running over his cock, straining against his slacks, sucking your clit in his mouth as he’s pumping.

You feel the pressure building and building until your orgasm hits, you’re gushing ridiculously all over Sukuna’s face, wetness pouring on him as he laps it all up, sounds of the squelching wetness and him drinking you loud, even over the music that’s still playing. He sucks and bites each puffy lip, leaning back and smacking your pussy, as Satoru smacks your titties.

“Wh-what the… f-fuck…” You barely are able to think or function, much to their delight it seems.

“She came more for me. Amateur.” Sukuna says, and Satoru snorts, kissing a sticky hot trail up to your ear.

“She likes me better, I’m sweeter.”

“Tch, her cunt likes me better. Time to go take this somewhere else, though, what do you think, brat?”

“I’m no brat, you’re a dick.” You say with a scowl, he just smirks.

“Fuck you’re cute angry.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Satoru has the suit jacket off himself and thrown over your shoulders, bringing you against him.

“See, she likes me more.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, hoisting you up over his shoulders like you’re nothing.

“Excuse me!? Set me down now!” Satoru smacks your ass, you glare at him now. “Really, you too?”

“It’s so bouncy, I’m sorry baby.” He leads you all out into the cold night, where you’re now shivering, until you’re plopped unceremoniously into a limo by Sukuna, laying you on the seat and eyeing your body hungrily, just in a skirt, ripped fishnets and Satoru’s open jacket.

“Fuck you’re pretty.” He murmurs, surprising you for a moment, you feel him hard and heavy over you, making your mind whirl. “My place.”

“No, mine!”

“Mine is closer.” He narrows his eyes up at Satoru, as his big hands slide down to your tits, and he’s bending over, sucking one into his hot mouth, you moan, body arching up against your will.

“You’re hogging her now! Oh fine but get up.” Sukuna sighs, releasing your nipple with a pop, but he just leans over you.

“Open that mouth, little slut.” You shake your head, and Satoru is laughing as Sukuna is opening your mouth for you.

“Told ya, she likes me more, I could ask her.” Sukuna spits in your mouth, you gasp, choking on it, he kisses you messy and sloppy, before getting up, grabbing the liquor bottle and downing a shot.

“Open, pretty.” Satoru says sweetly, but you feel he’s just as devious, though you can’t turn down his pretty eyes for shit. You do as he asks, to Sukuna’s anger, and Satoru spits in your mouth now too, humming as he closes your jaw. “Swallow. Open.” You do as he says. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

“Oh fuck you, Satoru.” Sukuna pops open a ring, you look in confusion as he takes a little line of white powder and snorts it, shaking his head.

“I want some!” Satoru leans up and snorts a line, taking some of the powder now and rubbing it all over your gums, making them numb. You gasp at the sensation, only for Sukuna to take some, spreading your thighs, shoving two fingers in your cunt, making it go numb.

“Oh my… what the…”

“Coke lips times two.” Satoru says with a maniacal laugh, opening his slacks then, gently brushing your hair back. “Why don’t you use them, baby?”

You’re on your knees in the seat, turned as Satoru pulls your hair up, and reveals his long, thick cock, pink tip drooling precum already. You feel your pussy clench around nothing, lips so fucking numb you can’t stand it. You lap some of the precum up, earning his whimper, Sukuna’s back behind you, taking another shot and rubbing your clit in rough circles.

“She’s soaking wet, must love being used.” Sukuna says, you hate it, that he’s right, but you focus on Satoru’s cock now, sucking it in your numb lips, he bucks his hips up as you do, starting to suck him inch by inch, drooling saliva down his length as his precum coats your tongue.

“F-fuck… baby…” Satoru’s shoving your mouth down on him, sliding his length down your throat, you choke on it as that tip hits your uvula, pussy starting to feel so good with the mix of the cocaine, your wetness, and Sukuna’s fingers. “Oh your throat… so tight- ah!”

You hear an unbuckle behind you, pulling up with a pop now, spit dripping in lines, Satoru exhales, kissing you again, before Sukuna has you turned, and you’re faced with his insanely thick cock. It’s as big as Satoru’s if not longer, but it was so much more girthy, you actually gulp, intimidated at how the fuck it’s going to fit, much to his pleased laughter.

You weren’t even sure Gojo would fit, but… that?

“Oh no. I need a shot for this.” You say, Satoru’s snickering and Sukuna strokes his length, grabbing your chin.

“Can’t take it, brat? Too big?”

“Jesus.” He hands you a shot now, you down it quickly, before kneeling back down, starting to lick at the thick reddened tip of him, oozing so much precum it’s ridiculous.

“You can take it, slutty brat.” He huffs, Satoru is running his tip along your soppy folds, exhaling as he watches your mouth slip down Sukuna’s length, you slowly take him bit by bit, feeling him tense and moan, his head falling back.

“Her pussy… oh my god.” Satoru whines out as his tip is running between your lips, teasing your clit and making you jerk, which Sukuna uses as an opportunity to shove your mouth down his cock further, you pull up sputtering.

“Don’t do that, ugh! Dick.”

“Excuse me?” He pulls your face up and smacks it lightly then, Satoru pulls you back against him.

“Don’t smack her pretty face.” Satoru kisses your cheek where it’s stinging, you glare at Sukuna, smacking him right back, making his cock twitch and Satoru snort in laughter as he pulls you back to suck him, fucking up into your mouth.

“She liked it.” Sukuna smacks your ass hard now, and you do like it, you’re moaning all over Satoru’s cock, slobbering on it. “Now get back here.”

“Ask nicely.” You say, and he shakes his head, brows raised as he leans over you.

“Fuck no. Come get this cock down your throat, if you can take it all I’ll make sure to pay you triple.”

“Nope, not wrecking my throat. I like to be able to swallow.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, yanking you back, you’re sucking him down helplessly. “You like it, don’t you, being used?”

You’re whining when Satoru’s stupidly long fingers sink into you. “She’s so ready to get filled.”

The car stops, and you’re wrapped back up in a jacket, this time Satoru has you picked up in his arms, bridal style versus Sukuna’s caveman tactics, as they lead you in an elevator up to Sukuna’s penthouse. You barely register how gorgeous his place is, how sleek and nice, when Sukuna’s yanking Christmas lights down, and Satoru’s sliding a Christmas hat on each of you.

“In the spirit you know.” You blink rapidly, Satoru has slipped off your skirt, eyeing your red fishnets. “Should we keep these on?”

“Yes but take off her heels, I feel she’ll try to kick me.” You giggle, earning both of their sardonic looks, and you then quiet. Satoru bends down, taking off your heels, as you stare at the lights Sukuna is holding in his hands.

“Sukuna… what the hell are those for?” Sukuna begins to wrap them under your tits, and soon Satoru and Sukuna are decorating you like some fucking tree, Satoru is wrapping one of your legs and literally giggling, and Sukuna one of your arms, the lights are glittering and glowing against your skin. “What the fuck, how coked out are you two?”

“Very.” They answer together, Satoru’s eyeing your tits hungrily, the rope of lights sits under and above them, pronouncing them beautifully, the santa hat tipping over his white hair just so when he smacks kisses on them.

“Me first.” Satoru says suddenly, and he’s carrying you over to the bed now, some insanely huge and fancy four post bed, with a beautiful floor to ceiling window outlooking the city.

“She’ll have to loosen up for me anyway.”

“Oh whatever.” You’re on your hands and knees now, the lights pressing into your flesh, Satoru’s burying his face against your pussy again, as Sukuna’s undressing, revealing a muscular, ripped body covered in black tattoos. He’s so sexy your mouth goes dry, much to the asshole’s pleasure.

“Cat got your tongue, brat?” He raises a brow, so cocky.

“Nope.” But you eagerly grab at his released cock, stroking him up and down, tongue flicking over the veins. Sukuna moans, head falling back, while you suck as much of him as you can.

“That’s it, she’s finally being a good girl.” Sukuna muses, Satoru’s got your clit in his mouth, making you so close you’re about to cum again, before he’s now lining his cock up with your little hole.

“Ready, sweets?” He asks, you turn back and look at him with lidded eyes, his lean, chiseled body, like made of marble.

“Y-yes.”

He smacks his tip on your cunt over and over. “And what do we say?”

“Please, Satoru- ah!” Satoru sinks his cock inside you in one long stroke, so long he bottoms out and hits your cervix, you scream out, opening your mouth for Sukuna’s thick ass dick to slam back in your mouth.

“F-fuck she feels s’good… she’s so tight.” Satoru whines, fucking into you, hands grabbing your bare hips, further pressing the little led bulbs and wires into your skin, you’re cumming all over him so quick it’s stupid. “So easy, huh? Just getting started baby.”

Satoru’s sweet boy act is essentially ended, he goes feral as he fucks into you, his heavy balls smacking your clit, you hear the noise of his skin smacking yours, and you gulping Sukuna’s cock as much as you can. “Look at me, now.”

You obey him, this random stranger, his voice commanding as he cups your face, fucking your throat as Satoru fucks your pussy. You’re so filled as they pull and push you between them both, choking you and stuffing you so full. Sukuna’s eyes are dilated to the point they look black, and Satoru’s now rolling his hips just so, forcing your eyes to roll back in your skull at how good it feels.

“Fuck she’s tryna milk me.” He whines out, leaning over you, you feel drips of his sweat on your bare skin when he’s bending over you completely, and your walls are gripping him like a vise. “Baby you’re sucking him s’good, look at you.”

“Perfect, pretty little whore.” Sukuna agrees, Satoru’s pulling your hair now, yanking you off Sukuna, pulling you onto your knees and fucking up into you, you scream out, while Sukuna comes and smacks your face again, each cheek, sharply hurting. “Admit you like it.”

“Oh f-fuck off… I like Satoru better.” Sukuna’s eyebrows go low, canines showing as he grins, finger pressing against your clit, forcing you to cum again all over Satoru’s cock.

“Knew she liked m-me more. Saw her first.” Satoru kisses you now, licking up Sukuna’s precum right off your lips, as you register his words, weakly shaking, your body trying to register all the pleasure it’s given.

“Saw me first?” You mumble, but now Sukuna has pulled you off Satoru, bending you over the bed, your feet are just dangling his bed is so fucking tall, and now Satoru’s cock is back in your face, he’s brushing your hair back sweetly. “No… what do you mean saw me first.”

“I saw you first, Satoru’s just the one that had the idea before me.” Sukuna’s thwacking his heavy cock on your ass, groaning as he pulls your thighs apart, fingers trailing down the ropes of lights coming off your left thigh, wrapping it back on. “Look at your slutty cunt, so cock thirsty, beat up already”

“Your pussy is pretty.” Satoru says with a smile, gasping as your tongue runs back up his pretty cock. “Mmm, taste how sweet you are?”

“Bring her roses too, simp. Oh my… fuck never mind- ah- don’t… blame you… fuck…”

“Ah!” Your back arches as you let out a muffled cry.

Sukuna’s groaning as he sinks inside your eager cunt, luckily Satoru stretched you some, because taking him is too much, you’re bucking your hips damn near fleeing, he grunts and drags them back. “Oh don’t run, brat.”

“You can take him, baby.” Satoru’s shoving his cock back up inside your mouth now, and tears prick your eyes as he gags you, and Sukuna’s sliding his cock even deeper, burning and stretching your skin.

“Your cunt is perfect. Fuck you’re not leaving.”

“Excuse-ah!” You go to say something, but Sukuna’s sinking even deeper, meanly bullying his way through your walls until he stuffs you so full, you’re screaming around Satoru’s length, Sukuna’s pressing your head down further, and Satoru is moaning and whimpering, cock twitching in your mouth.

“Oh, make her do it again, fuck… and I want her at my place.” You’re deep throating Satoru as Sukuna moves, and he fucks you hard, brutal, but it’s so goddamn good you can’t stand it. You’re whining as you look up at pretty blue eyes, feeling Satoru’s long fingers curl around your throat.

“Not a chance. Cunt is made for me.” Sukuna huffs, slamming you harder, pulling your hair and pulling you off Satoru, in some insane game they’re playing with you. Satoru taps your open mouth with his cock over and over, you whine out as his tip is rubbing your spot, making you see stars. “Oh she’s close again, ha!” He slams his cock so deep you feel like you’re split apart.

“You’re too rough with her. Tell him you like me more.” Sukuna fucks into you now, hammering his cock so fast you scream, unable to do anything but drool, dazed and stupid. “Sukuna let her talk.”

“Need to cum inside her, fuck, brat has the best pussy.”

“N-not a brat.” You manage to whisper, they both laugh at your attempt.

“She’s so cute, ugh.” Satoru pinches your cheeks now, before you know it Satoru is on his back and you’re riding him, or trying to, he’s so monstrous you’re basically shaking and trying to fuck half his cock, as Sukuna’s behind you, slipping two fingers up your little ass hole, you start gushing and throbbing around Satoru’s cock.

“Get the lights off me.” You mumble weakly, and they both ignore you, your hands are braced on Satoru’s chest, he looks at you with lust filled blue eyes, biting his full lower lip and pressing his fingers into your pelvis, when Sukuna picks you up, shoving his cock in your pussy instead, slamming into you, before putting you back on Satoru’s cock again.

Sukuna’s hand wraps back around your throat as you ride Satoru’s cock weakly, Satoru’s hitting that spot so deep, you’re hoarsely crying out now, shaking as you cling to both of them. “Can you take us both at once?”

“No way.”

“In the ass-”

“No way!” Satoru pouts up at you.

“Baby I wanna fuck your ass so bad though.”

“Uh-uh. And certainly not you.” You scowl back at Sukuna, who tightens his hand with a laugh.

“I’m cumming inside you first then.” Sukuna lifts you, they both are throwing you around like some little fucking rag doll, Satoru’s stroking his cock as Sukuna has you on your back, pressing your thighs up high, the ropes of the lights burning, you cry out, and he looks down at your tummy, grinning. “God look at you, fucked out little slut.”

You’re gasping when Sukuna leans low, his heavy weight on you as he slides your thighs so high, one over his shoulder, arch of your foot against his chest, making him so much deeper. You see the huge bulge move inside your tummy, making you heat up, cheeks furiously hot as you’re soaking his length.

“Can you take two loads baby?” Satoru asks, laying next to you now, jerking his cock, you weakly nod, earning his kiss, before Sukuna’s got your mouth again.

“Gonna fill you so full, gonna drip us for days, then fill you again. Slutty brat, want it huh?” You nod again, because you’re fucked too stupid to argue, and when Sukuna shoves so deep you’re cumming again, milking his cock for all his sticky white ropes of cum, drooling out of your hole now, down his cock. “Fuck… fuck… you…”

He kisses you, oddly sweet for pounding you full as you’re roped in Christmas lights, his santa hat falling to the side finally, pushing more and more cum inside you, exhaling and finally getting just a tiny bit less hard. You’re spasming, orgasm washing through your wrecked body and mind. Sukuna kisses down your neck, brushing your hair back and looking at you.

“Gonna knock you the fuck up, hah.” You gasp, eyes widening, making him grin like a psycho again.

“No, she’ll have my babies thank you.” Satoru’s on you next, shoving his cock inside you, you’re already dripping Sukuna’s cum as he does, it’s so filthy and nasty, the wet sounds Satoru’s cock makes, as he’s on top of you, and watching his own bulge in your tummy, now grinning like a psycho himself. “Oh fuck, feel me?”

“Everywhere.” You murmur weakly, because you do, and your words make him moan out, slamming your thighs up in a mating press, you’re folded in half as he fucks out Sukuna’s cum and yours.

“Gonna get his all out before I fill you with mine. I’ll cum even more. Fill you s’good pretty girl.” Satoru’s eyes are so bright blue it’s impossible to look at, but your own eyes are slamming shut as the nth orgasm hits, you’re covered in goosebumps as Sukuna watches you all, his cock still heavy and semi hard, in fact it’s getting hard again already.

You’re clinging to the sheets under you weakly, Satoru’s pumping his hips, you’re so wet your cunt greedily sucks him up, Satoru’s long fingers press deeply against your calves as he rails you, slowing finally, hips stuttering, you start feeling him thicken so deep. He’s grabbing your face with both hands now, whining into your mouth as he fills you full of cum.

Your second load pumped is even more cum than Sukuna, he’s stuttering his hips as he lets out breathy cries, you’re shaking as he shoves his cum so deep, against your cervix, pumping it more and more. You feel like you’re going to pass out when he’s finally done, you feel too full, feel it in your stomach, and soon Sukuna is on one side, Satoru on the other, untangling you.

They pull off the lights and are brushing their fingertips up and down your skin, covered in lines and forming bruises. Satoru’s gently kissing them, and Sukuna is humming with pleasure as he presses against the divots in your soft skin. You’re struggling to get a coherent thought to work in your fucked out brain when Sukuna stands now.

“Shower, brat?” He asks, and you exhale, nodding.

“Yeah but I can’t stand up.” You earn two big ass grins, Sukuna picks you up and carries you, Satoru’s firm ass is jiggling just a bit as he runs over to the bathroom, starting the hot spray.

“Weak and pathetic.” Sukuna says, with a tsk, you glare up at him again, as he takes off the santa hat that somehow stayed on your head, you have absolutely no clue how so. “But so fucking pretty like this.”

“So pretty.” Satoru turns you to him, kissing you deeply, you limply fall against him, body still shaking, cum dripping out from both of them, sticky on your thighs, you feel fucking boneless now. “I’ll wash your hair, sweets.”

“Mmhm.” Is all you manage, now the three of you are in the huge tiled stand up shower, Sukuna closes the glass, entrapping you all in the steamy hot spray, it beats down on your body, making your aches ease as the scalding water hits.

“And you’ll wash my hair, brat.” Sukuna says, you snort.

“You’re too tall.” He gets on his knees, Satoru’s cock is pressing on your back as he massages your scalp, kissing down your neck, and Sukuna is staring up at your bare cunt, all puffy from how much it’s been through. You gasp when he kisses it.

“Merry Christmas to me.” He murmurs, lapping at you again, Satoru is biting your neck and wrapping his arms around you.

“Our little present.” Satoru smacks little mwahs of kisses, big hands gripping your tits. “You’re so on the naughty list now.”

Sukuna laughs against you. “You’re an idiot, Satoru.”

Thank you all again for 3k, now I'm going to... take a shower after editing this.

#gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #gojo smut #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #satoru x you #sukuna x you #jjk men x reader #jjk men x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #smutfest #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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girlgenius1111 · 8 months ago

Text

hallmarks of sisterhood

putellas!reader. r mediates a fight between her sisters. they don't realize they're tearing her apart in the process. at least, not until they ruin an important night for her. can they make it up to her? fluff & angst.

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Being significantly younger than your sisters, you were the true baby of the family, and were treated as such. You were already a pretty sensitive person, and the overprotective tendencies of the entire family only increased this. You were quite different from both your sisters. Alba was an extrovert, always talking, always laughing, never thinking too hard about anything. Alexia was quieter in public, but always loud at home in an attempt to match Alba’s energy. The competitive gene only seemed to skip you, and you hated conflict. Any type of it. You didn’t like yelling, you didn’t like arguments, and you couldn’t stand when people were mad at you.

It made sense then, that you’d always been the mitigator between your sisters. They were always fighting growing up, and it took a very small you to break up the fights that the teenage versions of them would get into, often shoving your small body in between theirs and singing a song so loudly they had no choice but to stop arguing. If the singing didn’t work, then you’d cry, and that always worked.

As you got older, your role changed slightly. You were still the mitigator, but more because you were logical and smart and both of them could normally trust you to be objective. You didn’t really enjoy it, but you hated it more when they weren’t speaking to each other, so you did what you could to resolve their fights easily.

All of this considered, you were not surprised to catch yourself in an argument between them yet again. This one wasn’t super similar to the others, though, in that it was much more emotionally charged. Both Alexia and Alba seemed angrier at each other than normal, and you didn’t know why. Still, you tried to fix it, as best you could.

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“I cannot believe you, Alba.” Alexia sighed, shaking her head at her other sister.

“Don’t try to guilt trip me, Ale, this isn’t my fault. I told you before there was a chance I’d have to go to this conference.” Alba shot back.

“You don’t have to go, you are choosing to go. So you can hook up with that coworker you're seeing.”

Alba flushed red with anger.

“Let’s calm down, guys,” you began, shifting uncomfortably in your seat in the corner of the sectional. Neither girl paid you any mind.

“I am going for work, Alexia, I wouldn’t sleep with anyone at a work conference.”

“Oh, yes of course, you’re so above that. You are notorious for not hooking up with people in inappropriate situations Alba, how could I forget. It was only 4 of my teammates you slept with? And how many of my other friends?”

“You are such a-”

“Stop.” You cut in. “Alexia, that was mean. Alba, she’s just disappointed because she was looking forward to spending time with everyone.” You cut in, trying to cool the rising temperature of the room.

“No, I am disappointed because we made a commitment to do this for Mami and now she’s backing out. Like always.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Alba scoffed.

“The last trip to Ibiza. Mother’s day last year. My 25th birthday,” Alexia began to list, counting the events off on her fingers rather condescending.

“Guys, please calm down.” You attempted.

“Will you ever get over me missing your 25th birthday? Or are you going to have it engraved on your tombstone? ‘My sister missed my birthday once and I never shut up about it.’” Alba yelled, getting to her feet and walking closer to where Alexia was sitting at the kitchen counter.

When Alexia rose to meet her, you stood nervously, too, moving a bit closer. “Why don’t we all stay seated?” You tried.

Both of them continued to ignore you, as if you weren’t even there. “That is not the point, Alba.”

“No, Ale, the point is that only your career is important. Everyone has to drop everything for football, but what I do doesn’t matter, and I have to bend over backwards to make things work with your insane schedule. The world doesn’t revolve around you, Alexia.”

“Oh my god, Alba. You are such a bitch.” Alexia sighed, rolling her eyes in a way she knew would make the younger girl furious.

“You are the bitch, Alexia. A selfish, bossy, mean bitch,” Alba yelled, crossing her arms and taking a step closer to the older girl.

“Alba, I swear to god,” Alexia threw back, the volume of her voice making you flinch. You stepped in between them, forcing them to both back up a bit.

“Please stop shouting.” You pleaded, looking between them. Both of them turned to you, annoyed.

“Go somewhere else if it’s bothering you, pequeña! Adults argue. Grow up.” Alexia yelled, sending a glare your way. You stopped back, blinking away tears, looking incredibly hurt. Alexia sighed. “Sorry, nena, I didn’t mean-”

It was too late, though, you were pushing past her towards the door of her house. “No, whatever. I’ll go. Solve your argument by yourselves for once.” You snapped.

“Nice job, Ale, you made the el bebe cry.” Alba said mockingly.

“Shut your mouth, Alba. Pequeña, come back,” Alexia called, but the door was already slamming shut behind you.

You wiped at your eyes furiously, getting into your car. You’d always hated how sensitive you were, how anyone raising their voice at you made you cry. You couldn’t argue, couldn’t disagree without dissolving into tears. Normally, angry tears. You’d always been like this, and your sisters often made fun of it, but were aware of the fact that you hated yelling, and tried to avoid doing so. Even when they were fighting with each other. Today got too out of control, though, both of them taking this specific issue very seriously.

They’d have to figure it out themselves, this time. You were done with this. They knew how you felt about conflict, and yet they always put you in the middle. It was exhausting and hurtful being caught in between them. They were adults, they could solve this argument.

You and Eli didn’t live far from Alexia, and you reached home before you were really ready to. You needed to erase all evidence of your tears from your face before heading inside, because Eli could not know about this. You and your sisters did not tell on each other, for one thing. For another, there was a possibility the trip in question could be rescheduled and you didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

You checked your face in the mirror, took a deep breath, denied Alexia’s phone call, and headed inside, prepared to pretend that nothing was wrong.

------

You got past your mother with very few questions asked, as she was distracted reading over Alexia’s new Nike contracts. Your sister still had Eli read all her contracts, a habit you and Alba teased her about often.

Eli did come knocking, though, only a few hours later, while you were in your room getting some homework done. “Nena?” She called from the hallway, not hearing a response to her knock.

Still, you didn’t say anything, so she pushed the door open, only to find you asleep at your desk, your head resting on a pile of photographs, your computer opened up to photoshop. A black and white photo of your sister at training was pulled up, and Eli quickly averted her eyes, knowing very well she wasn’t supposed to see this particular assignment until you were done.

“Mija,” Eli said, covering her eyes as she heard you stir. “Go to bed, it’s late, and you are exhausted.”

“Do not look, Mami!” You cried, sitting up completely and quickly flipping everything over and shutting your computer.

“I’m not!” Eli replied, laughing at how secretive you were about these photos.

“Okay, everything is away.” You said, standing to give your mother a hug before getting into bed. She squeezed you tight, as she always did, kissing your cheek before letting go.

“Goodnight,” she said, giving you a kind smile.

“Goodnight mami,” you replied, knowing she was smiling because she knew you were about to get back on your computer as soon as she left the room.

“Oh, do you know why your sister’s are fighting? I texted the groupchat with them, and they both replied to me separately.” Eli asked with an eye roll, quite used to your sisters’ antics.

“Something dumb, probably.” You said with an unconvincing laugh. Your mother gave you a weird look, like she didn't believe you, but didn’t push it.

As soon as she was out of the room, you were, in fact, back on your computer, finishing up the final touches on a photo of Alexia. You were really too excited to be preoccupied with your sisters at the moment. You were in school studying photography, and after a recent exhibition at your school, a gallery in Barcelona had reached out and asked you to shoot a series for them to display. They’d given you full creative control, which was an insane amount of trust to put into a 20 year old, and you were determined not to mess it up.

If that meant staying up late making sure every photo was perfect in the next couple days, so be it. You were proud of this work, and that wasn’t really a common feeling for you. You’d grown up in the shadow of your two sisters. Alexia was the best female footballer in the world, and Alba was… Alba. Everyone loved her. Nothing you ever did seemed to really make anyone pay attention, except for your Mami. Eli had always been careful to celebrate your and Alba’s accomplishments, like she celebrated Alexia’s, even if they weren’t of the same magnitude. Your sisters were a bit better than the rest of your family and friends, paying attention to what you did, but it always felt a bit like your mother was making them do so.

This was your chance to do something impressive of your own. Something that everyone could understand, everyone could be impressed by. It was an opportunity you were not about to waste. You didn’t realize the potential that other people had, though, to ruin it for you.

------

The next few days were busy. When you weren’t working on your photos, making sure they were perfectly edited and printed properly, you were worrying about what people would think about them. Or you were trying to pick the perfect outfit for Saturday evening, the opening of the gallery. There wasn’t a ton of time for you to respond to Alexia’s repetitive apologies, or to Alba’s pleading for you to be on her side. It was annoying, really, that during such an important and stressful week, they couldn’t leave you out of their argument.

You finally had enough on Friday, pulling up the groupchat with both of them in it, and sending a rather harsh message. It wasn’t like you to be harsh and snap at them, and you were hoping they would get the message that they’d upset you, and you wanted to be left out of this.

If one of you texts me one more time about this idiotic fight, I am going to tell Mami that it was you two who dented her car, not the neighbor backing into it. I am so tired of being pulled into the middle of this. Both of you apologize to each other for being mean, and get over it.

You hoped that would be the end of it. When your phone buzzed a few minutes later, though, you knew that had been a naive hope.

Alexia had responded first.

It should not be hard to pick a side when I am right, nena.

Alba responded after that.

You always let Alexia get away with things you’d yell at me about. You can both apologize to me when you are ready.

You weren’t really sure how Alba had decided that you’d sided with Alexia, but you certainly were not going to be apologizing to her anytime soon. You left them both on read, figuring they’d make up before the gallery opening tomorrow night.

-------

You were up pretty much the entire night before the gallery. This time, not because anything needed to get done, but because you were nervous. You were thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong. By the time morning rolled around, you slept for maybe a couple hours, and created a decisive list of every bad thing that could happen today.

You actually hadn’t thought of everything, but you wouldn’t know that until later.

You’d passed out just as the sun had started to rise, and Eli came in to wake you up only a few hours later.

“Nena, despierta,” she said softly, setting down a mug of coffee on your nightstand and shaking your shoulder.

You bolted upright in bed, and looked around frantically, startling your mother. “Am I late?!” You gasped, moving to get out of your bed as fast as possible.

“No, no, you aren’t late. It is only 11. Relax, mija, everything is okay.” Eli soothed, gently pushing you back down onto the bed.

You let out a relieved sigh, rubbing at your face with your hands. “Sorry.”

“Did you sleep at all?” Eli asked with a disapproving look.

“Not much. I tried, I swear, I just couldn’t turn my brain off.”

Your mother patted your cheek reassuringly. “You’re almost done, nena. It’s all going to go perfectly.”

You nodded, trying to believe her words. You just had this weird, nagging feeling that something was going to go wrong. There wasn’t time to focus on this feeling, though, no matter how much you wanted to. There was simply too much to be done. Accepting the hug your mother offered, you got up, ready to prepare yourself for the long day ahead.

-------

You didn’t really think anything of it when you didn’t see either of your sisters right away. You were busy greeting other people, family and friends. Some of Alexia’s teammates had made it, and you spent some time taking in the awestruck expression on Mapi’s face when she saw the singular photo of her included.

That was the best part of the whole thing, you decided. Getting to see everyone’s reactions to seeing themselves up on the wall.

The theme was people you loved, in their happy place. The project was joyful and fun, radiating happiness. Looking at the photos made you smile, and you were glad to see that everyone seemed to have the same reaction as they took their time looking at each image.

You had Mapi giggling at something Ingrid had said, a candid taken after a Barça game. Ingrid was smiling back at her, like making her girlfriend laugh was the only thing she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

You had your Mami, sitting in the stands of one of Alexia’s games, looking on with pride all over her face. You had her pinching Alba’s cheek, a fond smile on her face as your sister said something that was, no doubt, ridiculous.

You had your aunts and your uncles around the dinner table, all laughing hysterically.

You had your friends at the beach, all lounging and staring out into the ocean, looking peaceful.

You had your best friend sitting in the driver's seat of her car, singing along passionately to her favorite song.

More than anyone else, though, you had your sisters.

Alexia preparing to take a penalty, determined. Celebrating with her teammates after a goal. Cheekily blowing a kiss to Olga in the stands. Smiling proudly at Vicki after an impressive goal. Proudly wearing the captain’s armband in front of a completely sold out stadium. Leaned against Olga on the couch after a movie night, out cold. She was completely peaceful, with Olga looking down at her adoringly.

You had Alba at the school where she taught. Candids of her face, when one of her students got the answer right, or made her laugh. With her dog, holding him up at the aquarium, eye level with one of the dolphins. You had her watching Alexia play, too, a grin on her face that you were sure she was unaware of. Your favorite of Alba was a photo you’d taken in your Mami’s kitchen, while she’d been baking. Alba was sneaking a taste of the cake batter, and you’d captured her mid-wink, giving the camera a smile while Eli’s back was turned to her.

They hadn’t seen any of these photos; you’d almost gone crazy not showing them, and not giving in to them when they begged to see.

You’d finally managed to break away from a crowd of your friends, having a moment to yourself, when you realized that you still hadn’t seen your sisters yet. Ale’s teammates were here. Some of Alba’s friends were here. The whole family was here. You checked your watch, a frown on your face, seeing that they were both already over a half hour late, which was unlike both of them. It was only when you saw Olga looking up at one of the photos she was pictured in, all by herself, that you really got a sinking feeling in your stomach. She was talking to Irene when you walked over and interrupted, gently pulling Olga away from the conversation.

“Where is Ale? Is she coming late?” You asked, confused by the sad look on Olga’s face.

“No, nena, I’m sorry. She didn’t want to see Alba, so she decided not to come. I tried to convince her to, but she didn’t listen.” Olga said delicately. You looked like you’d been hit across the face, honestly, and Olga wanted nothing more than to march home and drag Alexia over here, but she knew better to try to convince the blonde to do something she had decided she wouldn’t. “She said she texted you?”

You pulled your phone out, taking a deep breath when you saw almost identical texts from both of your sisters.

Can’t make it tonight. I’ll come see it another time. Good luck!

Sorry, hermanita, I can’t come tonight. Love you.

You had been so excited for them to see their pictures. There was a little note up on the wall, too, a statement thanking everyone for coming. In it, you mentioned being excited to allow your sisters to finally see the photos, as they’d been begging to for a while now. And they hadn’t come.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you, your cheeks flushing red. You were angry, too, but you blinked your tears back, looking up at Olga and trying to look more put together than you felt.

“No Alba either.” You said, your voice cracking slightly.

“Oh, nena, I am so sorry.” Olga whispered, pulling you into a tight hug. It was too soft, and too comforting. You pulled away rapidly, shaking your head.

“It’s fine. I don’t care.” You said, cutting the brunette off before she could say anything else. “I have to go talk to someone, thank you for coming, Olga.”

You rushed away from your sister’s girlfriend, focusing on taking deep breaths. You couldn’t be sad, not right now. So many people had come here to celebrate you and your work, and you weren’t going to ruin it. You could be upset later. It was almost excruciating, pretending that you weren’t upset that your sisters hadn't come, but you managed it. You kept up a pretty good façade for the rest of the evening, even when you saw Olga speaking in hushed voices to Irene and Mapi, even when everyone kept asking where Ale and Alba were. You held it together. Because you, unlike them, could pretend that nothing was wrong for the sake of others.

-------

Your mother knew you better than anyone. You should have been thrilled, ecstatic. Everything had gone so well. Your photos had been a hit, the owners of the gallery had been thrilled. She realized neither of her other daughters had shown up, but she assumed they had talked that through with you. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with you, but when you declined going out with some of your friends as the night came to an end, Eli knew something wasn’t right.

She had every intention of letting you come to her, but you weren’t talking. As everyone began to file out of the gallery, saying their final goodbyes, Eli overheard you tell your friends you were going to go home because you were tired. You didn't say a single word to her aside from telling her that you’d see her at home, before you practically fled the building, heading for your car. She didn’t couldn’t imagine what was wrong, never expecting her daughters to have done what they did. Eli didn’t even think of them being a possible reason as to why you were upset. Mapi pulled her aside, though, before she could go after you, an infuriated look on her face.

“Do you know what your daughters have done?” She asked quietly.

Eli frowned. “No. What have they done?”

Mapi shook her head. “They both bailed on tonight over text to pequeña. They are in some stupid fight that they’ve put her in the middle of, and they didn’t want to see each other, so they didn’t come.”

Suddenly, Eli was quite furious at her eldest daughters. There would be hell to pay, she’d make sure of it. How could they be so selfish, and ruin your night like this? You’d been almost beside yourself for weeks about this night, and she knew the people you wanted to impress most were your sisters. And they hadn’t come. Before she yelled at them, though, she needed to go home to you, because she was very sure that you weren’t okay. Your odd behavior made sense, now, and Eli’s heart ached at the thought of you driving all by yourself while you were so upset.

“I will deal with them.” Eli said quietly. “Thank you for telling me, María, and for coming. It meant a lot to her.”

Mapi smiled sympathetically. “Of course. Let me know if you need help kicking some Putellas ass.”

Eli chuckled. “I will.”

She set off to her car after that, ignoring Alexia’s numerous phone calls. Likely, Olga had arrived home and laid into her for not coming, and Alexia was looking to be let off the hook from her Mami that she hadn’t messed up that badly. Eli wouldn’t be doing that.

-------

You didn’t make it far into the house. In your new dress, one that was reminiscent of the dress Alexia had worn to win her first balon d’or, you’d collapsed onto the couch, harsh sobs ripping their way out of your chest. You cried until your makeup ran and your chest hurt. Until your Mami arrived home, rushing through the door, her heart breaking when she saw the state you were in. Eli was by your side instantly, pulling you into her arms. It was rare that a hug from your mother didn’t make you feel better, but this was the case today. You weren’t really sure that anything would help, but you still buried yourself into your Mami’s arms, wishing more than anything that she could fix this for you.

“They didn’t come, Mami,” you sobbed.

“I know, mija, I am so sorry.”

“Am I not more important than their stupid fight?” You asked, looking up at your mother with a devastated expression on your face. “I was so excited for them to see, I just wanted them to be proud of me.”

Eli felt anger fill her at a level she’d never quite felt before. “I am proud of you, cariño, so proud of you. It’s all going to be okay, I promise. Everything is going to be fine.” She soothed, running her hand through your hair, shushing you softly. Her fury would have to wait, until you stopped crying. Eli would always put you first when you needed it, even if your sisters didn’t.

-------

It was late by the time you’d stopped crying and headed up to bed. With a soft goodnight to your Mami, you’d slumped upstairs, barely changing into your pajamas before you collapsed into your bed, absolutely exhausted. Being disappointed was tiring, apparently. And you were more disappointed than you’d ever been in your life.

Downstairs, Eli waited until she heard your door shut before she pulled her phone out, returning one of the 15 missed calls from her eldest daughter. Alexia picked up quickly, her voice dripping with guilt.

“Mami, I-”

“No. Do not try to explain yourself. You and Alba have done a terrible thing, Alexia. I am not sure how you will make it up to your sister, but you will. You will figure out how to fix it, you will apologize, you will mean it.”

“Sí, Mami.” Alexia said, her voice small like when she used to get scolded for kicking the football in the house or holding the tv remote high out of her sisters’ reach.

“I am so disappointed, Alexia. In you and Alba both.”

“I know, Mami.” Alexia replied, blinking hard to fight off her tears. “I’ll fix it, Al and I will fix it.”

“You will. Goodnight, Alexia. I love you.” Eli was furious, but she’d always say it, always make sure her daughters knew how loved they were.

“I love you too Mami,” the blonde choked out, feeling worse about this than she’d ever felt about anything in her entire life.

Eli called Alba next, who was significantly more clueless about the situation. Neither had known the other wasn’t going, but it was beyond your mother how either of her daughters could have underestimated how important to you this night was. Alba was in tears, like Alexia, by the end of the call, also promising her mother she’d fix it.

Eli knew the level of guilt Alexia and Alba must have been feeling at the moment, considering how protective they were of you. They never wanted you to be hurt, but you were. And they were the reason why. As she checked on you, ensuring you were asleep, she knew that her older daughters would go to the ends of the earth to make this up to you.

--------

Alba was sitting on her couch, willing herself to be the bigger person and pick up the phone to call Alexia, when she heard a knock at the door. The brunette knew who was there before she pulled it open, not flinching when her older sister was standing on her front porch.

Alexia had a drink carrier in one hand, and two bags in the other, giving Alba an unreadable look. “Can I come in?”

Alba nodded, stepping aside to let her sister in. The blonde headed for the living room, setting the coffees down, and grabbing hers out of the holder. Alba grabbed the other, noting that it was her favorite coffee, and her favorite breakfast pastry, from her favorite bakery. A bakery Alexia didn’t particularly like, but had clearly stopped at just for Alba.

It was a peace offering. One that Alba took, grabbing the coffee and the pastry, sitting on the couch next to her sister in a much less tense silence. They made up in the way only sister’s could, with no words necessary for either of them to know that the other was sorry for what had been said.

“We fucked up.” Alexia said after a minute, glancing at her sister.

“We really did.” Alba replied.

“We have to fix it.” Alexia declared.

“We really do.” Alba agreed.

“Are you going to keep agreeing with me, or are you going to come up with a solution here?”

“As the one who started the fight that led to us letting our sister down, I think it should be you who solves the problem, Alexia.” Alba retorted, a smirk on her face.

Her sister shook her head, shoving the brunette’s shoulder lightly. “You are supposed to be the smart one, hermana. Get thinking.”

“New car?”

“New house?”

“Can we buy her a country?”

They broke into laughter, the tension completely gone from the room, before they really got brainstorming. They were a good team when they weren’t fighting, and it wasn’t long before they’d come up with something that they hoped would make up for their horrible behavior.

-------

The minute you saw Alexia’s car pull into the driveway from your spot on the couch, you were standing up, prepared to flee the room. You’d known this would happen at some point today, but you weren’t ready to see them. You felt so humiliated and so neglected, you were sure that seeing them would have you in tears, and you didn’t really want to show that emotion in front of them. Not now, not when they were the reason you were so upset.

You knew how important family was to your mother, though, and you knew that if she told you to stay and talk to them, you would. Looking at her cautiously, you took in the wary expression on her face.

“Do you want to hear them out, mija?” Eli asked gently.

“No. I don’t want to see them right now. Please don’t make me.” You begged.

“I won’t make you do anything. Go upstairs, I’ll tell you when they’re gone.” Eli sighed, and with her permission, you practically sprinted up the stairs to your room, closing and locking the door behind you.

Your older sisters walked through the doors to the house like they were afraid of what awaited them inside, and it seems that they should have been. Eli stood from her chair, walking over to them, looking unimpressed at the large present in Alexia’s hands.

“Hola Mami,” Alba greeted softly. They both wanted to make this up to you, of course, but they also hated when their mother was mad at them.

“I do not think that buying her a present is going to fix this.” Eli said pointedly. Alexia and Alba exchanged nervous glances, relaxing slightly when Eli allowed them further into the house. “What is it?”

“It’s the new camera. The brand new canon model that she wanted, with all the extra lenses and storage and stuff.” Alexia said, feeling less and less confident about how she and Alba had chosen to go about this.

“And you think that is enough?” Eli asked bluntly.

“It’s a start.” Alba said, a bit defensively. “We know we messed up, Mami, and we missed the opening night but we can go see it today. Are you not being a little dramatic about this?”

Alexia shot her younger sister a look, knowing exactly how hurt you were, because Olga had returned home from the gallery and told her.

“You did not see her last night. When she realized you weren’t coming? She completely shut down. She talked to everyone she needed to, but I did not see her smile the rest of the night. She rushed out of the building just as the evening ended, and by the time I got home, she was sitting on the couch, sobbing. It was supposed to be her night, and you ruined it.” Eli snapped.

Alexia and Alba both looked appropriately ashamed, their heads dropping, gazes pointed at the floor in an almost identical fashion. They felt guilty, obviously, but Eli wasn’t quite sure they understood that it wasn’t just about them missing your event. It was so much more than that.

“She asked me why she is not more important to both of you than an argument. I do not want to spoil the gallery, but I do not think you understand how embarrassing it was for her to have countless photos of you two up on the wall, when you did not even come.”

Both her daughters’ heads snapped up at this. “Of us?” Alba asked. “The project was of us?”

“It was about her loved ones. You two were featured more than anyone else. She was so excited to see your reactions to the photos.” Eli continued, only making them feel worse.

“Please, Mami, I cannot hear anymore.” Alexia said softly, her heart aching at the thought of how upset you must be at the moment. Every detail that her mother added made it worse. She wasn’t sure she’d ever done anything like this to you before, and the thought that you might not forgive her was filling her with anxiety.

“No, you will hear all of it.” Eli said, shaking her head. “She said to me, ‘I was so excited for them to see, I just wanted them to be proud of me.’”

“We are proud of her, she has to know that.” Alba cut in desperately. Her mother just shook her head.

“She does not. Nothing she ever does feels very important to either of you, because it is always something you have done before. This was something that was her own, and she just wanted to share it with you. Everything your sister does is so that you two will be proud of her, and pay attention to her.”

At this, Alexia stood up from the couch, walking over to the window and putting her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook with silent cries, and neither her mother or her sister were very surprised at the emotional outburst. Alexia was always emotional when it came to you; she remembered the day you’d been born, every milestone in your life. You were your very tough sister’s soft spot.

“Do you think we can fix it?” Alba asked quietly, terrified of her mother’s answer.

With a deep sigh, Eli nodded her head. Alexia turned around hopefully, hanging on to Eli’s every word. “Your baby sister has always been more forgiving than both of you. She is hurt, but she will forgive you. She loves you both too much not to.”

Every word Eli said felt like a bullet to the chest to both of your sisters, something your mother was well aware of. She wasn’t going to sugar coat this. It was silent in the room for several minutes, every member of the family lost in thought. Alexia looked furious with herself, Alba looked like she was close to tears, and Eli just looked disappointed. She’d always trusted your sisters to take care of you when she couldn’t, but she wasn’t so sure she had that confidence in them anymore.

“I have an idea.” Alexia said finally, looking between her mother and her sister hesitantly. They both agreed to what she proposed, though, and it wasn’t long before Eli had pulled out some paper and pens for her daughters. They both sat on the floor around the coffee table and got writing. It was reminiscent of when they’d do their homework in the same spot years ago, sitting on the floor so they could play with you while they finished their assignments.

Now, though, you were painfully absent from the scene in front of your mother, and Eli could only hope that this would work.

-------

Alexia and Alba agreed that only one of them would go upstairs, give you the two pieces of paper, and let you be for the evening. Alexia was desperate to see you, while Alba wasn’t sure she could do so without crying, and she didn’t particularly want to put that on you at the moment. You hated seeing your sisters upset, and she didn’t want to inadvertently guilt you into forgiving her before you were ready. So, Alexia made her way upstairs, agreeing to Eli’s warnings to leave you alone if you wouldn’t let her in.

Her knock on your door was uncharacteristically gentle, and her voice was almost shaky as she announced herself.

“Nena? Can I come in for a minute?”

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door, feeling rather satisfied to see the guilt all over her face.

Alexia stepped into the room, looking so nervous and so unlike herself. She was fidgeting with two pieces of paper in her hands, barely able to bring herself to look you in the eye. “I am so sorry, hermanita. More sorry than I can put into words.” She didn't seem to know what else to say, and you rolled your eyes.

“Do you think that is enough?” You asked.

Alexia shook her head rapidly. “No, I know it isn’t. Alba and I are going to fix this, nena, I promise. Whatever we have to do, whatever it takes. We will make this up to you. There is nothing more important to us than you.”

Your eldest sister could tell you didn’t believe her, the way you looked away from her was a dead giveaway.

“I know you are upset, and that is okay. I just… can I give you a hug, nena? You can still be mad at me and everything. I’d just really like an hermanita hug.” Alexia said vulnerably, tears clouding her vision. She had underestimated how painful it would be to see you so upset with her, but her chest truly ached as she took in the betrayal and disappointment on your face. A few tears fell from her eyes, and it was this bit of emotion that had you nodding your head, stepping forward as Alexia wrapped her arms around you almost painfully tight.

It made you feel better, even though it probably shouldn’t have. Your sister’s hugs always felt warm and safe, and today was no exception. Even though she’d hurt you. It was still Alexia, and she was a hard person to stay mad at. Still, you pulled away before you wanted to, and the blonde cleared her throat, holding out the pieces of paper for you.

“From me and Alba. We will be downstairs, if you want to talk.” Your sister opened and closed her mouth a few times, before shaking her head, mustering a weak smile, and leaving the room. She shut the door behind her, something she never did, always insisting on leaving it open just to bother you.

You opened your sisters’ letters, not quite sure what you would be reading. You weren’t quite angry anymore, just sad. You were never one to hold a grudge, but you weren’t sure how they were going to be able to make this stop hurting.

You underestimate, however, how well your sisters knew you, and combined with the information they had from Eli, they knew just what to say. You read both the letters a few times, tears streaming down your face for what felt like the 12th time that day. This time, though, they were good tears.

Both letters were similar, but very… specific to each of your sisters.

Alexia’s was practically a bullet pointed list, in her messy, big handwriting. There was a mark on the page that looked suspiciously like a teardrop, and Alexia talked about her emotions in the letter the way she always did in real life; saying as little as possible, while still somehow saying a whole lot.

Alba’s was a real letter, paragraph after paragraph of neat writing, beautifully articulating what she wanted to say to you. It was always a bit surprising to remember how perceptive Alba was. She was a forgetful person, but not when it came to the things that mattered. This was clear in the letter, as she listed small details out that you hadn’t thought she’d noticed.

Both of the letters were an apology. An apology, and a deep dive into how proud of you Alexia and Alba were. They apologized for not making it clear, before going back to when you were a baby, and they watched you walk for the first time. Through the years, they had overlapping and different memories of things you’d done that made them swell with pride. There were things you remembered, and things you didn’t, but they made you feel special all the same. Alexia and Alba did pay attention, that much was clear. Even if they weren’t always the best at showing it, they paid attention to you.

It did more than a verbal apology could have ever done. It was something tangible, kind, warm and loving. It made you feel loved, and seen. It made you feel like you mattered. You weren’t Alexia, and you weren’t Alba, but you were you, and they felt that to be something much more special.

You tried to hold out a bit longer, you really did, but you were putting the letters down and rushing downstairs before you could really stop yourself.

You passed the kitchen on the way to the living room, where your Mami was preparing dinner, a small, relieved smile on her face. Wishing you had something funny and unbothered to say, you walked into the room, seeing your sisters sitting on the couch, looking pathetically distraught.

“Hola.” You said softly, feeling indescribably happy when both of their faces lit up at the sight of you, and you quickly crossed the room, wedging yourself in between them. They made room for you, as they always did, allowing you to fit easily into your spot squished with Alexia on one side, and Alba on the other.

They each wrapped an arm around you, and both tried to pull you in opposite directions. It was ironic, the way they used you to play a silly game of tug of war. This time, however, they stopped pulling when they realized neither of them would win. Instead, they both wrapped you into a very awkward and suffocating hug, arms wrapped around you from seemingly every direction.

“I love you, nena.” Alexia whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

Alba did the same to your cheek. “I am so sorry, hermanita, and I love you so much,” she whispered.

“I know.” You said softly. “I forgive you.”

And if it had been either of them in your position, it would have taken a lot more. You were the forgiving sister, though, and you’d really just needed proof that your sisters thought that you were as important as you felt them to be.

When Eli came in the room a few minutes later, it was to see the three of you in a rather familiar position; you in the middle, each of your sisters holding on to as much of you as they could, completely content. They’d always like to hold you like that, starting when you were a baby. Alexia would carefully put you on the couch in between them, and put a movie on. They would take turns telling you all the important details your brain was far too small to comprehend, but you didn’t squirm, and you didn’t fuss. You would stay plopped right in between them, one of each of their fingers gripped tight in your hands.

It was a lot different now, because you were all bigger. It looked like an uncomfortable pile of limbs on the couch, but Eli knew you were all as comfortable as you’d ever get.

-------

Neither of your sisters seemed very willing to let you out of their sight anytime soon, which you were sure would grow annoying very fast. For now, though, you enjoyed the attention, especially when Alexia pushed the wrapped box that had been sitting on the table into your hands.

And, you’d already forgiven them before you’d seen the camera they’d bought you, one that you’d been desperately wanting for a while. If you hadn’t forgiven them, though, you would have now. You could be bought, and your sisters were well aware of it. As was your Mami. She rolled her eyes as you stared in awe at the camera, as Alexia and Alba looked on proudly, sharing a discreet fist bump. Personally, Eli thought you’d let them off kind of easy, but she shouldn’t have underestimated you. You were a youngest child, and you knew how to get what you wanted.

“Can we go see your photos after dinner?” Alba asked, not even getting a glance from you, your attention completely zeroed in on the camera in your hands.

“Nope.” You replied. Alexia and Alba looked uneasily at each other, and then at their Mami for guidance, before you spoke again. “Alexia, you are going to clean my room. And Alba, you are going to make me those cookies I like. We can go see the gallery tomorrow.”

Your face was smug, and your mother stifled a laugh as your sisters looked disgruntled at each other. Begrudgingly, though, they both nodded.

“Anything for the princess.” Alexia mumbled, and Alba snickered quietly.

“What was that?” You asked, turning your attention to your sisters. They looked at you in defiance, smirks on both of their faces, not willing to let you completely walk all over them, even if they deserved it.

“You heard me.” Alexia teased. “The baby princess always gets her way.”

“Really, Ale?” You asked calmly, before turning to Eli, your new camera briefly forgotten on the table in front of you. “Mami, do you have any plans in two weekends? I was thinking we could take a trip just the two of-”

Alexia cut you off by rather aggressively throwing herself at you, covering your mouth with her hand. “NO HERMANITA!” The blonde shouted. “Oh, gross, nena, really?” She groaned, pulling her hand away when you licked it. You smiled triumphantly, managing to push away from her a bit.

“You are not a princess, nena. Just a little baby.” Alba chimed in, reaching over from her chair to pinch your cheek in one hand. “Now keep quiet before you ruin the surprise and give Ale a stroke.”

Your mother shook her head, taking pity on her eldest daughter, who looked prepared to explode at the thought of the surprise being ruined. “Do you think I do not know you were planning a trip for the four of us, Alexia? Honey, you asked me several times if I was free that weekend, and reminded me not to make any plans then either. You also asked me for hotel recommendations, and pretended it was for you and Olga. You are a bad liar, mija. I have known for weeks.” Eli laughed.

Alexia frowned, shoving you and Alba both away from her as you both collapsed into giggles, despite the fact that this was entirely her fault, and you and Alba were blameless. She knew there was teasing coming her way, but the smile on your face was well worth it. Order had been restored, and both of your sisters had made promises to themselves, and to each other, to not let their arguments hurt you anymore. You were just happy to have them both there, at home. All four of you together, how it was supposed to be.

-------

it will really always be funny to me that my sister and i do not say the words "i'm sorry" to each other. like we'd both rather die than apologize. she could hit me with her car and i wouldn't want her to apologize because... ew. anyway sometimes having a sister is cool and sometimes its not but i love mine.

everyone applaud me for not splitting this into two parts. seriously i am astounded at myself right now.

hope you all like it :) give me all your thoughts.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #putellas!reader #platonic reader

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rawbin-hsr · 2 months ago

Text

Rating HSR characters in relationships

Title is self-explanatory <3

Characters: Boothill, Dr Ratio, Blade, Aventurine (separately)

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

CW: cursing, mostly fluff and some crack

CW Aventurine's part: toxic dynamics, emotional neglect, jealousy, Aventurine in general

Lmk if there's any warnings I should add!

Had to restrain myself on Dr. Ratio I have soo bad brain worms about him rn he’s all I think about

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Boothill

10/10

DO NOT. AT ME. I PROMISE I’VE THOUGHT THIS THROUGH. I know most people who read that will be like “what the fuck Boothill would NOT be a perfect partner” and that’s where you’re right ! No, he would be an awful partner !

For MOST people.

But see, he wouldn’t be just ANYONE’S partner.

If you’re dating him, it means you’re exactly his type and he’s exactly yours. You wouldn’t date a guy like him if he wasn’t exactly what you wanted. He lays out all his cards on the table right away. Your relationship won’t have the chance to even begin if you’re not head over heels immediately bro 😭😭😭

With most characters I can imagine them in a relationship with a lot of different kinds of people. Like for example yeah I can imagine Aventurine both dating someone more reserved and sweet or someone bold and loud. Or someone like Argenti Lord knows that man could love ANYONE (or anyTHING tbh), but with Boothill there’s just a very narrow range of personalities I can imagine him with. Hence the rating cause he’d only be in one kind of relationship.

You guys are a POWER COUPLE I tell you. It’s SICKENING how much you love each other and how well you fit together. Two peas in a pod. I’m gonna throw up.

You both love the exact same things, you both HATE the exact same things, and you are both equally deranged and insane

The IPC hates to see you coming 💀🙏

You’re constantly in a friendly competition to outdo each other. Who has the higher bounty ? (Usually him) Who can drink most alcohol before blacking out ? (You, surprisingly) Who can kiss the other the most times during this high-speed chase ? (You always tie on this)

He swallows a bullet. You say “I’ll do you one better!” and swallow a knife. You are a human and so he needs to take you to the hospital so you don’t fucking die

(You both think it’s funny afterwards so it’s okay)

Even when you guys “argue” it’s never really that serious. Honestly you both think it’s kind of hot…… you argue in a devious, sexy way……. *smirks mischievously*

Sorry I cannot take him seriously

You match his freak <3

Nobody fucking likes you together. Separately ? Sure people like you. But the moment the two of you are in the same room it’s like you merge into one singular, horrible, annoying entity and NOBODY wants to be around to see it 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏 neither of you have gotten a lecture about how inappropriate pda can be and also the two of you speak total nonsense it’s incomprehensible to everyone else

Considering putting Boothill on my “do not request” list, not because I don’t like him but because even I don’t understand how the two of you would fit together I can’t write it y’all are that weird

Boothill is for the freaks and he is PERFECT FOR THEM !!!

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Dr. Ratio

9/10

Okay I’ll be honest I’m not very caught up on Dr Ratio (I briefly hated him I only recently started liking him again HELP) so forgive me if there is some mischaracterisation in this I’m working on it my view on him isn’t complete yet 🙏🙏

Though Ratio is very ruled by logic, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have emotions. Furthermore, he views these emotions as important. Logic is not inherently opposed to emotions, and in fact, ignoring them would be illogical.

That is to say, yes, he’s an intellectual man. But he also has a high emotional intelligence 😇😇

Like not in the way of knowing how to cope with them. I don’t think he feels many strong emotions regularly (except for annoyance lol), so I think he in fact gets kind of overwhelmed by them around you and never knows how to regulate them properly HELP

But what I meant to say is that, in a relationship, he considers your thoughts and feelings a lot and makes an effort to prioritise them. He does not want for you to be unhappy.

He values you very highly. He takes all your opinions into consideration and treats them with respect.

He loves you a lot it’s actually ridiculous. He frequently gets annoyed at himself for how much he finds himself downright SIMPERING over you.

And like yes Ratio can be very harsh in the way he speaks but I think that 1, his care for people (including the “fools” and “idiots” he seems to scorn so often) shows and it shows even more apparently for people he cares about, and 2 I think he realises it would be inappropriate to be as rude as he usually is to you. You two are in a relationship, you are not some stranger. He cannot go around criticising you constantly, that would not be a healthy dynamic. Meaning he softens his vocabulary for you.

His care for you is very blatantly obvious. In the beginning I think he’s a bit embarrassed to show you affection. He hasn’t ever dated anyone, much less been in a relationship, with anyone before you (I honestly don’t even think he’s had his first kiss 😭😭), so I think his inexperience plays a part in it. But he still shows you as obviously as he can that he loves you, and he doesn’t shy away from vulnerability in private moments.

Bro has researched how to be a good partner trust 🤞

He communicates very clearly with you as often as possible. He hates misunderstandings, and tries to avoid them whenever possible. The two of you are almost always on the same page.

Whenever you argue, he still does not want you to leave the argument feeling unloved. Type to sigh, let his eyes soften and say “I believe it would be best if we both had some time to cool down”, then squeeze your shoulder as he passes you out of the room. Kisses you goodnight before you go to sleep. It’s often easier to talk it out the next day.

The only things bumping him down from a 10/10 for me is the fact that he doesn’t have that much time to spare for time with only you (his schedule is very packed), and the fact that he cannot cope with his OWN emotions 😭 Great with yours because he can logistically figure out how to handle them, terrible with his own because they’re affecting his own mind and he isn’t used to it

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Blade

7/10

Surprisingly high rating for a guy like him but I swear I’ve thought about this ok don’t leave 😔😔😔

I think it takes…. A lot. Like a lot a lot. To break through Blade’s tough outer shell

He hates letting people in so much it’s actually crazy

The closest person he has before he meets you is probably Kafka, and that’s not really by his own choice he would shut her out too if he could 😭😭

(Not to say he isn’t like, calm and polite to people. He’s pretty reserved and just, like, quiet ig usually, he only really gets weird and aggressive when the Mara flares up or he needs to be for a mission. I just mean he isn’t gonna be open and available for basically anyone lol)

It’s mainly difficult to GET INTO a relationship with Blade, but if you do manage it, it turns out a lot sweeter than you’d expect

He’s just a deeply tired man. He is not malicious, he is not unnecessarily cruel. He is worn out and sick of living, of never getting the rest he so desperately craves. He finds some sort of respite in you, and so he treasures you.

He trusts your judgement. He stands by you, no matter what. He’s loyal to a fault once you have him. The worst that could ever happen to him now is losing you. Even when he thinks you’re about to do something stupid (and he always tells you when he thinks it’s stupid), he’ll come with you. Better he’s there to take the hit for you than letting you go alone.

Even with the smaller things, he shows it even more obviously. He cooks you dinner and lunch every day, so you don’t have to. He lets you decorate his apartment, and he never adjusts the things you place in it, even when it clashes horribly with his own style. He lets you drag him along anywhere, whether it be a concert or a park, without complaint.

The main downsides with Blade are that he never, ever, verbally tells you that he loves you. Maybe once during your entire relationship he’ll say it, and probably when you’re on your deathbed, but he usually won’t. Even if you try to pry it out of him.

He can be really mean in the way he says things sometimes, like telling you straight up your ideas are dumb, but it’s always softened by the way he agrees to do whatever you want anyways.

Another frustrating thing is how he cares very little for his own wellbeing. It’s a regular occurrence for him to come home with guts spilling out of his abdomen, and it’s really uncomfortable to see even if you know he can’t die. He can still feel pain, even if he’s learnt to cope with it well. It’s scary to see him so hurt so often.

But you wouldn’t get into a relationship with him if you didn’t already know all this, hence why I rank him so high. He’s a lot better than you expected when you met him, which means you’re effectively in a better relationship than you’d have hoped 😭😭

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Aventurine

4/10 💀💀

I love him so much (my content is mostly Aventurine centric) but holy fuck man,,,

I have never and will never sugarcoat it Aventurine is TOXIC. Like GENUINELY. I wouldn’t say abusive but he can be really cruel. He gets lost in his own head and takes it out on you in ways he doesn’t really mean to. Aventurine is not a good person.

He’s fucked up in all sorts of ways and it’s no surprise it could easily destroy any relationship

Trust issues ? Jealousy issues ? Commitment issues ? Attachment issues ? Insecurity issues ? Mommy, daddy AND sister issues ? Every kind of possible issue you can probably imagine ? Yes on all fronts, bro’s the full issue package 💀

It would take a very special kind of person to endure in a relationship with him (I would not be able to do it if he was real I’ll be so honest)😭

When things are good, they’re really good. He can be so fun and playful and sweet and he loves to spoil you and everything that belongs to him belongs to you. He loves you more than the air he breathes and he’d do anything to make you happy

The issue is, most of the time, things are not in fact good.

I keep mentioning it but his relationships are always such a push and pull. A game of hot and cold. One second he clings to you and begs you to never leave him, and the next he won’t respond to your calls or messages.

Even worse, sometimes he’ll be outright mean in order to push you away, insinuating you’re “holding him down” and that you’re “wasting his time”. You’ll find yourself questioning if he actually does love you, because what sort of person does this to someone they love?

(It keeps him up at night when he treats you badly. He hates doing it, but he needs you to hate him as much as he hates himself.)

Usually he’s a really smart guy. Even when he does stupid things (things like making a purposeless high-risk gamble, playing Russian roulette), he’s fully aware of what he’s doing. (He does it because he kind of hopes he’ll actually die this time.) But with you, he loses all his composure and can’t really think straight.

He feels safe with you, and that scares him. He’s a danger to your safety, and it’s better to push you away, make you hate him, than it is to let himself be happy with you. His life is beyond saving, so all he can do to you if you stay is drag you into his mess. He can’t fix himself, not even for your sake.

He lies to you, he neglects you (sometimes for weeks at a time), he builds up new walls between you constantly, but at the same time he gets insecure and jealous when you hang out with others. Only when you threaten to leave him does he finally start getting his act together, because he realises that now that he’s had you, he couldn’t bear to live without you (even if he knows that’s very selfish of him).

He gets better with time, but I really, really doubt he’ll ever be fully healed. It doesn’t help that his job wouldn’t really allow it, and he can’t leave the IPC through any other means than death.

I originally ranked him as a 3/10 (diabolically low rating I know 💀💀) but I bumped him up one because he will get better. If you stick around long enough, he’d probably make it to a 7/10, but since that would take like over 4 years of being in a relationship with him I felt it would be unfair to rank him much higher 😭😭 At the start he really fucking sucks dude I’m so sorry my condolences

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

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skeltnwrites · 1 month ago

Text

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

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

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

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

── .✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cinderella’s gone missing.”

“Missing?”

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s Penelope dealing with it?”

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

You nod and hand him another sheet.

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

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

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

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

“I know. You’re just– thanks.”

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

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

You grin, largely at the nickname.

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself.

“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”

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

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

“After work then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Penelope.”

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

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

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

“All for you.”

She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm.

“Wanna help me look for your dad?”

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

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

“Steve?”

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course.”

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

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

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

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

“Need help?”

“Yes please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy, are we going now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.”

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

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

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

“So maybe I should climb up to check?”

“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”

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

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

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

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

“No running away!”

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

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

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

You coo.

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

You hum in agreement.

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

“Did you find something?” you ask.

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

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

“I think he’s dead.”

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

“Hiding? Why?”

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

She squints, “For the whole winter?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“How do they do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” you smack his bicep.

Penelope points, “That is not nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like hide and seek?”

“Yeah.”

She considers your words carefully. “But why?”

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

She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?”

You smile back. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

“Can I go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”

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

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

“Did you paint this?”

“Yes, at school.”

“Wow. Did you write this too?”

“Yep. My teacher helped me.”

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

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

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

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

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

She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze.

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

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

“Absolutely. I hope you find her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penelope,” Steve sighs.

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

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

“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was her! I know it was! I saw!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready to go home?”

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

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

“Five more minutes,” she begs.

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

She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cinderella,” she whimpers.

“We’ll look again tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

Her miserable expression doesn’t falter.

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

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

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

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I don’t care, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?”

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

“You can pick three, missy,” he says.

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Four and a half?”

“Three.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pleaseee!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better not be doing my dishes.”

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

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

“What?” Steve smiles.

You huff through your own. “Nothin’.”

“Why are you laughing then?”

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

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

“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”

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

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

“Steve.”

“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite.

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

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

The trill of the phone interrupts.

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

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

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

“Who was it?” you ask.

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna sleep in your room.”

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

She nods against his chin.

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

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

“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll find her, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

“Promise you’ll get some rest too?”

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

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

He shakes his head, “Come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call me when you get home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She considers his invitation before striding into his touch.

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

Cinderella chirps happily.

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

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

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

“Here. Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A high-pitched scream severs the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”

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

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

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

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

“You're very welcome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should head home,” you say.

Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!”

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

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

“Good luck keeping her inside.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s no problem, Steve, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d love to, Steve.”

He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“See you then.”

“See ya.”

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

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

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

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

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

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thegoogoomuckkk · 1 month ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you could do a werewolf Gojo and Geto with a female reader? A smut would be nice if possible but if you have any other ideas I’m down to ready anything!! I hope you have an amazing day/night! 😊

all bark, no bite -> satoru & suguru have been fighting over you for a long time, but maybe finally, they’ll learn how to share

gojo & geto were like brothers. they like the same movies, the same clothes, the same girl. & they fought over everything. you didn’t know if it was a friend thing or a wolf thing; probably just a gojo & geto thing. it was always a competition. who could run faster, who could jump higher, who could fuck you better? & it’s not that you wanted to string either of them along, per se, but how could you possibly choose between one or the other.

you weren’t entirely unfamiliar with hybrids, but not being one yourself, it was hard to say whether their animalistic rivalry was because of that side of them, or if their friendship was just that extreme. you know that they’re good friends, probably smart enough to not let some girl come in between that, but it’s a freudian slip that has you doubting yourself.

they’d been trying to pin you down for weeks. who was better, which one did you want? almost jokingly, you laughed & shrugged & said, “what if I want you both?”

the words had barely left your mouth when you saw their eyes flash with something primal. a low growl rumbled from geto's chest, while gojo's lips curled into a predatory smirk. the air in the room suddenly felt charged, electric. then gojo's lips curled into that infuriating smirk of his. “both, huh? think you can handle us?”

geto circled behind you, his breath hot on your neck. ‘you think you can take us both? together?” they moved in perfect sync, circling you like predators. this was uncharted territory, dangerous & thrilling all at once.

your heart raced as their presence surrounded you, making you feel small & vulnerable, yet strangely exhilarated. you swallowed hard, your mouth dry. "I…I don't know. maybe? that isn’t really what I m-m–”

“aww, c’mon, don’t back down now, sweetheart. can’t say somethin’ like that n’then take it back,” geto purs, slipping a hand up your shirt, nosing at the back of your ear, down your neck, as gojo grips your chin, tilting your head up to his. your breath catches in your throat as gojo's piercing blue eyes lock onto yours. his thumb traces your lower lip, sending shivers down your spine, & you look…scared, prey-like, & gojo’s almost embarrassed to admit how hard that makes him. "we're just getting started," gojo murmurs, his voice low & husky, & geto hums in agreement, hands wandering farther & farther, one of his thumbs hooking the waistband of your pants down slowly & the other pushing at your bra. gojo herding the both of you to the bed.

"don't worry," geto whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "we'll take good care of you." your eyes flicker closed as gojo leans in, his lips barely grazing yours. "just relax," he says softly. "let us make you feel good." & he says it with such determination that you can’t hardly object.

with a gentle tug, he removes your sticky panties, revealing a clear trail of your arousal. as he admires your glistening folds & teases your sensitive clit with his fingers, satoru is positioned in front of you by suguru. completely under suguru's control, satoru follows his every direction without hesitation, but he can’t help sticking his face in your pretty cunt, tongue lapping at your mess, nosing bumping against your clit, whining at how good you taste. suguru guides his fingers back to your dripping entrance & then has satoru suck them clean. satoru moans loudly at the taste of you, clearly enjoying every moment of it.

suguru takes a rough grip of satoru's leaking cock & rubs it against your slick clit, eliciting moans from both of you. he guides satoru's hips & helps him ease into your tight heat. whimpering starts to escape satoru's lips as he struggles to process the overwhelming sensations. but he doesn't tell suguru to stop, so he continues on. you also struggle with the new feeling of being filled by something so large, gripping onto the pillows for dear life. suguru sets a slow pace, guiding satoru in & out of you with his hands. he pauses to let satoru feel you fully before resuming the steady rhythm. your walls clench around him tightly, causing him to cry out & seek comfort in the crook of your neck. despite the tears streaming down his face, it's an incredibly arousing sight for both you & suguru. he encourages satoru to make you feel good too, & he responds by licking your sensitive neck, & you don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, it’s so instinctual for him. you don’t have much room in your head for big thoughts, but faintly you’re surprised that geto isn’t the one fucking you. & yet, he’s still in complete control of the situation.

his hips start moving faster, creating loud wet sounds as your bodies collide with each thrust. suddenly, you let out a cry & tell suguru that you feel strange, like your stomach is aching. he reassures you & urges you to let go.

geto's intense stare traced every curve & movement of your body. he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke. "you're doing so well," he praised, his voice husky, "such a good girl for us." his dirty words only added to the rush of arousal between your legs, causing you to become even more soaked with desire.

your body trembles as you approach the edge, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of satoru inside you & suguru's commanding presence. geto's words push you even closer, his praise igniting something primal within you.

"that's it," geto murmurs encouragingly. "let it all go. show us how good we make you feel.” & you’re sure you’ll never get used to gojo’s knot; it’s not just the overwhelming size, but that way it holds you in place, the loss of all friction, just being entirely full of him & there’s nothing to relieve the immensity of it.

with a cry, you finally tumble over the precipice. waves of pleasure crash over you as your orgasm washes through your body. your walls clench rhythmically around satoru, pulling him deeper. he whimpers against your neck, his hips stuttering as he struggles to hold back his own release.

suguru's hand tangles in satoru's hair, tugging his head back. "not yet," he orders firmly. "make her come again first."

at first, you’d been worried you were driving a wedge between gojo & geto’s friendship, but you can put that worry to rest because clearly, you’re what’s holding them together.

first of all: thank you anon!!! I love getting requests & I actually had something written like this for kinktober & ended up not posting it, so I'm glad I could use it! I hope you're having a great day too!!! <3

secondly: I don't think I have the whole hybrid/omegaverse thing on lock yet, it's just no my strong suit, so I'm sorry if this was not great or if parts of it didn't make sense

third: cuck!geto, sub!gojo.........that's all <3

did you like it? -> here's my masterlist -> want something more? ask me for it

#jjk #jjk smut #satoru gojo #suguru geto #satosugu #satoru smut #gojo smut #suguru smut #geto smut #satosugu smut #wolf!gojo #wolf!geto #hybrid jjk #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader

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oimitocat · 1 month ago

Text

ATEEZ REACTION TO….

….reader having a big dick (established relationship)

ᡴꪫ HONGJOONG…. had no idea what you were being so shy for. he was riled up beyond anything and seeing you be so hesitant for him to go under your waistband was annoying him a bit.

your hand was gripping his wrist even as his fingers dipped under your shorts.

“baby i don’t care if you’re sma-“ his eyes drop when he sees your tent. just the size of it was enough for him to drool. he definitely made sure you got rid of that shyness.

ᡴꪫ SEONGHWA…. is also shy. he found it cute that the two of you were in the same situation- trying to hide from each other and stick to kisses and wandering hands. but let’s be honest, he was aching for more.

so hearing you offer something outside of his plans upset him. he stared at you with his pretty eyes until you swallows and gave in. his eyes almost come out of their sockets when he sees how big you are. definitely shuts you up with kisses and a helpful mouth.

ᡴꪫ YUNHO….’s large hands were antsy. he needed to feel more and see more. you kept focusing more on his hands than on his kisses. you do anything to keep him away from below your shorts but…

yunho lets out a breathless moan when you spring free. he takes no time in working on you, praising you through and through.

ᡴꪫ YEOSANG…. was already on top of your lap. you were mentally begging he didn’t feel you because that was enough to give away how big you were. yet he kept moving his hips and when he pushes you down to lay on the pillows, just as he moves to crawl into a better position- he sees your tent.

you swallow at the immediate gaze he gives you. he’s surprised but so exited. he definitely shows you how much and his lovely voice coaxes you more than you coax him when he sinks down on it.

ᡴꪫ SAN…. wasted no time in demanding to see you. he was on a mission and he needed to fulfill it pronto. so when he sees how quiet you become when he pulls your out of your boxers, he smiles.

“i can take you baby,” he says eagerly, “imma prove it.” and he makes sure you don’t forget how much he’s in love with every single part of you.

ᡴꪫ MINGI…. was putting little to no work. our pillow princess was enjoying your attention in the form of kisses and gropes but he desperately needed more. he was so confused at how you tried to shy away from the deed.

actually, you weren’t, you were just trying to make him understand your size isn’t all that. i promise you, the second he sees it and the second he FEELS it, he’s letting you know it’s all that.

ᡴꪫ WOOYOUNG…. has a big mouth. you have a big dick. he has a big mouth. he has the AUDACITY to bully you over your shyness. your shyness goes out the window immediately.

he had it planned all along apparently. making sure you know he’s uncaring of your size. it turns into a rile competition and you end up showing him he should be nicer.

ᡴꪫ JONGHO…. tried not to panic. not over the fact that you were big. but at the fact he was just as shy as you were. the two of you sat in a dry silence until he makes eye contact with your flushes face.

in the end, you had to work with his shyness and your own. he was really willing. it awkward, funny and purely genuine. he definitely assures you he won’t be shy afterwards.

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sweetlyvibe · 2 months ago

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𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗨 𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

◞ ★ ﹒Suna may have a chill, indifferent vibe, but when it comes to his significant other, he’s subtly protective. He won’t be the type to get overly jealous, but he has a way of making people know you’re off-limits with just a look.

• He loves to tease you in a playful, deadpan way. Whether it’s poking fun at something small or calling you by a silly nickname, it’s his way of showing affection. He’ll often smirk when you get flustered.

◞ ★ ﹒ Suna notices little things about you—whether it’s your habits, your moods, or something you’ve been eyeing at a store. He’s not one for big gestures, but he’ll surprise you with something small yet meaningful, like bringing you your favorite snack on a tough day.

• While he may not be overly affectionate in front of others, when it’s just the two of you, Suna becomes more physically affectionate. He’ll lean into you, drape his arm over your shoulders, or pull you in for lazy hugs when you’re watching TV.

◞ ★ ﹒ Suna will definitely support you, but it will come with sarcastic remarks. If you’re nervous about something, expect a dry, “What, scared already?” followed by a reassuring pat on the head or shoulder, because despite the sarcasm, he believes in you.

• He’d be the type to send you random texts late at night when he’s bored or thinking of you. His texts are short but sweet in their own way, like “You still awake?” followed by some random fact or meme he found funny.

◞ ★ ﹒ Suna’s ideal date isn’t anything extravagant. He prefers low-key hangouts, like watching movies at home, going to a quiet café, or even just sitting on the roof together, enjoying each other’s company without much talking.

• He’d challenge you to things like video games, but don’t expect him to go easy on you. He loves the thrill of a little competition and will make sarcastic comments about your skills, but if you ever beat him, he’ll grudgingly admit you’re good with a grin.

◞ ★ ﹒ Though Suna trusts you, he has a quiet, subtle way of showing he’s not too fond of others getting too close. He won’t say anything directly, but his arm might linger around you a bit longer or he’ll make a sarcastic comment that conveys just enough.

• Suna isn’t the type to give long motivational speeches, but he’ll give you subtle words of encouragement and stay by your side through tough times. He’ll say things like “You’ll figure it out,” with a small smile that somehow makes you feel like you can handle anything.

◞ ★ ﹒ Suna is someone who doesn’t open up easily. But when he does, it’s usually during quiet, late-night moments. He might not say much, but when he’s lying next to you, staring at the ceiling, he’ll softly admit things like how volleyball sometimes stresses him out or how he worries about the future. These moments are rare, but they show how deeply he trusts you.

• When he’s had a rough day—whether it’s from a tough game or something weighing on his mind—he’ll silently seek you out. He won’t say anything at first, just quietly resting his head on your shoulder or pulling you close. In these moments, he’s not his usual teasing self; he just needs to feel your presence to ground himself.

◞ ★ ﹒ Suna loves to catch you off guard with random, playful touches—like flicking your forehead gently or ruffling your hair when you’re not expecting it. Sometimes he’ll pull you into his lap when you’re sitting together, just to see how flustered you get before smirking and acting like it’s no big deal.

• He teases you a lot, but the moment he senses you’re genuinely upset or hurt by something—whether it’s something someone else did or even a mistake he made—his playful attitude disappears. He’ll apologize in his own awkward way, maybe mumbling something like, “Didn’t mean to be a jerk,” while rubbing the back of his neck. He’ll try to make it up to you by being extra attentive for the rest of the day.

◞ ★ ﹒ On weekends or after long practice days, Suna enjoys lazy mornings where neither of you has any plans. He’ll stay in bed with you, scrolling through his phone or napping. If you try to get up early, he’ll tug you back under the covers, grumbling something like, “Just stay for five more minutes,” which usually turns into another hour.

• If you try to compliment him, he’ll smirk and turn it into a competition. “Oh, you think I’m good-looking? You should see me after a game,” he’ll tease, fully knowing he’s fishing for more praise. But if you keep complimenting him, he’ll get a little flustered, brushing it off with a quiet, “Alright, alright, enough.”

◞ ★ ﹒ Despite his teasing, when you’re not feeling well, Suna steps up. He’s surprisingly gentle, making sure you have medicine and water, and even playing your favorite shows to help you relax. He’ll sit with you, not making a big deal out of it, but you can feel how much he cares by the way he’s always nearby, checking on you with a quiet, “Feeling any better?”

• When Suna is struggling with something, he won’t talk about it directly. Instead, he’ll ask you random questions about your day or make a sarcastic comment about how “life is a pain.” But if you catch on and ask him what’s wrong, he’ll let out a sigh and slowly open up. He may not dive into deep emotions often, but when he does, you can tell it’s a big step for him.

◞ ★ ﹒ Suna tends to deflect serious conversations with jokes or sarcasm, especially if he’s feeling vulnerable. If you try to talk about something emotional, he might shrug it off at first, saying something like, “Eh, I’ll live.” But later, he’ll quietly apologize and admit he didn’t mean to brush you off. He’ll show his vulnerability when he feels ready, often in moments when you least expect it.

• Suna enjoys pulling light pranks on you, like hiding your phone or making you think he forgot something important. But when you pout or get annoyed, he’ll make it up to you with soft gestures, like offering to do something you love, or bringing you your favorite snacks with a sly, “Consider it an apology.”

. 🏐 〃 ⋯ TAGGING : : @avensonly @yoghurtsan @lxdymoon0357 @achy-boo

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helenanell · 8 months ago

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Contempt of Court || Challengers

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Art Donaldson X Fem!Reader

CW: 18+ MDNI. Alcoholism / substance abuse. Suicidal ideation. Mentions of car crash/ injury, infidelity (technically - Art is still married to Tashi, but they’re separated) Angst. Smut. A little toxic.

Wordcount: 10.8K

Notes: No use of y/n. Set after the events of the film. Reader is a Tashi stan (There’s too much Tashi Duncan erasure happening and I won’t stand for it.)

Summary: Still recovering from an injury that put your tennis career on pause, your publicist has landed you a deal to be an ambassador for Nike. What she doesn’t tell you, is that so is Art Donaldson: the player who bad-mouthed you in a live, post match interview two years ago. You only find out once it’s too late.

(This story was inspired by the dynamic between Billy and Daisy in Daisy Jones and The Six. But…make it tennis.)

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

For eight agonising weeks, your wrist has been encased in a cast, but now that it’s finally off, you feel far from relieved.

As the doctor had sawn into the plaster, producing a cloud of white dust like he was breaking into a bone instead of revealing a healed one, you had actually felt panicked.

After the car crash, you had spiralled into a pit dug with your own self-pity and pain. And once you’d reached the bottom, you’d staved off the encroaching darkness with alcohol and too many painkillers.

You’d taken drugs before at parties and drunk until you wiped your own memory, the consequence being waking up with your skull practically splitting open from pain. But there was something profoundly different about becoming intoxicated in the hopes of rendering yourself numb:

You hated yourself whilst you were doing it, and once the harmful buzz wore off, you hated yourself a little bit more.

You had become fast friends with shame in the past few months.

You have been desperate to play again, screaming, crying and practically tearing off your own skin with the need to get back to work- to not let yourself fall behind or your ranking suffer.

But, amongst the amalgamation of negatives there had been a sort of relief, too. Relief, because the choice had been taken away from you.

The accident hadn't been your fault and nor could you force your bone to heal faster, so for a brief period of time, you had convinced yourself nothing was your fault. For once, you couldn’t be blamed for your own fall from grace.

But now your bone had healed and if you didn’t give recovery your all, it would be your fault. If there was no triumphant comeback, it would be on you.

Another thing to fail at.

Another thing to lose.

All of which only added to your bafflement over your publicist’s insistence on coming over this morning, in order to discuss ‘a major opportunity’ that wasn’t related to a competition.

You had originally tried to worm out of it, but your coach had found out and given you the third degree.

You’re already tired at the thought of it and you don’t even know what it is yet. You don’t want to think about anything but tennis. You don’t have the energy for it.

In all honesty…you’re hanging on by a thread.

‘Drinking too much’ is a far too casual phrase for how you’ve been living: it has connotations of casualness- a glaring lack of stakes. For you, the stakes are unbelievably high.

You know you can’t afford to become alcohol dependent because even being a functioning alcoholic isn’t an option for you. The only way to function as an athlete—to maintain your career trajectory and the attain the US Open title—is to be at one hundred percent.

Mixing your painkillers with straight vodka isn’t one hundred percent: it’s a cry for fucking help. Except you can’t let anyone hear the cry, you need to stifle it.

It’s bad enough that pictures of you being rolled away from your totalled car in a gurney had been plastered over the internet for weeks after the accident. The alcoholic, pill popping tennis pro was a story that would never go away.

It would morph into an ugly sort of infamy: you’d been in the exclusive club of American sweethearts and heartthrobs who had been hounded so much by the ‘devoted’, that it had driven them to substance abuse to drown out the noise and fortify against the flashing lights.

So, no one could know. No one.

Which is why, as your publicist pulls into your driveway, you’re rushing to hide a half full bottle of vodka inside a hideously expensive—and also just hideous—vase that had been given to you as an engagement gift.

Two years ago, when your fiancé–and fellow tennis player–had been caught in 4k, kissing a barely legal actress from a HBO teen drama, you’d almost smashed the vase. But, something about destroying a gift from Serena Williams felt like spitting out the ambrosia a god had fed you from their very own hand.

So, while your ring had been thrown into a ravine (best not to dwell on that.) the vase had remained.

The doorbell rings much sooner than you’re prepared for. Who knew a five-foot-two woman in heels could move so quickly?

You run over to the door, chewing down on two pieces of gum you’d hastily shoved into your mouth to cover up the scent of alcohol. When you pull it open, you’re met with the stern face of your Publicist, Rebecca. She’s tiny but terrifying, her sharp features framed by a pitch black bob.

Sometimes, it does feel a bit like you’re talking to Edna Mode, but you’d never dare say that.

“Rebecca, hi!” You’re aware the greeting is too happy, and try not to grimace.

When you step back to allow her to enter, Rebecca frowns at you as she passes.

“Why are you fake smiling?” she questions. “Your cast is off, you should be actually happy.”

You drop the toothy grin, wincing with embarrassment as you follow her into the kitchen.

“I am happy about that, obviously.” You clear your throat, overly aware of how disingenuous you still seem. “What I’m not exactly overjoyed about, is whatever this ‘opportunity’ is.”

You watch as Rebecca grabs bottle of water from the fridge and then pulls out a stool to sit at the kitchen island. You follow suit, dropping down beside her.

“Well, you should be. I practically had to sell my soul to get them to pick you.”

You level her with an unimpressed look. “Wow, Rebecca, way to raise me up from rock bottom.”

She waves you away. “Oh, please! You hate when I coddle you.”

You huff, dropping your chin into hand and propping your elbow on the counter. “Okay, out with it then. What is it?”

Rebecca’s cheeks split with a blinding grin. “Nike.” She declares gleefully.

“Nike.”

Her smile dampens, disappointed you haven’t burst into happy tears. “Yes, Nike. You know…Just Do It.”

“Yes, I do. I’d just prefer not, you know…do it.”

Your publicist looks just about ready to slap you. “You’re kidding. It’s Nike.”

“Oh, is it? You haven’t mentioned that.”

Rebecca’s frown becomes a scowl and you think about ducking when she angrily snatches up her water bottle. But she doesn’t throw it, just waves it around as she begins to rant at you:

“Do you know how hard it was to get this?! They wanted Naomi Osaka but I convinced them to go for you instead. And christ knows they were hesitant after the US Open meltdown-”

“We agreed not to refer to it as a meltdown.” You cut in. “My therapist says it has negative connotations that, ‘make me feel a harmful degree of shame.’”

Rebecca scoffs. “You went to one session with that therapist and then fired her because you didn’t like that she drew you a diagram.”

“It was condescending: I’m not five, I don’t need visual aids.”

“Okay, just shut up!” Rebecca barks, smoothing down her still immaculate hair and taking a deep breath. “This isn’t actually up for discussion. You’re doing it.”

“I’m not doing it.”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Two Weeks Later… )

‘Just Do It.’

It’s the first thing you see when you walk into the Nike office for the photoshoot.

The poster from a past campaign with Andy Murray has been blown up to ridiculous proportions and framed, hanging in on the first wall that greets anyone who enters.

“If they make mine that big I won’t be able to look at it. I’ll actually vomit. ”

When Rebecca–who is the epitome of a chatterbox–remains silent, you turn you head to look down at her. She’s already peering up at you, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your eyes narrow with suspicion. “What have you done?”

Rebecca lets out a laugh laced with unadulterated fear. “Okay…so, any minute now you’re going to be super fucking pissed at me and you have every right to be, but remember that as you’ve already signed the contract, you don’t have a right to walk out of here.”

You stare her down, knowing it doesn’t take much intimidation for her to crack.

You don’t end up needing her to blabber, however, because not even five seconds later, the door you’d just come through swings open and a lone figure enters.

As you turn, you feel your publicist actually take a step away from you.

“Rebecca, I’m going to kill you.”

You’re not looking at her as you spit out the threat, your eyes are already boring into the man who’s noted your presence and is lingering just beyond the doorway.

Your history with Art Donaldson is far from extensive. In fact, while the trajectory of your careers have practically run parallel, the two of you have spoken maybe twice.

But then, almost two years ago, the U.S Open had happened.

Still dealing with the fall out of your fiance’s cheating scandal, you’d been in potentially the worst mental space of your life. And yet, you had still made it to the final.

But, during the match…well you’d sort of lost your shit. And then you’d just lost. It had been dramatic and mortifying.

Then, with the dust not even close to settling, things had gotten even worse.

Having just clinched the men’s singles trophy for himself, Art Donaldson had sat down for his live post-match interview and one of the first questions he’d been asked, was about your ‘comportment’ during the final.

You would never forget his answer:

'Well, obviously it’s a massive disappointment. In so many ways the match between those two women today was legendary. But it always stings when you see someone get in their own way. Anger like that doesn’t belong on the court: it’s infantile and disrespectful to staff and to the fans. It threatens to overshadow what was otherwise a phenomenal game of tennis for both of them.'

When he had then been pressed for his thoughts on what should be done in regards to sanctions, Art had simply said: ‘I think whatever she’s feeling that made her act that way, is probably punishment enough.’

In a few minutes, Art had made you a subject of scorn as well as unwanted sympathy. He’d made you sound simultaneously contemptible and pitiable.

He was right, but he hadn’t needed to sound so sanctimonious when he’d said it. And telling the world your own mental anguish was probably torment enough, was just salt in the wound.

In your own defence, you had gone into the final right off the back of the announcement that your ex-fiancé’s new girlfriend was pregnant. And the dates had made it blindingly clear, that conception had happened whilst you were still with him.

You’d never felt so worthless or dehumanised. And then, after you’d practically killed yourself playing the match of your life, only to lose, Art fucking Donaldson had felt the need to call out your behaviour.

‘Anger like that doesn’t belong on the court.’

Anger ‘like that’ wasn’t something you’d brought to the competition in your overhead luggage, it was a parasite that had been poisoning your blood.

You’d thought that sort of self-cannibalising rage was in your past, bust as Art starts walking over to you, it rears its ugly head once more.

And he has the gall to smile at you. It’s an amicable, almost anticipatory smile.

You barely even register when Rebecca ducks away, muttering something about finding the photographer.

Art calls out your name as he stops before you, the corners of his eyes creasing as his smile intensifies. “It’s good to see you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.” You intone harshly.

Art’s smile doesn’t drop, it just becomes tighter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ah- so you are still upset about what I said at the Open.”

You glare at him, forcing yourself to stop gritting your teeth lest they shatter. “What could possibly make you think that I wouldn't be?”

Art laughs softly, running a hand through his short blonde hair. “Well, because your coach and your publicist both assured me that you weren’t.”

Those fucking traitors.

It looks like you’ll be going into tomorrow with only your nutritionist and your physio left on your team.

“They lied.” You reply sharply.

Art tilts his head, his gaze becoming brazen in the way it assesses your face. “Clearly.”

“Well, obviously this isn’t happening.” You gesture between the two of you. “I’m not doing a photoshoot, let alone an entire campaign, with you.”

“I don’t see why it can’t go ahead.” Art declares casually, his lips tugging upward as he observes your indignation.

You take a step back, not trusting yourself not to lunge for him.

“Well, it’s a good thing I have little regard for your opinion then, isn’t it?”

Art's brows draw together, some irritation beginning to pollute his easy going demeanour. “You do care.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do care about my opinion, because f you didn’t, you wouldn’t still be this pissed over something I said years ago.

“Pissed?” You almost choke on the word. “You made me sound pathetic. Weak. You insulted my entire career!”

“I seem to recall saying that your match was ‘legendary.’ Phenomenal, is another word I used.”

If there wasn’t so much anger writhing in your gut, you might have rubbed it in his face that for something he’s outwardly dismissing, he seems to remember what he said about you very well.

You step up to him, closing the distance in two strides.

“‘Whatever she’s feeling that made her act that way, is probably punishment enough.’ You said that about me in front of peers and fans in a live interview that was watched by thousands!”

“You’re telling me you don’t think you were out of line?” Art challenges, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in.

You know he’s not wrong: it hadn’t been your finest hour. In fact, the morning after, with your behaviour laid bare in the cold light and already being picked over by commentators and tabloids, you had been able to acknowledge it may very well have been one of the worst hours you would ever have.

But you’d rather die than acknowledge that to Art.

“Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you!” You hit back disparagingly.

Art’s fingers dig into his arms. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a hypocrite, Art. I watched your match against Patrick Zweig at the…what was it- Phil’s Tire Town Challenger? Someone recorded it from the stands. Tell me, what emotion were you bringing to the court when you yelled ‘fuck you’ at him across the net?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not proposing a thesis, Art. This isn’t up for debate. I’m just telling you what I saw. And it seems to me, that you have some fucking anger issues of your own, so quit chewing me out over mine.”

“Chewing you out–” He splutters, his cheeks flushing with outrage. “Wow, you really do have a victim complex, huh?”

“Fuck you!” You seethe.

Your exclamation doesn’t dissuade Art, instead he gathers momentum:

“You’re acting like I should fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness over an entirely reasonable answer I gave to a question about your piss-poor behaviour. But I didn’t make you launch your racket across the court or cuss out the line judge. You’re not a tragic woman, or some wronged heroine, you’re a grown woman throwing a tantrum because I wasn’t very nice about her in an interview, two goddamn years ago!”

“Well, I’m a bitch and you’re a hypocrite, looks like neither of us should be tennis’ poster child.” You snap, pushing past him and heading for the door.

There was absolutely no chance you were doing this photoshoot. Nike could give Naomi Osaka another call.

Just as you’ve got past him, Art is following you, snagging your wrist with his hand. “Hey! I didn’t call you a bitch.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. Badmouthing people in public forums is your move.”

You yank yourself out of his hold and with his eyes burning into the back of your head, you leave Art Donaldson alone in the lobby.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Three Weeks Later… )

In the intervening weeks since your confrontation with Art, you have discovered just how airtight employment contracts can be.

Nike should really give their lawyers a raise, because you have been assured that there is more chance of you sprouting wings, than being able to get out of the ad campaign.

You’d been forced back to the studio a week later with your tail between your legs, but while you’d felt genuinely apologetic over the inconvenience caused to Nike’s team, your fury at Art had only compounded.

Thankfully, the feeling had been mutual and the two of you had passed the entire shoot in utter silence. Neither of you had offered up so much as a hello or goodbye to the other, and while it had clearly been painfully awkward for everyone around you, it had worked out quite well.

Unfortunately, you and Art had been called back for a day of what they were calling ‘action shots.’

Which is why you’re currently at a country club, dressed in all of Nike’s new gear, being forced to actually play tennis against Art.

If it was anyone else, you would already have drawn attention to the fact that your wrist is in excruciating pain, but you refuse to falter in front of him.

Besides, as much as you’re loathe to admit it, playing against Art is exhilarating.

The team have just called for a break and somehow, despite the innumerable people that have been buzzing around you for the entire day, you and Art suddenly find yourselves alone at the side of the court.

You’ve done well at remaining civil with each other, but that’s only because you only said ‘hello’ and ‘ready’ before you’d started playing.

Unfortunately for you, Art seems to be in the mood to antagonise.

“I don’t get why this is making you so miserable.” Art says, dropping down onto the bench beside you with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You hold up the can in your hand, fingers biting into the condensation slick metal.

“I specifically asked for Tangerine La Croix and they’ve given me Pure.” You mock. You couldn't care less about what you’re drinking.

“Funny.” Art deadpans.

“And here was me thinking you’d jump at the chance to call me a diva.” You answer, donning a smirk of your own.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Some genuine anger colours Art’s tone and it only feeds the fires of your own.

“What?”

Art grabs the can from your hand and maintains eye contact as he steals as a sip.

“You refuse to let go of a few critical, but very valid sentences I said about you in that interview and you’ve used them to construct a narrative about my dislike for you. I don’t dislike you.”

“Oh, you don’t? That’s good, because this amicable exchange is really making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Art groans, slumping back on the bench. He manspreads so wide that his knee knocks into yours.

“Can you not just enjoy yourself? It’s a beautiful day and we’re being paid to do what we’re great at.”

You wrinkle your nose and try to snatch back the can, but Art tightens his grip and the metal crumples as you both tighten your hold.

“Yeah, well, not everyone gets off on having their face on a billboard.” You sneer, almost falling back when Art suddenly lets go of the can.

It’s practically empty and completely deformed, so you slam it down onto the empty space beside you.

“How do you know that I do?”

“What?”

“How do you know that I get off on it?” He repeats glibly.

“Because, you’ve clearly wanted to retire for years and now that you have, you can monopolise on the popularity that your wife built up for you and live off clothing lines and ads for the rest of your life.”

“Being great at tennis built up my popularity.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually believe that, Art? So many phenomenal players go widely unknown for their entire careers. You are only The Art Donaldson instead of just plain old Art, because Tashi Duncan made you a brand. She’s responsible for your legacy.”

“She didn’t make me.”

“Maybe not, but she did mould you into what you are. You would have been just another generic Stanford whiteboy if she hadn’t decided to give you fucking form.”

“You talk about her like she’s God.”

“Are you telling me that’s not what it feels like when her attention is solely on you?” You challenge, but you don’t wait for an answer. “You know, I actually played her quite a lot when we were teenagers– we always ended up being us against each other in finals– and even then…it was like trying to play against an elemental force. Every time, without fail, there was a tiny part of me that just wanted to fall to my fucking knees in front of her. But I never did, instead it made my game better. She made my game better. Tashi put all she had into you after her injury, the least you could do is acknowledge what she’s done for you.

“You don’t have to tell me what I owe my wife.”

You scoff, rising to your feet. “I’m telling you what you owe your coach.”

You don’t actually know where you’re going as you walk away, only that you need it to be far from him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Two Months Later… )

At the launch event for Nike’s new line, you’re standing in front of the massive poster that’s at the forefront of the campaign and swallowing down bile.

It’s a great picture, you’ll give them that: Your feet are practically lifting off the ground as you throw up the ball for a serve, your expression is contorted with a ruinous passion that portends some sort of violence. And across the net, there’s Art: he’s dropped into a crouch, ready to pounce once you send the ball his way. In the face of your fury, his anticipation comes fitted out with his signature smirk.

It’s not just a great photo, it’s phenomenal.

You want to tear it off the wall.

You’re on the verge of asking anyone if they have a pen so you can scribble over Art’s face, when the man himself appears beside you. In your peripheral vision you catch a glimpse of his sleek, all black suit, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“I’m not sure you’d get away with defacing it in front of so many people.”

Trying to suppress your eye roll would be a fruitless endeavour, so you turn to face Art, forcing him to bear witness to your indignation.

“You should know by now that I have little regard for decorum. You certainly like commenting on my lack of it.”

“I thought you’d still be hung up on that.”

“Yeah, well, some of us have follow through.” You give him a venomous smile. “How is retirement treating you?”

“Ah, I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“You see retirement is quitting. So, you’ll force yourself to continue well past the point you should, your game will get shittier and shittier, so by the time you’re forced to quit, people will be pitying you instead of remembering how phenomenal you were.”

There’s a compliment in there, but you’re not feeling generous of spirit enough to pluck it out of the insult.

“I know when to stop, Art. It’s just not now.” You answer coldly.

“Okay, when? Like- give me your timeline. You must have thought about it.”

“Not yet.”

This answer seems to really frustrate him and he just stares at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering as he grips his champagne flute.

“Do you think I didn’t notice how much your wrist was killing you when we played each other? Are you really going to wreck your body out of stubbornness?”

“You know, Art, what you did wasn’t bowing out at the perfect time, it was cowardice. You skipped right to the curtain call when you still had a last act left to perform. You never got that US Open trophy, did you?”

Art sighs, his gaze moving back to the photo of the two of you. "Yeah well, something tells me you won't either. Have a good night."

Then he's backing away, his stare lingering on you even as he lets the crowd reabsorb him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( One Month Later… )

Had Tashi Duncan not been one of the people in your life that you most respected and admired, you wouldn’t even have considered attending the fundraising gala for her and Art’s foundation.

But you were, quite frankly, obsessed with her, so of course you had come.

Sitting in an uncomfortably tight dress at a table of people you don’t know and with a fair amount of alcohol circulating through your system, is quite possibly the most painstaking thing you’ve ever gone through.

Apart from the car crash. That had been pretty bad.

But you’re adamant you won’t think about the car crash tonight, or the fact that, somehow, your wrist seems to be getting worse; devolving to a state more dire than when the cast had first come off.

The meal—which you hadn’t been able to stomach—had come and gone and now the auction is beginning. Tashi is up on the stage, dazzling in the way that only she can and Art is standing at the bottom of the set of stairs that lead up to the platform.

Unfortunately, your table is very close to the front and you’re positioned right in his eyeline.

Art keeps stealing glances at you with an emotion you can’t place. You had tried to switch seats with the man across from you, but the asshole turned out to be a real stickler for assigned seating.

If only to distract yourself, you whip out your phone, resting it in your lap beneath the table.

The moment you open up Instagram, your heart drops into your stomach.

You thought you had expunged any remnants of your ex from your life, but it seems you’ve missed a mutual friend on Instagram, one who has just reposted his engagement announcement with his girlfriend and mother of his now one year old daughter.

That bastard has broken your heart and wrecked your head, but while your life just keeps getting worse, the universe has seen fit to bless him with everything he’s ever wanted.

The auction is already in full swing when you rise clumsily from your seat and weave through the tables, heading for the closest exit.

It’s only as you push open the door and begin to sway, that you realise you’re actually quite tipsy. You might have drunk a little too much before you’d left the house.

It’s freezing outside, but you can’t face going back for your coat, so, unsteady on your feet, you flee into the extensive gardens that surround the estate that’s acting as the gala’s venue.

You walk well past the point where the lawn lighting disappears and clamber over a fence that has ‘restricted area’ prominently posted in front of it.

You don’t know where you’re going, but as you stagger down the hill, your sadness is alleviated very slightly by the sight of a massive pond that you’re sure is beckoning to you.

You kick off your heels and drop down onto the bank, quick to put your feet into the water. Once you’re settled, you retrieve your hip flask from your clutch and begin to guzzle vodka in earnest.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

You turn and you find an incensed Art striding towards you. You’re more than a little delighted by the sight of mud splattered over the polished surface of his shoes.

“I was having some time to myself.”

“You needed to walk all the way down here to get it?”

You laugh caustically, gesturing at him. “Well…no. Obviously I should have walked even further away.”

Art huffs, entirely unimpressed. He takes a few steps further down the bank and holds out a hand beckoning you over.

“Come on, you need to come back inside.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, you offered tennis lessons with yourself as an auction item and you’re up soon. You need to be on stage.”

Ah. You’d forgotten about that.

“Why do I need to be seen? It’s not like they’re buying me.”

“You still can’t stay in there. Get out.”

“I’m not in it, Art. I’m just dangling my feet in the water.”

“Well, you can’t ‘dangle’ your feet in there, it’s a pond not a swimming pool.”

“I can’t?” You feign a bafflement as you look at your feet, submerged in the murky water. “I sort of already am?”

Art moves even closer but falters, his bright eyes becoming an invading force: his gaze takes hold of your edges and peels them back.

He can see inside.

“What’s wrong?” He probes, the harsher edges of his previous words now nowhere to be found.

“At the moment, it’s you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not actually, but I’m getting there.”

Art’s eyes flick to the metal object glinting in your hand. “Is that a hip flask?”

“What a keen eye you have.” You mutter sardonically.

“Okay, I'm serious now, get out.”

“Oh, he’s being serious!” You mock, rising to your feet.

But you don’t move away from the pond. Instead, you turn and start walking backwards into the water you wobble when your bare feet sink into the mud, icy liquid seeping into the thin fabric of your silk dress.

Art lunges forward, closing the distance until he’s standing at the edge of the water. His hand darts out and he grabs your forearm.

“You’re too close to drunk to be near a body of water, let alone in one. You’ll drown yourself.”

Art plucks the hip flask from your fingers with his free hand and tosses it into the grass behind him, all without taking his eyes off you.

Then he seems to actually register where his hand is. He’s still gazing into your eyes as his thumb brushes over the scar above your wrist.

“Compound fracture.” You say on a bitter breath. “The bone went right through. Fucking drunk driver. Funny that, isn’t it? He crashed into me, fucked my career probably permanently and then I became a drunk to cope.”

Some of the hardness in Art’s expression melts away, but it pools into the bags beneath his eyes and the shadows beneath his cheekbones, making him look almost distraught. Once you realise it’s sadness--no, pity--for you, you wrench your wrist out of his grasp and wade further back into the pond.

You gasp, shocked as the frigid water wraps around your legs in an eager embrace. It’s like it’s clinging on, wanting to keep you forever.

You find the thought of it quite peaceful.

You think on Art’s words from months ago: he’s right, about you being too stubborn to know when to stop. You won’t retire until you’re physically falling apart.

But what if you just sink down into the water right now? You’d disappear and the memories would be of a great player gone too soon.

God, you didn’t realise you had such a large ego that you’d consider letting yourself drown just to save face.

Art is beyond unimpressed now. He’s furious.

“Get out.” You just smile at him, stepping further back. The water reaches your navel and you let your fingertips skim over the water. “I’m not kidding, get the fuck out. Now.”

“Will you just back off!” You erupt. “We’ve done the campaign, we’re not friends, there’s no reason for us to be involved.”

“None of that gives me a reason to leave you alone out here.”

“Why not?!” You protest desperately. “It’s not the ocean, I can’t be swept out to sea!”

“Get out of the water.”

“No.”

“Get out.”

“Get fucked.” You hit back, letting yourself sink back into the water.

As you move to float on your back, another frantic laugh bubbles up as you're enveloped by its icy grip. Your dress becomes heavier, a five thousand dollar weight around your body, urging you to sink lower.

You turn your head to the side so that you can see the surface of the water:

This far out of the city, the stars are no longer choked by smog and so are able to tear through the darkness. The water perfectly mirrors the sky, so much so that it’s like you’re swimming in the cosmos. If you open your mouth, you could take some of it into yourself.

You had struggled to get out of bed this morning, but now, in the quiet night, you have the chance to swallow a thousand stars–

Impudent splashing disrupts your peace.

Your head shoots up, water running in eager rivulets off your hair as you watch wide eyed, as Art drops into the water. His jacket and shoes have been discarded on the edge of the bank.

“What are you doing?”

Art doesn’t answer, instead he drives through the water towards you, his strides producing ripples that disturb the reflected constellations. Shooting stars.

You’re not very far out, so just as Art closes in on you, you plant your feet on the muddy bottom of the pond and stand up.

The fabric of your dress is dark and slick against your body like an oil spill. The breeze blows a tentative breath against you, causing your skin to pebble and your nipples to harden.

Art reaches for you but your hand flies out and you swat him away.

You push yourself further out, giggling at his expression as the water comes up to your chin.

Then Art’s diving after you, the white material of his shirt submerged in the water.

“Art, this is a pond, not a swimming pool.” You tease, amusement blooming.

In fact, you’re relishing the sight of his arms pushing through the water so much, that you forget to make another escape attempt.

Before you know it, Art is right up in front of you, his breath coasting over your face as he wraps an arm around your middle beneath the water.

You drive your feet into the mud, your smile growing as he looks exasperatedly up at sky. His fingers press into your side.

“This is so beyond funny.” He grouses, trying and failing to tug you closer.

Seeing as you’re not actually drunk, you’re not sure what comes over you, but you’re seized by a giddy, childlike urge.

You decide to give into it.

Art’s eyes widen slightly as you rush forward, pressing your chest right up against his. Then, you place one hand on each of his shoulders and push.

There’s a brief moment, where your face rises above Art and he gazes up at you, droplets of water rolling off your face and onto him. He’s looking at you in the same way you had been gazing up at the stars. Perhaps you’ve become one of them. Wouldn’t that be something?

Art realises too late what you’re going to do.

“Don’t you dare–”

You push all of your weight onto his shoulders and dunk him into the pond. His head goes under, short blonde locks floating up in the water.

You immediately let him go and when he comes up, spluttering for air, the hand not on your waist winds around the back of your neck, threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulls you flush against him again.

When he speaks, it is a whisper you feel against your cheek. “You’re such an asshole.”

Your hands fall onto his waist beneath the water. “I know.”

You shriek as Art tips you back, his hand still cradling the back of your neck as he dunks your head into the water in retaliation. It feels like a baptism.

When you come back up, he's chuckling as you gasp for air.

“I had to do that.” Art defends.

He notices you scrambling to push soaked strands of hair out of your eyes and proceeds to help you, his hand brushing over your cheeks and forehead before returning your sight to you.

“I feel like you didn’t have to.” You splutter, fighting back a laugh of your own.

You’re suddenly glad for his grip on you- you’re far too flustered to stand firmly on your own two feet.

Art’s cheek’s dimple as he smiles, shaking his head at you. Your breath hitches.

When he’s unencumbered by negative emotion…Art shines.

He leans in again, his lips grazing the shell of your ear:

“Don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish, sweetheart.” Your breathing becomes even more laboured as he draws away, his nose briefly dragging against your cheek. “Now…get out of the goddamn pond.”

And then he’s pulling away, leaving you gaping after him as he moves back towards the bank.

His touch is an absence you really wish didn’t feel so profound

“Spoilsport.” You grumble. But you’re already moving after him.

The alcohol you did have in you has disappeared; shocked out of your system by the frigid water and the feel of Art’s hands.

You wade back towards the bank, your hip flask is nestled in the grass and glinting seductively in the moonlight.

With Art’s back to you, you let yourself stare as he drags himself out of the water. His shirt is stuck to his body and entirely see through, settling into the ridges of his muscled chest. The moon’s light shines through the fabric hanging from his sleeves, making it look like the membrane of wings.

As Art kneels on the grass, you blink rapidly as if he’s a vision you can dispel from your sight.

You can acknowledge he’s attractive- you’re not blind– but you can’t abide the yearning arising within you. You don’t have room for that in your life, for anyone, but especially not for him.

You finally reach the edge of the bank and then Art is kneeling at the edge, holding a hand out for you to take.

You consider him for a moment and process the newfound ease on his face. He seems almost serene.

You fight off a shiver that you blame on the cold and ignore his outstretched hand, pulling yourself out of the water unaided.

“Really?” Art bites out irritatedly, watching as you wander over to your hip flask and sit down right beside it. You take it into your hand and unscrew the cap.

When you bring it to your lips you look right into his eyes. “Really.”

You throw your head back, the path the vodka burns down your throat is a welcome discomfort. You had felt far too peace just now, floating in a sea of stars with Art.

But those weren’t stars, just a reflection of them. It was a trick. Nothing that could ever be real.

When you drop the now empty flask into your lap, there are tears in your eyes.

When was the last time you’d felt even close to the happiness you’d found in that water?

It wasn’t real.

A traitorous tear is already rolling down your cheek as you drop your eyes to your hands.

“Hey.” Art says softly. He kneels down beside you, one hand on your soaked back as the other plucks the flask out your lap. “What’s wrong?”

You make a noise that’s half sob, half laugh. “I already answered that question.”

“Yeah, except I know you’re full of shit.” When you look up at him, Art’s frown becomes something gentler. “I know I’m not your problem.”

You scoff, shoving his chest. He sways backwards, but drops down onto his knees, planting himself on the ground beside you. His hand is still on your back.

“Yes, you are actually.” You answer nastily. “You really are.”

“Just tell me.” Art whispers, ducking his head into your field of vision so you’re forced to look at him. His free hand settles on your cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong because this…is sort of scary.”

You lift your hands and clasp his cheeks, digging your fingers in. You’re overcome by a violent impulse to tear into his skin.

It would be far easier to draw blood than confront how you’re beginning to feel about him.

“Aww.” You croon. “Did I scare the poor little baby?”

“Stop it.” He scolds. His hands move to grasp your wrists but he doesn't pull you away, not even as you press your nails further in.

But you won’t stop- can’t stop. Your feelings have become spiteful and unruly, running away from you at a pace which you can’t hope to match.

You can’t take the strain. And because Art is the contributor to that is closest to you, it’s him you’re going to lash out at.

“No, really, I didn’t think you’d be such a pussy.” You forge on, spewing venom. “I scared you by getting in a pond? Grow the fuck up, Art.”

But Art doesn’t rise to it. His jaw doesn’t clench and his grip on you doesn’t tighten.

“This isn’t okay.” He says, tentative but assured. “You’re not okay.”

“No, I'm not!” You snap wrenching your wrists free. “But it’s got absolutely nothing to do with you.”

You try to rise to your feet, but Art doesn’t let you. He moves so he’s kneeling either side of you, his legs pressing into your thighs as his hands fall onto your shoulders. You can feel in the way his fingers press into you that he’s fighting the urge to shake sense into you.

You look up at him, slightly startled by his forcefulness. His back is facing the moon now and his drenched body is limned in silver.

Before you can berate yourself for even thinking about it, you’re winding your hand around his tie and dragging him down, smashing your lips against his.

You shouldn't be doing this, a large part of you doesn’t want to, but it feels like the only way to purge yourself of him. And what kills a bacteria faster than blazing heat?

Art lets out a warning groan, but your teeth nipping his bottom lip is all it takes to have him leaning in. Even your kiss feels like a fight, battling each other for control, pressing with bruising force.

Art crowds over you, guiding your back against the grass.

You let yourself fall.

As your back presses into the earth, one of his hands settles on the side of your neck as he drags the other up your leg. When he peels up the sodden material of your dress, his hand exploring your thigh, the cold air bites tauntingly against your rapidly heating skin.

Your hard nipples brush against his soaked t-shirt and the feeling is so tantalising, that you find your back arching, pressing yourself into him and chasing the sensation.

When you let out a moan into his mouth, Art draws back as if some unseen hand has pulled on him.

He’s still agonisingly close, his lips a hair's breadth away as he gazes down at you through heavy eyelids, water droplets running down his face from his hair. His breathing is ragged.

Art’s eyes close and with his sight lost to him, his lips drift closer to you again and his teeth nip at your chin. After placing a ghost of kiss over where he’s bitten, he takes a deep breath.

Then his eyes open, and his expression is blank. It makes you feel sick.

You’re burning up with want, but you can already see the realisation of your transgression settling into the very bones of Art. He’s about to spurn you, disdain no doubt working its way to the surface. So you have to get there first.

“Poor, sensitive Art, scared by a kiss.” You goad. The words are forced out and they feel malformed on your tongue. “Don’t worry your little head over it, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Art drops his eyes from you, shaking his hand as he pushes himself off up.

“Nice try, but I know what you’re doing.”

He mumbles it and doesn't give you a chance to acknowledge it befores he’s on his feet and walking away.

Tears prick insistently at the back of your eyes but you force them back, pressing the heels of your thumbs into them until it hurts.

You sit up, feeling leaves and blades of grass sticking to your exposed skin.

You feel the air shift behind you, and are startled when you peer over your shoulder and find Art standing at your back. He has his shoes back on and is gripping his dry jacket far too tightly.

You find your voice, but it’s weak: “What am I doing Art?”

He doesn’t meet your eye, instead he opens up the jacket in his hands and settles it over your shoulders. You sit there, stunned as he tugs it around your body. Then he leans down and over your shoulders, his breath on the side of your face as he deftly buttons the jacket up.

Art encloses you in the dry garment that carries the scent of him.

“You’re doing the same thing as me.” He says quietly. It sounds almost painful for him to talk. “Running away. I guess we’re both cowards.”

And then he’s gone, marching back up the bank without another word.

You’re left sitting there, wrapped in his jacket and staring out at the pond.

Not the night sky.

Just a pond.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Three Months Later… )

After your cast had first come off, Wimbledon had felt like an intimidating but still far off thing; a dark shape on the horizon, but one you had to squint to see. But then it moved closer, barreling towards you like a bat out of hell.

You’ve made great progress in your recovery, you really have…but all your extensive physiotherapy hasn’t been able to heal the nerve-damage you’d turned out to have- at least not in a timespan that’s workable for a professional athlete.

You’re done. Tennis career over.

And your worst fear has come true: it hadn’t been your choice. Injury has forced you out and the public discourse is rife with commiseration and useless, positive platitudes.

Art has been proved right. Everything would be so much better had you known when to quit. You had preferred ridicule to this.

But until you’d come to Wimbledon, it hadn’t really sunk in yet: you hadn’t had the moment of finality.

What closure has ended up feeling like, is the final nail in your coffin.

As you had watched the first matches of Wimbledon from the stands, Rebecca glancing at you constantly–presumably to check you weren’t about to burst into tears–you had felt as though you were being buried: each serve and volley another hand tossing dirt on top of the coffin, sealing you beneath the ground for good.

At least one part of your day has been successful. You have completed the challenge you’d set for yourself that morning, which was to not drink any alcohol until the evening.

It has been excruciating.

Evidence of your victory lays in your trembling hands as you fit your keycard into the door of your hotel room. You’re desperate for what you know sits waiting for you on the other side.

But then, just as the lock mechanism chirps to let you know you’ve been granted entry, someone calls your name.

Your keycard is left in the door as your fingers fall away from the handle and you turn to face Art. He’s stopped himself a safe distance from you and is gazing at you with what looks like…relief?

Of course you knew he was at Wimbledon–you’d narrowly avoided crossing paths with him a number of times already today–but to hear his voice and having his probing stare directed solely on you, is as debilitating as you remember.

You haven’t seen each other, or even spoken, since the night by–or rather in–the pond.

The only place the two of you are still together in any capacity, is on the Nike billboards that are still occupying space throughout the world.

And as if Art’s thoughts align with your own, he says:

“You pull an impressive disappearing act.” He steps closer.

“That suggests you went looking for me.” You counter, pleased with how detached you sound. “We both know you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t.” Art replies frankly.

“So I didn’t disappear, did I? You just couldn’t see me.”

Art moves towards you some more, stopping an arms length away.

“It felt the same.” He utters lowly. “You were gone.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “So were you.”

Then you press your back into the door, fingers seeking out the handle, shaking now for a reason other than alcohol withdrawal.

You really don’t know if you’re running away or urging him on, but when you push open the door and duck inside, you do know that you’re not angry when he follows.

You put your back to the hallway door, expecting Art to move past you and head into the suite, but he doesn’t. At least not right away. Instead, he stops right in front of you, looking down at you as the door swings shut.

You would barely have to lift your hand and you’d be touching him.

You hate that he looks so good. He’s in simple navy dress pants, a white shirt sitting snugly on his chest, the top few buttons undone.

The two of you stand like that for a minute or so, and just as you realise that your breaths have practically synchronised, Art is moving away from you and wandering inside.

It’s only then, as he ventures deeper, that you remember what you’ve been so eager to get back into the room for. You curse yourself, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you.

Even if he hadn’t already seen them, it would be too late for you to hide the line of alcohol minis that you’d gathered from the bar cart.

You’d set them out earlier, the process almost meditative. It had been a promise to yourself: get through the day without drinking and you can have all of these once you’re alone.

But now they’re standing out in the open, displayed on the nearby desk like pieces knocked off a board in a game that you’ve been playing against yourself.

You watch helplessly as Art walks right over to them, his hands in his pockets. Your face flushes with shame.

Art cranes his neck back to look at you. You’re still pressed against the wall, afraid that if you take one step closer, you won’t be able to stop yourself from taking ten more. And you don’t want to be close to him when his face shifts into pity or revilement.

“You planning on drinking all of these?” Art asks, turning back to the bottles as if he knows his gaze is steadily undoing you and wants to grant a reprieve.

Eased slightly by the remarkable placidity of his tone, you’re able to answer calmly. But you still don’t move.

“That was the plan.”

Art lets out a non-committal hum. “Why?”

You laugh awkwardly, wringing your hands together. “I don’t know, why does anyone drink?”

“I don’t care about anyone, I'm asking about you.” His voice is firm, but the foundation of it is something less solid. His words shake on the way out.

You’re overcome with the urge to be honest. It’s actually a lot easier when he’s not looking at you.

“I drink because at some point in my life, every tiny thing became really difficult- like, embarrassingly difficult, to the point where I feel like a child again. And it turns out that ineptitude is easier to bear when you feel like you’ve imposed it on yourself. I drink because it makes me feel helpless…but, helpless by choice.”

The confession hangs suspended in the air, a horrifying, complicated marvel- like a beautiful butterfly now dead and pinned by its wings to a board.

Art speaks into the silence, his back still turned to you. “Do you want to forget? Is that part of it?”

“Forget what?” You’re struggling for breath now, his presence drawing all of the oxygen from the room.

He half-turns his head, blue eyes settling over you once more. “All of it.”

“There’s not enough alcohol in the world for that.” You say morosely.

You have learnt that getting drunk doesn’t rid you of all the thoughts that torment you in sobriety, it just pushes them further to the back. Even if you drink so much you can barely walk, the thoughts remain, banging on the barrier and demanding to be let back in.

Art doesn’t respond to that. He turns back to the little bottles and you watch as he reaches out a hand and knocks over the one closest to him. He pushes it forward, sending them all toppling one after the other like dominos. His eyes are set on them as they roll around on the table, a couple falling onto the plush carpet. And your eyes are set on him.

Then, he finally turns to properly face you, knocking the fallen bottles with his feet as he leans back against the table and crosses his arms against his chest.

He’s waiting, you realise. Waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to make the first move. Wanting you to come to him.

You push off the wall and start walking towards him. “Why did you follow me in here, Art?”

He sighs, the corner of his lip pulling up with a melancholy smile. “Because you make me feel helpless.”

That almost stops you in your tracks, but you recover quickly, barely a footstep faltering as you advance on him. Your heartbeat is a warning drum in your ears.

Once you reach him, Art widens his legs, allowing you to step between them.

As you settle your hands on his thighs, his duck beneath your dress and come to rest on the bare flesh of the back of your legs. He draws you closer, making you fingers dig into his trousers to steady yourself.

You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as he leans forward, brushing his lips against your exposed sternum.

You’re still flushed and sweating from the uncharacteristically blazing English sun and you shudder as Art’s tongue darts out lapping at the moisture there.

You rock forward, placing your chin on the top of his head, inadvertently pressing his mouth further into your skin. His lapping tongue turns into kisses, kisses that travel down onto the swell of your breasts and into the valley between them.

Even when he reaches the fabric of your dress, he doesnt let it stop him: Art’s lips close around your clothed nipple, wetting the thin fabric with his saliva. You let out a breathy moan into his hair as he moves onto the next one.

As Art works his mouth against you, you push your hands higher, letting your fingers brush the bulge in his pants before they’re settling on his belt buckle.

He says your name, each movement of his lips searing into your flesh.

“Do I make you feel helpless?” He asks, his hands moving up to curl in the sides of your underwear.

“No, Art. You don’t.”

As you undo his fly, he begins to pull your underwear down.

“Why?” He closes his mouth around your breast and bites down just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

You remove one of your hands from his crotch and use it to grab the back of his neck, you pull him away from your chest, forcing him to look up at you as your other hand disappears into his trousers, palming his hardness.

Even as you step out of your underwear and kick it away, you’re starting to stroke him. His mouth falls open, sucking in a breath as gazes up at you as if you hung the moon.

“How could I feel helpless?” You goad, leaning in and resting your mouth beside his ear to whisper. “When I have so much power over you?”

Art’s initial answer is to buck up into your hand, chasing the friction you’re moving too slowly to give him, but when you laugh at his desperation, he’s surging up, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you.

In a flash, you’ve taken up his position: ass resting on the edge of the desk.

Before you can catch your breath, Art has his hands on your knees and is spreading your legs, exposing your bareness to him.

But apparently he still hasn’t got you where he wants, because his fingers then wrap around the back of your legs and he lifts you, placing you further back onto the wooden surface. More bottles roll off the edge and drop into the carpet.

Then, finally, Art’s eyes meet yours. His smirk makes a return.

“So…” He begins, his hands gathering up your dress and leaving it to bunch up at your waist. “I have absolutely no effect on you? None at all?”

“No-” You can’t even finish your thought let alone the word before his fingers are running through the wetness between your legs. Your instinct is to shut them, but his hips are in the way, so you only succeed in holding him firmly in place.

You are left to stare as he lifts his hand up, evidence of your arousal glistening on his fingers. Then, slowly enough that he can watch the realisation of what he’s doing dawn on your face, Art takes his fingers into his own mouth.

His eyes meet yours and do not shift away for even a second as he licks your wetness from his skin.

The tightness in your belly becomes almost too extreme to bear, and a throbbing begins between your legs.

“I want you to ask.” Art says, his fingers–now wet with his own saliva–drawing circles on your inner thigh. “I want you to ask me to fuck you.”

“I thought you were here because I make you feel helpless?” You try to sound taunting, but your voice is ragged with want. “Now you want to be in control?”

Art leans down and you expect an abrupt, bruising joining of your lips, but instead he kisses you slowly, tenderness in every gentle movement. His mouth is is still aligned with yours as he answers:

“It’s not about control, sweetheart. I just want to hear that you want me as much as I want you.”

You begin to kiss along his jaw, your sentence formed with words cushioned between the press of your lips:

“I want you to fuck me, Art.”

Art's fingers curl around your jaw, bringing your lips back to his as he frees himself from his pants with his other hand. Your kiss is languid but rapidly growing with force, passion driving pleasure ever closer to point of pain.

“Condom?” Art questions into your open mouth.

With his fingers digging into your chin, you can't shake your head so you’re forced to gather enough of your wits to speak again:

“Birth control.”

“Okay.” Art pecks your lips before lifting a hand and spitting onto it. Then he’s fisting himself in his hand and pressing inside of you.

Your legs immediately wrap around his waist, hooking together to pull him in even further.

Art lets out a shuddered breath, his head dropping to your shoulder as he settles himself inside of you.

He kisses and licks across your collarbone, only stopping when he comes across the thin strap of your dress. With a little growl, he takes it between his teeth, tugging it back and then letting it ping back into your skin.

You laugh, still adjusting to the feel of him inside of you as you move to pull down the top of your dress. But Art has other ideas. He stops you with a slow thrust, rolling his hips just enough to have your hands wrapping around his neck instead.

“Let me do it.” He’s giving a command and yet it sounds like a grovel.

Then, in unison, his fingers find the straps of your dress and he’s pulling them away, tugging the bodice down and exposing your breasts to him completely. His hands fall onto them immediately, palming the supple flesh and lifting them up higher so that he can kiss them even as he begins to rock into you.

Just as your heartbeat begins to find some sort of rhythm again, Art pulls out of you almost completely before driving back in. Your breath is knocked out of you and as he begins to thrust with controlled rapidity.

Your hands fall to his still covered ass and dissatisfied with the lack of contact, you push your fingers past the waistband and dig your nails into his naked flesh.

Art moans into your neck, clamping down with his teeth as he picks up his pace yet again.

“Art-” You call out, lost in the press of him inside you.

The table begins to shake so much that it’s slamming against the wall, the noise perfectly aligning with the sound of your hips slapping together.

“Tell me this doesn’t make you feel out of control.” Art pleads, his movements growing frenzied.

By this point you can hardly think straight, so you give in, his statement going unanswered as your head is thrown back in pleasure. Art chuckles, licking up the column of your neck.

“I think I got my answer.”

“Shut up.”

When Art laughs at you again, you remove your hands from his ass and grip his face instead, drawing his lips back up to yours. He opens wide, panting into your mouth before your tongues start to move together.

You stay like that, mouths joined and breaths shared as his thrusts become messier, his hands on your back beginning to tremble.

But you’re not close yet and he knows it. He reaches between you and presses his thumb into your sensitive bud, applying enough pressure that, combined with him driving into you, has you quickly coming undone.

You break the kiss, crying out as your body is wracked with convulsions.

Art smiles, his eyes drooping closed as he chases his own release. And it doesn’t take long. You’re still coming back to yourself when his hips stutter and his fingers dig into you. He lets go, spilling inside you.

You both go still. You press your face into his chest–his shirt now dappled with spots of sweat–as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

You’re both breathing heavily, reeling in the wake of your joining when your phone–tucked into your purse that you had dropped by the door–begins to ring

Still inside you, Art shifts, pressing closer as his lips begin to kiss a path down your cheek. “Don’t answer it.”

You lean back just enough to meet his eye and smile. “I’m not going to answer it.”

Art matches your grin as he leans down and gives your lips a peck. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers movie #art donaldson smut #mike faist #tashi duncan

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