#took me forever to figure out what to do for this one
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idkyetxoxo · 14 hours ago
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Aemond Targaryen - Broken Promises
Summary - One passionate night together shatters when she must confront her impending betrothal, leading to a tragic betrayal that alters their fates forever. Left with only the haunting memory of their love, Aemond grapples with the consequences of their brief connection.
Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x reader
Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), violence
Word count - 2581
Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist
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The day Aemond Targaryen bared his heart to the woman he had hopelessly fallen in love with was also the day their brief love story came to a tragic end.
I sat alone in my chambers, knees pulled tightly to my chest, absentmindedly dipping my fingers into the pool of melted candle wax. The fleeting sting of the burn felt oddly comforting, its warmth a poor distraction from the turmoil within me.
Resting my head on my knees, my eyes wandered toward the window where a fierce storm raged outside, rain hammering against the glass in violent bursts. 
The thunder echoed my inner conflict, my thoughts a chaotic tangle of duty and desire. 
The looming shadow of my upcoming betrothal to the son of Lord Jasper Wylde weighed heavily on me, yet it paled in comparison to the feelings I harboured for Aemond—the one-eyed prince who had unknowingly captured my heart.
A soft creak interrupted my thoughts. The chamber doors opened slowly, the heavy wood groaning as someone entered. 
When I looked up, I gasped—it was the last person I had expected to see tonight.
"Aemond?" I whispered, startled. My fingers brushed the candle beside me, knocking it over. The flame extinguished with a hiss as the wax spilt across the stone floor, plunging the room into near darkness.
He stood in the doorway, drenched to the bone, his black leathers gleaming in the flickering light from the dying hearth. 
His hair clung to his face, the wet strands only making the sharp planes of his features more severe, his single violet eye burning with an intensity I'd never seen before.
"Do not marry him," he breathed, his voice rough with desperation.
I blinked, struggling to comprehend his words. My gaze roamed his figure, taking in the sight of him, as if he had just flown through the storm on Vhagar to reach me, his presence here a force of nature all its own. 
The storm outside seemed to pale in comparison to the tempest in his eye.
Aemond took a step closer, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor as the storm outside raged on. His face, half-shrouded in shadow, was a mask of barely contained emotion. 
I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, my breath catching in my throat as he moved closer, his single eye locked onto mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.
"I cannot stand by and watch you wed another," he said, his voice low and raw with emotion. "I know your duty binds you, but I cannot—will not—pretend any longer."
His words struck me like a lightning bolt. My mind reeled as I processed what he was saying, yet somewhere deep within me, I had known this was coming. 
I had felt it in the way he lingered near me, in the way his gaze lingered a little too long, in the way his touch seemed to burn through the thin fabric of propriety. 
But hearing it out loud—hearing the vulnerability in his voice as he bared his heart to me—was something entirely different.
"Aemond..." I whispered, unsure of what to say, unsure of what I should feel, or what I was allowed to feel.
His hand reached out, trembling slightly as he cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing gently across my skin. His touch was surprisingly warm, despite the cold dampness that clung to him. 
"I have loved you, quietly, endlessly, for so long," he murmured, his eye never leaving mine. "I tried to fight it. I tried to bury it beneath duty, beneath everything else. But when I heard of your betrothal... I couldn't breathe. The thought of you with him—of you becoming his—"
His voice faltered, breaking slightly, and in that moment, all of his carefully constructed walls crumbled.
"I love you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with so much aching truth that it made my heart lurch. "I've loved you from the moment I first saw you, and I will never stop."
Before I could respond, before I could even process the weight of his confession, he closed the distance between us, his lips crashing against mine with a fierce, desperate hunger. 
The kiss was rough at first, like he was pouring every unspoken word, every repressed feeling into it, but it quickly softened into something gentler, something more tender. 
I gasped against his mouth, my fingers instinctively tangling in his soaked hair as I kissed him back, the world outside falling away, leaving only us and the storm of emotions swirling between us.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against mine as he caught his breath, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. 
"I cannot lose you," he murmured, his breath warm against my lips. "Not like this."
"Aemond," I whispered, my voice trembling, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. "I feel the same... I always have."
At my words, something in him seemed to snap. His lips claimed mine again, this time softer, slower, as if he was savouring the moment, afraid it might slip away if he didn't hold on tightly enough. 
His hands roamed my body, hesitantly at first, but growing more confident as I responded, my own hands exploring the hard planes of his chest.
Before I knew it, we were moving, stumbling backward toward the bed, our kisses growing deeper, more urgent, as if every second that passed only heightened the tension between us. 
When my back hit the edge of the bed, I pulled him down with me, the weight of his body pressing against mine sending a thrill through me that I had never known before.
He pulled away just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze searching. 
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse with need but laced with a deep tenderness.
I nodded, my heart racing, but there was no fear—only a burning need to be closer to him, to feel everything we had both been denying for so long. 
"Yes," I whispered. "I'm sure."
Aemond kissed me again, this time slower, more reverent, as if he was savouring every moment. 
His hands moved with care, gently removing the layers of my clothing, and I did the same, my fingers trembling as I unbuckled his belt, peeled away his wet cloak, and let it fall to the floor. 
With each piece of clothing shed, the vulnerability between us grew, until we were both bare, exposed not just physically, but emotionally.
When he finally lowered himself over me, his body warm and solid against mine, it felt like the world had shifted, like everything had fallen into place in that moment. 
His touch was careful, almost worshipful, as his hands caressed my skin, and when he finally entered me, it was slow, gentle, as if he was afraid of hurting me. 
A soft gasp escaped my lips at the sensation, unfamiliar yet achingly beautiful.
He paused, his eye locked on mine, waiting, asking without words if I was alright. I nodded, my fingers gripping his shoulders, urging him on. 
Slowly, he began to move, and the initial discomfort melted into something deeper, something breathtakingly intimate.
Each thrust was a silent confession, a shared secret, as our bodies moved together in perfect harmony. 
His name fell from my lips in a breathless whisper, and he responded with a soft groan, his movements growing more urgent as we lost ourselves in each other.
The storm outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of our mingled breaths, the soft rustling of sheets, and the overwhelming closeness of his body against mine. 
Time lost all meaning as we came together again and again, until finally, the tension built to a crescendo, and we shattered, our release a shared moment of pure, aching bliss.
Aemond collapsed beside me, his breath ragged as he pulled me into his arms, his chest rising and falling rapidly against my back. 
I turned to face him, my head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
In the quiet aftermath, with the storm still raging outside but a new peace settling between us, I knew that nothing would ever be the same. 
This night, this moment, had changed everything.
As we lay together, the only sound was the steady rise and fall of our breaths and the distant rumble of the storm, now reduced to a soft whisper outside the windows. 
Aemond's arm was draped protectively over my waist, his warmth surrounding me like a cocoon. 
I traced the lines of his chest absentmindedly, my mind already drifting to the reality I would have to face in a few hours.
But as the weight of duty settled on my shoulders once more, I felt the inevitable tug of responsibility, like a noose tightening around my neck. 
I knew what needed to be done. I could not avoid it any longer.
With a deep sigh, I slowly disentangled myself from Aemond's embrace, careful not to disturb him. The cool air hit my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth we had shared. 
I could feel his gaze on me before he even spoke.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep but laced with a note of concern. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my arm, urging me to stay.
I turned to face him, already half-dressed, my heart aching at the sight of him—his hair tousled, his violet eye clouded with worry, his lips still swollen from our kisses. 
He looked vulnerable, a far cry from the fierce, stoic prince the world knew him to be.
"I have to go," I said softly, pulling on the last of my clothes. The words felt like shards of glass in my throat. "I have to tell him... about the betrothal. About us."
Aemond's expression darkened, and he sat up, his brows drawing together in a storm of emotions. 
"Tell him?" he echoed, his voice suddenly sharper, filled with disbelief and rising panic. "You don't owe him anything. You don't have to—"
"I do," I interrupted gently, though the pain in my chest nearly doubled as I saw the flicker of hurt in his eye. "If I'm to end this, he needs to know. I can't leave him in the dark. It's only right." 
I hesitated, reaching for his hand, squeezing it tightly. "But don't worry... I'll be back."
Aemond's grip tightened around my hand, his desperation now palpable. "Stay," he whispered, his voice low but filled with a quiet, almost pleading intensity. 
"Stay with me. Forget him. We can leave this place—together. We can run, escape this life, and no one will follow. Let me take you away from all of this."
For a fleeting moment, I considered it. Running away with Aemond sounded like a dream.
 A life with him, free of duty, free of the obligations that bound us to others, was all I had ever wanted. But reality was much crueller. There was no escaping our fates. 
And I could not live with myself if I left things unfinished if I left my betrothed without an explanation.
"I can't," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Aemond's forehead. "But I will come back to you. I promise."
Aemond's eye searched mine, as though he were trying to convince himself of my words, but deep down, I saw the doubt flicker in him. 
He didn't want to believe it, but he nodded slowly, reluctantly releasing my hand.
"I'll wait for you," he murmured, his voice tight with resignation. "Come back to me."
I gave him a sad smile before slipping out of the room, leaving him behind in the dim light of our shared night, unaware that it would be the last time I would ever see him.
I made my way to Jasper Wylde's son, my heart heavy with dread but resolved to set things right. I needed to tell him that the betrothal could not go forward, that my heart belonged to another, even if it would shatter the fragile alliance our families had built. 
I hoped—perhaps foolishly—that he might understand, that he would let me go.
But when I stood before him in his chambers, and the words tumbled from my lips, his reaction was far from what I had imagined.
At first, he was silent, his face an unreadable mask, but I could see the fury simmering just beneath the surface. His eyes narrowed, his hands clenched into fists. 
I took a step back, suddenly aware of the growing tension in the room.
"You love him?" he asked, his voice unnervingly calm, though the venom lacing his words was unmistakable. "The one-eyed prince? You think I will simply stand by and allow you to humiliate me like this? To betray our betrothal for him?"
I opened my mouth to speak, to try and reason with him, but the storm broke before I had a chance. 
In an instant, his rage erupted. He lunged forward, his hand striking me across the face with such force that I stumbled, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. 
Panic surged through me, but before I could react, he was upon me, his hands around my throat, his face twisted in an unrecognizable fury.
"You think you can leave me?!" he snarled, his grip tightening as I gasped for air. "You think I'll let you walk away from this? You belong to me!"
I clawed at his hands, but his strength was overwhelming. My vision blurred, dark spots clouding the edges of my sight as my body fought for breath. 
Desperation filled me, but it was no use. 
The world around me began to fade, the sound of his hateful words growing distant until, finally, there was nothing but silence.
Aemond waited for hours, pacing back and forth in the darkened chamber where we had shared our first and only night together. His heart raced with anxiety, his mind conjuring up every possible reason for my delay, but always, he held onto hope. 
I would come back to him. I had promised.
But as dawn broke and the first rays of light crept into the room, reality began to settle in. Something was wrong. Aemond's chest tightened with a growing sense of dread. 
He threw on his clothes and stormed out of the room, determined to find me.
It wasn't until later that day that he learned the truth.
When they found my body—lifeless, bruised, and cold—Aemond's world shattered. 
The news spread quickly, whispers of a lover's quarrel turned deadly, but all Aemond could hear was the sound of his own heartbreaking, the weight of his own failure crashing down on him.
I had promised I would come back to him. I never did.
In that moment, standing over my lifeless body, Aemond knew that the love we had shared, however brief, would haunt him for the rest of his life. 
Our love story had been beautiful, but it was never meant to last. 
And now, it had ended in the worst possible way—tragic, unfinished, and forever lost to the cruelty of fate.
In the shadow of my death, Aemond's heart hardened. The gentle, desperate man I had known that night was gone, replaced by a hollow, vengeful prince, consumed by a rage that would never be quenched. 
He swore vengeance on the man who had taken me from him, but even revenge could not bring me back. 
Our love, fleeting and fragile, was now nothing more than a bitter memory, a love story destined to end in heartbreak.
A/n - I am still not over Autumn and Finny from 'if he had been with me' so I gotta make sure everyone suffers <3
Aemond tag list - @darylandbethfanforever9 @lessdepressy
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sasheemo · 1 day ago
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When we collide
Chapter 11
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Chapter Summary: Agatha sneaks into your house, and an already risky plan takes an unexpected, and even riskier, turn.
Word Count: 3.4k
A/N: I know this update took forever and I am so sorry, work and life in general have been crazy lately. Writing has been such a slow process, and finding the time to sit down and focus has been hella hard.
That said, I’m so grateful for your patience and support—it truly means the world to me. Every comment, like, and bit of encouragement keeps me motivated to push through, even when things feel overwhelming. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.
Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. Your love for this story keeps me going 💜
It feels like you’ve been hiding in the shadows of your garden for hours. You have no idea how much time has passed or how long Agatha has been inside.
Seconds stretch into minutes, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been waiting an eternity.
The night grows colder and heavier with each passing second, the chill creeps through your dress, your eyes fixed on the darkened windows above. The faint glow of the kitchen light spills onto the ground, a subtle but constant reminder of your mother’s presence inside.
You clench your hands into fists at your sides, trying to still the growing unease coiling in your chest. The plan had seemed straightforward at the time: get Agatha inside, have her pretend to be you, and wait for her to open the window. But now, as you stand in the biting cold, the enormity of the risks begins to gnaw at you.
Agatha doesn’t know your mother. Not the way you do. 
She doesn’t know the sharp edge to her voice, the way her words cut deeper than her glares. She doesn’t know the little tells, the moments when her mood shifts and it’s better to stay quiet than risk provoking her. And most importantly, Agatha doesn’t know the intricate, tense dance you’ve perfected over years of enduring her.
The weight of it all suddenly feels crushing. You shift uneasily, your breathing shallow as your thoughts spiral. What if your mother notices something’s off? What if Agatha hesitates or says the wrong thing? What if she tries to talk her way out of something and slips up? 
You bite down on your lip, forcing yourself to breathe slower, deeper. But the thoughts don’t stop. 
What if your mother catches her before she even reaches your room? What if she figures out the truth? What would she do - to Agatha, to you - if she realized the extent of this betrayal? Your mind conjures up a dozen worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.
A sharp gust of wind pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you glance down instinctively at the small bundle of fur near your feet. The rabbit, Agatha’s rabbit, sits quietly in the shadows beside you, its nose twitching as it sniffs the night air. Its presence is steady, calm, almost indifferent to the storm raging in your head.
You crouch down slightly, your fingers brushing against the creature’s soft fur. It doesn’t flinch, simply shifts closer as if it senses your unease. There’s something grounding about the animal, something simple and reassuring. Agatha had brought it here with her, and for some reason, the thought that something she clearly cares for is by your side soothes the sharp edges of your panic.
You take another breath, steadier this time. The faint glow from the kitchen is still there, unchanging, and the stillness of the house seems both unnerving and hopeful. 
She’s inside. She’ll make it.
And then, finally, you hear the faint creak of the window above. 
Your head snaps up, your pulse quickening as you watch it ease open. Your own face peers out from the shadowed wooden frame, tense and searching the garden below. It takes you a second to remember that it’s actually Agatha.
The sight pulls at something strange in your chest. You know the spell you cast has served its purpose, that she’s safe now. That realization settles over you like a wave, and you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.
Closing your eyes, you draw on the lingering energy of the spell, your magic buzzing faintly under your skin. You picture her, not as a reflection of yourself, but as she truly is: darker, undeniably powerful, magnetic. With a flick of your wrist and a soft breath, you send the magic out, releasing it.
When you open your eyes, the figure leaning out of the window has changed. Her true form has returned: wild, dark hair framing her face, sharp cheekbones catching the faintest glow of the night.
Agatha’s gaze catches yours, steady and knowing, as if she’s fully aware of what you’ve just done. She tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment, a silent signal to come up. 
The tension in your chest doesn’t fully ease, but you let yourself glance at the towering tree at the center of the garden, its ancient branches stretching out in every direction like a great, unmoving sentinel. The bark is thick and weathered, furrowed with deep grooves that speak of countless seasons endured. 
Its lowest branches bow slightly under their own weight, but higher up, the limbs grow stronger, sprawling outward with a defiant strength. One of its largest branches curves close to your window, not enough to block the view from your room but near enough to serve as your path inside.
The tree has always been there, a quiet companion through your childhood. Back then, its lower limbs had felt like a sanctuary, their rough surfaces welcoming and steady beneath your hands. You’d scramble up effortlessly, laughing as you dangled your legs and let the world blur into your own imagined wilderness. 
But tonight, the tree looms above you, its branches no longer inviting but daunting, like a puzzle demanding perfect precision. Your gaze fixes on the thick branch that leads toward your window, and doubt creeps in uninvited.
You exhale, trying to calm the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. The branches look sturdy, thicker than they seemed when you were younger, but you know they’ll need to hold more than they ever have before.
You step closer to the tree as you prepare to hoist yourself up. But as you look upward, plotting your path, reality snaps into focus. 
One of your hands is clutching the rabbit, its small body shifting slightly against your palm, leaving the other useless for climbing. Both hands will be needed to grip the bark and the branches, to steady yourself as you ascend.
You can’t climb like this.
Your jaw tightens as you glance down at the animal, then over your shoulder at the satchel pulling against your back. The weight of both feels suddenly oppressive, a barrier between you and the safety of the window above.
Your breath is clouding in the cold air as you glance up at the towering tree again. For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind racing for a solution.
Then, an idea comes to you. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all you’ve got, and it’ll have to do.
Kneeling carefully, you place the rabbit gently on the ground beneath the tree. 
“Stay.” you whisper softly, as the small creature sniffs the grass, its twitching nose brushing against a fallen leaf. You shrug the satchel off your back, unfastening the flap with fingers that tremble slightly from the cold.
You glance down at the contents of the bag and let out a soft sigh of relief. Agatha, it seems, is a light packer. There’s enough space, you think, and without hesitation, you scoop up the rabbit again, cradling its small body close for a moment. 
“Alright, you’re going in.” you whisper, angling the bag carefully to create a safe, snug space.
The rabbit shifts, its ears flicking in mild protest, but it doesn’t wriggle too much as you tuck it in among the folds of Agatha’s clothing. You adjust the fabric gently, making sure it’s secure, and offer a quiet, almost reassuring murmur. “See? Not so bad.”
You hope the familiar scent will keep it calm during the climb. For a moment, the faint smell reaches you as well - earthy yet sweet, rich and layered - and it stops you in your tracks. The briefest flicker of distraction pulls at you before you shake it off, focusing on closing the satchel and readying yourself for the climb.
You glance up at the window to check for any sign from Agatha, but what you see halts you. She’s leaning out of the darkened window, her features clear despite the shadows, and her expression… well, if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the ground.
Her glare is direct and unmistakable, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It doesn’t take much to realize why. 
She’s staring straight at the satchel slung over your shoulder and the rabbit inside it. You’re frozen, caught mid-motion, her piercing gaze making you feel oddly small, like a child caught red-handed. Your irritation flares before you can stop it, the sharp edge of it cutting through your nerves. 
‘What exactly does she expect me to do?’ you think, sarcasm practically spilling over. ‘Carry it in my teeth?!’
You bite back a laugh at your own thoughts, the absurdity of the situation tugging at the corners of your mouth. You glance away from the window, shaking your head with a mix of annoyance and amusement. 
“As if she’d have a better idea.” you mutter quietly to yourself, the words more a release of tension than anything else.
The bark digs into your palms as you grip the trunk, pulling yourself up onto the first branch. It creaks faintly under your weight, but it holds, as it always has. Your breath comes slow and deliberate, each movement measured as you reach for the next handhold.
Even so, the awareness of Agatha’s eyes on you gnaws at the edge of your focus. Her gaze feels like a weight on your back, amplifying every misstep and every slight tremble in your limbs. The idea of her judging your clumsy climb, silently critiquing each slip of your footing, sends another wave of irritation coursing through you.
And yet… there’s something oddly reassuring about it too. As if her presence, no matter how frustrating, guarantees that someone will catch you if you fall. Not literally, of course, but the thought lingers, steadying you more than you’d care to admit.
You shift your weight carefully, reaching for the next branch. The satchel presses against your back, its weight a constant reminder of your responsibility, and of the sharp eyes above you. You resist the urge to glance up briefly, focusing instead on the climb.
You move cautiously, gripping the bark tightly as you climb higher. The tree groans faintly under your weight, and you freeze, holding your breath. 
The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, you glance toward the kitchen window, half-expecting to see your mother’s silhouette appear, but the glow remains steady, undisturbed.
You grit your teeth, focusing on your balance, careful to distribute your weight evenly. Every move feels agonizingly slow, the need for silence making each step a deliberate act of precision.
As you near the branch that curves toward your window, you reach out with one hand, your fingers brushing the rough bark. It’s close, close enough that you can almost imagine the feel of the window frame beneath your palm. 
But as you shift your weight to make the final stretch, your foot slips against the trunk, the bark giving way beneath your boot.
Your stomach lurches as your balance wavers, your free hand scrabbling desperately for a hold. The satchel shifts sharply, throwing you further off balance, and for a terrifying moment, you’re certain you’ll fall. Your breath catches in your throat, panic blooming in your chest.
From her vantage point at the window, Agatha tenses instantly. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she shifts forward slightly in a reflexive, almost involuntary motion, as if she could somehow close the unbridgeable distance and reach you. Concern flickers across her face as her hands grip the windowsill tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure.
But then your hand finds purchase, gripping a knot in the bark just in time to steady yourself. 
You hang there for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears, your body frozen as the satchel settles back into place. The rabbit stirs faintly inside, and you murmur a soft reassurance under your breath, though it’s as much for yourself as for the animal.
The faint creak of the tree subsides, and the night seems to hold its breath along with you. You force yourself to exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening as you steady your footing once more. Carefully, you reach out again, this time gripping the branch firmly before pulling yourself up onto it.
The window is finally within reach, a threshold to safety. 
As you glance up, Agatha is there, her figure sharp and still against the faint shadows of the room. She’s waiting, her presence a silent promise that the plan is almost complete. The sight steadies you and, for the first time since the climb began, relief flickers at the edges of your thoughts, fragile but real.
As you near the window, Agatha leans out further, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over your shoulder. She lifts a hand, gesturing for it with a slight wave of her fingers, her expression calm and maddeningly smug.
You pause, blinking at her. 
“Really?” you mutter under your breath, incredulity practically dripping from your tone. 
She tilts her head slightly, arching a single brow, her smugness somehow amplifying as she gestures again, clearly waiting.
For a moment, you consider ignoring her, but then you glance at the satchel. She has a point, giving her the bag would mean the rabbit is safer, and, without the extra weight on your back, you’ll have an easier time pulling yourself through the window.
With a dramatic sigh, you shrug the satchel off your shoulder, the strap sliding down your arm before you lift it toward her. She stretches downward, her fingers brushing the edge of the leather before she grips it firmly and pulls it from your grasp. 
For a moment, you watch her, half expecting her to disappear entirely now that the bag is secure in her hands.
And that’s exactly what she does. Agatha retreats, vanishing from the window’s edge with the satchel in tow. You roll your eyes, your mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that she’s probably fussing over the rabbit. 
The thought irritates and amuses you in equal measure, but you shake your head and steady yourself for the final push. 
The ledge is close, and with the satchel gone, the climb feels marginally easier. You stretch your arms upward, gripping the edge of the window frame as you shift your weight onto the thick branch beneath you. 
Carefully, you pull yourself higher, your knees brushing the frame as you begin to hoist yourself inside.
For a moment, it seems like you’ve done it. Your body halfway through the window, balance steady enough to keep going.
And then your foot catches on the edge of the frame.
The jolt sends you stumbling forward, your grip slipping as the momentum drags you into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble.
Agatha moves instantly, appearing as if out of nowhere, her reflexes instinctive and precise.
You barely register the sudden shift before her silhouette is in front of you. One of her hands darts out, gripping your arm with surprising strength, but it’s not enough to counter the force of your fall. Her other hand slides to your waist, firm and steady, trying to catch you, but the momentum is too much.
There’s no time for either of you to adjust. The pull of gravity drags you forward, and you both tumble into the room in a chaotic, ungraceful heap. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you land tangled together. 
Agatha is half-sprawled over you, her weight pinning you to the floor, grounding and overwhelming all at once. The world seems to fade, narrowing to the soft rustle of leaves in the night and the rhythm of her breathing. 
Her face is unbearably close, so close that her breath brushes against your cheek, warm and uneven. Untamed hair spilling over her shoulder and grazing your arm, strands scattered haphazardly from the fall.
There’s a stillness to her expression, but the faint parting of her lips reveals a hitch in her breathing, as though the shock of the tumble hasn’t fully left her.
Both of her hands remain where they caught you, one curled tightly around your arm, the other pressed firmly against your waist. The heat of her touch burns through the fabric of your dress, rooting you in place even as your pulse races wildly.
Those sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the dim light, are locked on yours. The intensity of her gaze makes your breath catch, as if she’s not only seeing through you but searching for something at the same time.
For a moment, nothing else exists. Your chest tightens and your pulse hammers in your ears as the space between you feels impossibly thin, a fragile thread stretched taut and trembling. 
And then, fleetingly - so quickly you almost think you imagined it - her gaze drops, flickering to your lips. The motion is so subtle, so brief, that it vanishes almost as soon as it happens. But the imprint of it remains, sharp and electric, making you shudder.
Your mind scrambles for something, anything, to say, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare back at her, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to make sense of the moment.
The silence stretches, thick and almost suffocating, until Agatha breaks it. Her voice is low, threaded with dry amusement but carrying an almost daring undertone that sets your nerves alight. 
“Are you always this dramatic,” she murmurs, “or am I just special?”
The words pull you out of your daze, and your cheeks burn instantly, the heat rushing to your face. 
“I— I didn’t—” you stammer, scrambling to find words, but every coherent thought scatters.
Agatha exhales sharply, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something else, but instead, she pushes herself up abruptly. 
The cool night air rushes in as her warmth leaves, and you’re left on the floor, heart still pounding in your ears.
She brushes off her skirts with deliberate ease, her expression once again smug and composed, though there’s a flicker of tension in her movements. She extends a hand to you, her sharp gaze watching you carefully.
“Come on, get up.” she whispers, her tone calm but firm. “Your mother might have heard that.”
You glare up at her, your pride stinging, but you take her hand anyway, letting her pull you to your feet. Her grip is firm, steady, and as she helps you up, her fingers linger just a second too long before she steps back.
The sensation is fleeting but familiar, a ghost of what had happened only hours earlier by the lake. She’d done the same after you healed her burns, offering her hand with that same deliberate calm, as though her touch carried no weight. But it had lingered then too, just like now, and the memory ignites a warm spark in your chest. 
As you rise to your feet, your balance feels oddly unsteady, not from the fall but from the moment itself. You linger there, caught between embarrassment and something heavier. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as though still feeling the echo of her grip, and your gaze follows her as she moves away.
She crosses the room, moving toward the satchel she’d placed on the floor earlier and crouching down. 
You turn toward the window, reaching for the frame to shut it. The cool night air still drifts into the room, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. Your fingers curl around the wood, and just as you push it closed, a sound freezes you in place.
A creak. Faint, but unmistakable.
Your heart stops, and you glance at Agatha, who has gone still beside the satchel, her hand hovering over the flap. Her sharp eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathes.
Another creak follows, heavier this time, accompanied by the low groan of the wooden stairs shifting.
Panic flashes between you in a silent exchange, the weight of the moment sinking in with brutal clarity. Agatha straightens slowly, her hand dropping from the satchel as her gaze darts toward the door.
Well, shit. Your mother definitely heard.
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nightghoul381 · 3 days ago
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Ellis Twilight~ Chapter 13 - His Side Story
"Loosen up and go crazy.”
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Disclaimer for route warnings | Masterlist
Additional Content Warnings: None
This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!
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Kate is a hard worker.
She laughed and said that she was now able to operate the wheelchair I had made herself.
That smile looked so happy and cute, but,
Looking at it… something dark and hidden deep within my chest began to stir.
--Like trying to pry open a lid.
My room faces the forest that surrounds Crown Castle.
When we moved into Crown Castle, Jude said “Ya like it here, don’t ya?” so I decided to live there.
(Any room would have been fine for me though.)
Kate squints happily as the sunlight filters through the trees.
(I’m glad Kate likes it.)
I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered the picnic we had some time ago.
Kate: “Ellis, your room is so relaxing.”
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Ellis: “I guess so. Jude clicked his tongue at me and said, ‘Ya haven’t got a single book?’”
I picked up Kate from her wheelchair and gently placed her on the sofa.
The tray I placed on her lap had fried eggs and bacon on it,
Salad, white beans stewed in tomato sauce, and buttered toast are all neatly arranged beside them.
Kate: “Wow… This looks delicious.”
Ellis: “You always eat the food served at breakfast with gusto.”
Ellis: “I put a little bit of everything on the plate.”
Kate: “Thank you… I’m going to enjoy this.”
When she’s eating, Kate smiles more than usual and looks cuter.
(You’re defenseless, Kate.)
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(I’m a guy, after all.)
When she suggested “A place I could relax”, I reflexively said “My room”, though it’s not something I should’ve said.
(Seeing Kate go out on her own…)
(I thought it would be better to stay in the room rather than take her out somewhere.)
(Kate was so cute when she blushed in confusion.)
As Kate savored her breakfast, her eyes occasionally wandered around my room.
I was staring intently at Kate’s figure.
(…I’m glad your injury is healing.)
(I’m glad that you can now operate the wheelchair.)
(I should’ve said that earlier.)
That her injuries are healing, that she can go places she wants to go by herself,
Because it would make Kate happy.
(Why couldn’t I say it?)
At that moment, I felt something crawling up from deep within my chest—
Kate: “Today, I think I’ll walk around the castle for rehabilitation.”
My heart skipped a beat when I heard Kate’s cheerful voice.
(…Ah.)
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I feel as if the things I need to kill are overflowing, and I hold my breath.
--I wish we could stay like this forever.
Then I’ll be the only one who can make Kate happy.
I won’t just bring you breakfast, I’d do everything.
I wish Kate would wish that too—
Kate: “Ellis?”
Ellis: “…Ah, yeah. That’s good.”
Suddenly coming to my senses, I picked up the empty tray from Kate’s lap.
I took a deep breath as I loaded it onto the tea trolley.
(What am I thinking?)
That was definitely not a wish for Kate.
It’s selfish of me.
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(I hid it away properly, so why does it keep coming out?)
To avoid being swallowed up, I push it tightly back into my chest.
(Don’t make Kate unhappy.)
I changed my mindset, and reached out to Kate.
Ellis: “Hold my hand when you walk. I think you’ll still be unsteady.”
Kate: “…Um, thank you.”
We clasped hands and left the room.
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Ellis: “…Does it hurt?”
Kate: “Y-yeah… but it’s okay.”
One, two, one, two, Kate takes steps forward little by little.
Her injured leg was stiff from not moving it for a while.
Kate: “I didn’t realize that just a few days of bed rest could make it so hard to walk.”
Kate: “…Whoa.”
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Ellis: “Oops… Are you okay?”
With a click, Kate’s legs lost strength and she nearly fell, but I managed to stop her.
Kate: “Th-Thank you…”
Ellis: “……Of course.”
Kate is kind of cute when she clings tightly to my hand, like a fawn that has just stood up.
Kate: “My muscle strength has really decreased… I need to train…”
Ellis: “Fufu… I’ll be with you every day, so don’t worry.”
Kate muttered in a serious tone, so I replied in a light-hearted tone.
Kate: “…”
Kate looked up at me and then blushed again, as if troubled.
(…?)
Ellis: “…Is something wrong?”
Kate: “Uh, nope…”
Kate: “I kept saying that I had to become independent… but when I’m with you, Ellis, I end up becoming spoiled.”
Kate: “I was just thinking, I have to be careful…”
(…)
Kate’s words pierce my heart.
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It pierces the lid of the tightly closed box from above, nearly prying it open.
(Huh…?)
(Would it be beneficial for Kate if I told her “You can be more dependent on me”?)
(Or maybe that’s just what I want.)
I was so confused that I almost pulled my hand away, but then…
Kate: “Ah, wait, wait…!”
Ellis: “Ngh…!”
Kate squeezed my hand as she spoke,
All my confusion was blown away by that sensation.
Kate: “I guess that means, I should wait until I can walk a bit more before trying to avoid becoming too dependent on you, huh…?”
Kate: “If you let go of my hand now, I’ll fall…”
Kate’s eyes look up at me with anxiousness.
(…Wow)
(I shouldn’t be happy about this.)
If I feel happy, I’ll just end up ‘repeating’ the same thing again—
I no longer knew how to contain the excitement that was building deep inside my heart.
Ellis: “…Yep, I’m holding it properly.”
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Ellis: “Even when you can walk, you don’t have to let go.”
Kate: “Huh…!?”
Kate: “…Stop teasing me like that…”
Kate’s face took on a slightly troubled look and then,
She looked happy and relaxed.
(When was Kate’s happiest moment?)
(At that time, I was just being pure and honest with her.)
(I wonder if I can make Kate’s happiness last forever.)
As I spend time with Kate, I gradually lose confidence.
(I hope you find happiness soon.)
(It was a bad idea for me to wish for it to stay like this forever.)
(Before it gets any stronger--)
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Next Chapter
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dreamtheatre · 3 days ago
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Say Don't Go (Part Two)
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Pairing: Hunter (TBB) x Jedi!Fem!Reader Summary: After Hunter's chip is removed, he realises what he has done to you. Word Count: 2.4K Warnings: angst, descriptions of injury, not proofread sorry
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Were you dead? Honestly, you couldn’t tell. There was a long, long moment where you couldn’t feel anything… you couldn’t see, you couldn’t smell - all your senses had disappeared. You didn’t know how long you had been stuck in the void, it could have been forever or just a few moments, but it felt as if you had never been anywhere else.
The first thing you felt when everything started to clear was the weight of someone’s hand in yours. There was the muffled sound of some sort of machine beeping periodically, and someone talking. It was all hard to work out, though. The constant throbbing of your wounds and the sound of your irregular heartbeat took over everything else.
Instinctively, you squeezed whoever’s hand was in yours, and you swore you could hear a sharp intake of breath over everything else. Your eyes wouldn’t open, so you attempted to delve into the force, ignoring how much it drained your energy to figure out who it was.
“Who’s there?”
Again, you could hear whoever it was speaking to you, but it was all muffled, so you tried to ask through the force again, feeling yourself drifting off into the void again, but you managed to hear their answer before leaving.
“Talk to me through your thoughts… I can hear you.”
“…Mesh’la?”
“Hunter?”
Before she could say anything else, the darkness caught up to her, and she was thrust back into the void.
Third Person POV, Two Weeks Prior
When Hunter had woken up, he groaned at the feeling of bruises all across his body. He felt the familiar texture of the slightly hard mattress of his bunk beneath him, and let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding as he groggily opened his eyes. There was a slight aching in the side of his temple, but other than that he didn’t feel that bad. Something wasn’t fitting right in his heart, though.
“Ah, you’re awake.” The familiar voice of Tech reached Hunter, who sat up slowly on the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad,” Hunter shrugged as he lifted an arm in an attempt to figure out what exactly the weird feeling was in his chest. It was some sort of dull ache, but even as he slowly rubbed at the area through his blacks, he couldn’t seem to make it go away. “What happened?”
Tech stopped suddenly as he turned around to face him. “You don’t… remember?”
“Remember what?” Hunter narrowed his eyes as he dropped his hand and glanced at Echo, Wrecker, and Crosshair, who entered the smaller room all at once. Echo raised an eyebrow, Wrecker crossed his arms, and Crosshair looked snidely in his direction. Hunter frowned. Did he do something? Deciding to change the topic, he coughed to clear his throat. “Where’s Omega?”
The rest of the Batch glanced around, seeming to want to look anywhere but at Hunter. Eventually, Crosshair shook his head in exasperation as he looked Hunter up and down. “She’s with her.” The sharpshooter said in an almost accusing manner. “Di’kut.”
“With her?” Hunter repeated, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “With who? Wh-” All of a sudden Hunter felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head as his blood turned cold with realisation. The pain in his chest suddenly burned a thousand times more than it was, and he felt as if his airway was being constricted as his lungs began to starve for air. Everything around him started to blur, including his brothers and the sound of one of their concerned voices as he pushed himself up from his bunk, ignoring the others’ protests as he stumbled his way down the corridor. He heard his brothers telling him to stop, but he couldn’t. His legs were moving on their own to reach you as fast as he could.
When he finally skidded into the med-bay, his heart nearly stopped all over again when he say you. You were deathly pale, cheeks slightly hollowed in and you arms falling limp at either side of your body. There was a new scar across one of your cheeks, that he knew he had caused. The only indication that you were still alive was the screen monitoring your heartbeat, and even that line was barely moving.
He felt like time had stopped around him as the thumping of his heartbeat and a slight muffled ringing began to fill his ears, everything stopping until a sudden blur of movement pulled his attention from you.
When Omega turned and spotted him, she didn’t even look remotely happy. Instead, she quickly reached down to the ground next to her and picked up the Zygerrian energy bow that she had stolen, drawing back a bolt and aiming directly at him. Hunter slowly put his hands up, chest heaving as Omega’s words swam through the sea of his panic and despair to be comprehended in his brain.
“I won’t let you hurt her again.”
Again.
Hunter felt that delicate thing that had been pounding against his chest suddenly snap as he saw the resolve on his blonde sister’s face. His eyes flickered back to your unmoving body and before he had to tear his eyes away and meet Omega’s amber ones.
“I-” Hunter croaked pleadingly. “Omega-”
“Omega, it’s okay,” Tech and the rest of the Batch finally made it to the med-bay. And Hunter felt a hand on his shoulder, probably Wrecker. “He’s safe.” Slowly, Omega lowered her bow and dropped it to the floor with a clatter as she bolted up to him, wrapping her arms around his legs and crushing them so tightly Hunter thought he was going to fall over. However, Hunter slowly bent down to wrap his arms around her, mumbling an endless stream of apologies as his regret and fear threatened to overwhelm him.
“I’m sorry kid,” he sighed, his eyes darting all over the room as he willed them to land anywhere but where you where. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Omega told him fiercely, “It’s the Empire’s.” Hunter felt a shiver run down his spine at the mention of the name. There was a quiet silence that was only filled by the shuffling of his brothers as they slowly backed out of the room, opting to give Hunter privacy with Omega and you. “I… you weren’t here. For a while. And someone had to watch over her.” Omega slowly let go of Hunter as she turned back to you. “You weren’t there,” Omega repeated, “so I did what you would do.” She gestured for him to sit down in the chair beside your bed.
Hunter swallowed a lump in his throat as he sat down slowly, not daring to let his hands go where they ached to go. To caress your face, brush his thumb against your cheek. Who knows what his hands would do. “How long has it been?”
“Three standard rotations.” Tech had stepped back into the room, and Hunter felt his head begin to spin. “We’re two thirds of the way to Saleucami.”
“Saleucami?” Hunter questioned, his eyes never leaving your face.
“Rex has a secret base there,” Tech answered. “It has the medical supplies adequate to heal our sarad’s injuries. A bacta tank, that is.” There was a pause before Tech sighed. “Normal stab wounds would only require a bacta patch, but hers were… deeper than usual. And the location of the wounds-”
“I know where I stabbed her.”
For the next three rotations, Hunter didn’t leave your side, waiting anxiously for any sign of your awakening (because you had to wake up… you just had to). He slept in that uncomfortable chair, that was just a tad too small because it was Omega’s, but he refused to move. Even if his siblings offered to take his seat he just shook his head. Omega and Echo took turns bringing him ration packets three times a rotation, but he barely noticed himself eating it as he felt his gaze unable to be torn away from you.
When they had landed on Saleucami, Rex greeted them shortly before rushing over to your bed and, with the held of Wrecker, carried your limp form to the medical facility in a rush. Hunter trailed almost as lifelessly as you behind them, and jumped when he felt Rex’s hand on his shoulder.
“The General’s strong,” Rex reassured him. “I fought with her on the battlefield for years and I can assure you it’d take more than a few stab wounds to take her down.” Not where I stabbed her, Hunter thought helplessly to himself. But still, Rex’s comfort was appreciated.
And now Hunter was sitting again in a chair beside you. You had been removed from the Bacta Tank a few hours ago, since your wounds were as healed as they would get. There was still a scar on your stomach, though, and Hunter assumed that there would be another one over your heart as well. He winced at the thought - another reminder of what he did to you.
He had one hand in your limp one since he had to know you were still there. He didn’t trust the machinery hooked up to you as much as he trusted his own senses… if there was one thing he still trusted about himself, it would be his enhanced senses. The dull, but still constant beating of your heart beneath your skin was enough to keep him sane for now.
Until his heart jumped painfully against his chest when he felt it.
No. It couldn’t be. He had to be hallucinating.
But there it was
“Who’s there?”
Hunter swallowed a lump in his throat as he tried to talk to you. “Cyare?” There was no response, and as he waited for your hand to squeeze his again he felt himself slowly begin to deflate. Maybe he had gone insane and was imagining things-
“Talk to me through your thoughts… I can hear you.”
“…Mesh’la?”
“Hunter?”
Hunter nearly wept in joy as he tightened his grip around your hand.
“I’m right here, Mesh’la. I’m right here.” Hunter didn’t know if he was comforting or pleading you, but another response never came. Maybe he had imagined it after all.
Later, when the sun had just begun to rise, you finally stirred, the dull ache in your chest a painful reminder of the encounter. Hunter was awake, too, sitting up on his cot across from you, hands clenched in his lap. He looked weary, his amber eyes clouded with regret as he watched you.
Your heart sank. Hunter.
His hair was disheveled, longer than you had seen it, and his bandana missing. His armor had been swapped for simple fatigues. He looked vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.
"Hunter," you croaked, your voice weak. He shot up from his chair, a mixture of relief and anguish crossing his face.
"Hi," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "You’re awake." His hand hovered over yours for a moment before he finally took it gently. "We didn’t know if you’d..." His words trailed off, and he shook his head as if trying to banish the thought. “Bacta tank.” He gestured vaguely. “You… I…” He shook his head as he buried his face in his hands. “My words aren’t coming out right.” You laughed a little, trying to shake off the awkwardness and severity of the situation before wincing as the ache in your chest increased tenfold.
"You got me good," you murmured, attempting a smile despite the pain. You raised a hand to your chest, feeling the bandages beneath your gown. "Twice."
Hunter winced, his jaw tightening. "I wasn’t... myself." He looked away, guilt written all over his face. "When I woke up, I saw what I did . I almost—" His voice cracked, and he dropped his head, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "I don’t know how I can ever make up for it."
“You don’t have to make up for anything. You weren’t in control," you said firmly, summoning what strength you could. "That wasn’t you, Hunter. It was that stupid inhibitor chip." You squeezed his hand, drawing his gaze back to you. "And… you’re here now. That’s what matters."
For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a shaky breath and nodded, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You should never have come after me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You put yourself in danger for me.”
“And I’d do it again-”
“Why?” Hunter demanded. “Why do this to yourself? You knew I wasn’t in control and that I wouldn’t hold back from hurting you. Why?”
Your lips curved into a faint smile despite the heaviness in your chest. "Because you’re home. And I wasn’t going to let the Empire take you away from us. From me."
Hunter's breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to process your words. Slowly, he sank back into his chair, his head bowing forward until his forehead rested against your hand. His broad shoulders trembled, and you realized he was crying.
"Mesh’la," he murmured, the Mandalorian word falling from his lips like a prayer. "You almost died... for me. How can I—?"
"You can start by staying," you interrupted softly, your fingers brushing against his hair. "By letting yourself believe that you’re worth saving. Because you are, Hunter. To me, to Omega, to the Batch. You’re worth everything."
Hunter looked up at you then, his amber eyes glassy but filled with something that hadn’t been there before—hope. He nodded slowly, his hand never leaving yours.
"I’ll stay," he said quietly. "Of course I’ll stay for you. For all of you." His voice steadied, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light. "But you have to promise me something, too."
"What’s that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Promise me you won’t do something like that again," he said, a faint, broken smile tugging at his lips. "I can’t lose you, cyar’ika. Not like that."
You managed a weak laugh, though it hurt to do so. "No promises," you teased, earning a soft chuckle from him in return.
Hunter leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours gently. The warmth of the gesture seeped into you, soothing the lingering aches in your body. "I remember what you said that night.” Hunter whispered lowly, and you swear you could hear your heart speed up. Was he really… did he really-
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum," he murmured, his voice low and steady.
There was a light pause before you smiled at him, and replied. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.
It was Hunter and you against the galaxy.
I've known it from the very start We're a shot in the darkest dark... - Say Don't Go (Taylor Swift)
end xx dreamtheatre requests are open (please request im bored)
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tokkiwrites · 9 hours ago
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𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (5)
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mom's fiancé! joel miller x f! reader • series masterlist.
Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. Tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, betrayal, talk about divorce, no one owning up to what they really do, main characters get their happy ending... OR DO THEY?! >:) /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ im baaack !! last part baby!!! kind of. you'll see >:) until then enjoy this mumbled mess of 4.63k words bunnies! thank you for the immense support on this series. excuse any grammatical errors <//3
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Her words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for air. You watched as she paced the room, trembling with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. “You don’t know what love is!” she snapped, her voice breaking. “Love isn’t sneaking around, tearing apart the people who trust you the most. Love isn’t ruining your family because you can’t control yourself.”
Your chest tightened, the sting of her words cutting deep. “I didn’t plan for this to happen,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It wasn’t like I set out to hurt you—”
“But you did,” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “You hurt me in the worst way possible. You betrayed me with the one person who was supposed to be on my side. How am I supposed to live with this? How am I supposed to look at you and not see… this?”
Her words crushed you, the weight of her disappointment pressing down like an anchor. You took a step toward her, desperate to bridge the chasm growing between you. “Mom, please—”
“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand to stop you. Her tears shimmered in the dim light, her face a portrait of devastation. “I need you to leave. Just… go.”
You froze, your heart shattering at the finality in her tone. “Mom…”
“Go!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I can’t even look at you right now.”
The silence that followed was deafening. You turned and stumbled toward the door, the walls of the house you’d grown up in suddenly feeling foreign and cold. As you stepped outside, the chill of the night air bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache inside your chest.
The slam of the door still echoed in your ears as you trudged through the dark streets, clutching your jacket tight against the biting wind. Your mind was spinning, replaying the scene over and over again—the raised voice, the look of disgust on her face, the words that burned like acid.
"You’re a liar. I don’t even know who you are anymore."
Your mother had always been sharp, but you hadn’t expected her to be cruel. Not like that.
She hadn’t even let you explain. Not really. Once she figured it out—once you admitted you were in love with Joel—it was like she couldn’t even look at you. Not forever, maybe. But you knew that in this moment, there was no going back.
You wiped at your face, but it was no use. Tears streaked your cheeks, hot and endless, cutting through the cold. You barely noticed when you reached Joel’s building. Your feet carried you up the stairs, and your fists pounded on his door before you even thought about what you’d say.
It wasn’t long before the door swung open. Joel stood there, his face tight with worry that immediately shifted into something darker when he saw you. “You told her,” he said, his voice low and heavy. You froze, your breath catching. Of course, he already knew. “I had to,” you whispered, stepping inside uninvited. “She—she guessed. She cornered me, Joel, I couldn’t—” You decided to lie. You tried to protect him from all of this. Maybe it wasn't your job or your role to do so, but this was the way to show him that it's real. that you are real, and so are all the feelings you have for him.
“You could’ve,” Joel snapped, cutting you off. He shut the door with more force than necessary. “You could’ve waited. You could’ve called me. But instead, you decided to do this on your own.” His words hit like a punch, and you stumbled over your response. “I didn’t have time—”
“That’s bullshit,” he growled, his voice rising. He took a step closer, his eyes boring into yours. “You didn’t want to wait for me. You wanted to handle it yourself, like you always do.”
“That’s not fair,” you shot back, anger bubbling up to meet his. “I didn’t plan this, Joel! She came at me, and I panicked! What was I supposed to do? Lie to her?”
“Yes!” Joel shouted, throwing his hands up. “You should’ve lied, or stalled, or done anything other than blow this whole thing wide open without me. You think this is just about you? It’s not. This affects both of us.” Your stomach twisted at his words. “You think I don’t know that?” you said, your voice trembling. “Do you think I don’t feel sick about what this means for you? For us? Joel, she kicked me out!"
He froze, his jaw tightening. “She what?”
You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “She told me to leave. Said she doesn’t even recognize me anymore. I—” Your voice broke, and you covered your face with your hands. Joel’s anger seemed to deflate all at once, replaced by something softer, though no less pained. He reached for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing your arm.
“Hey,” he said quietly, his tone rough but gentler now. “C’mere.”
You let him pull you into his arms, and the floodgates opened. You sobbed into his chest, your fists clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. For a while, he just held you, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I got you, babygirl... 'm right here." But the tension in his body hadn’t gone away, and you could feel the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between you. When your sobs finally quieted, Joel pulled back just enough to look at you. His face was etched with exhaustion and something else—something almost like regret.
“This can’t keep happening,” he said softly. “You can’t just… go off and make decisions like this without me. We’re supposed to be in this together.”
“I know,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.” Joel sighed, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “We always do.”
But before you could respond, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You hesitated, then pulled it out, your heart sinking when you saw the name on the screen. Marjorie. Of course. Joel noticed your hesitation. “Who is it?”
“Marjorie,” you said quietly. He frowned, but said nothing as you swiped to open the message. "You should’ve thought this through", it read.
•Your mom’s already told half the town about what you’ve done. If you’d just shared a little, you wouldn’t be in this mess now. At least they'll know what a homewrecking whore you are.
The room seemed to spin, and you had to sit down before your legs gave out. Joel knelt beside you, his hand gripping yours tightly. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and steady. You showed him the message, your hands shaking. His jaw tightened as he read it, a muscle in his cheek jumping.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “She’s trying to twist the knife.”
“She’s right, though,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I—I did this to myself. To us.”
“Hey,” Joel said firmly, cupping your face in his hands. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You hear me, sweet girl? This isn’t on you. It’s on them. On her.” You wanted to believe him. But the weight of everything—the fallout with your mom, the shame, the fear of what came next—it was too much.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” you whispered, tears welling up again. "Maybe it don't need fixin'.." Joel’s expression softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out,” he said again. “One step at a time. But you’ve got to let me in. No more shutting me out.”
The road ahead felt impossibly long, the cracks in your relationship with Joel deep and jagged. But as he held you close, his arms steady and sure, you let yourself hope.
the nigh faded as your lids finally closed, the soft whispers of Joel a blanket over your tensed body. Finally, you fall asleep, escaping this day, hoping that when you wake up It'll all turn out to be a bad dream.
But as the night fell upon, you so did the day.
Joel stood on the doorstep, fists clenched at his sides. The brisk wind carried the faint scent of pine from the trees lining the street. He stared at the door in front of him, steeling himself for what he knew was coming. When your mother opened the door, her face immediately twisted into a scowl. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here,” she spat. Joel held her gaze, his jaw tight. “We need to talk.”
“Oh, we do?” she snapped, stepping onto the porch and crossing her arms. “You’ve said enough, Joel. Or maybe not—seems like you were too busy seducing my daughter to give me the full picture.” Joel winced, but he didn’t look away. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Then what do you want?” she shot back, her voice rising. “To explain yourself? To justify this—this shit?”
“I want to make things right,” Joel said, his tone measured. “For her. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“Don’t you dare pretend this is about her,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing. “This is about you. About your selfishness, your inability to think about anyone but yourself.” Joel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I know you’re angry—”
“Angry?” Her voice grew louder, trembling with indignation. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it! Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Joel? My daughter—your stepdaughter. Do you even hear yourself?” Joel’s shoulders sagged slightly, but his resolve didn’t falter. “It’s not what you think—”
“Oh, really?” she interrupted, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Then explain it to me, Joel. Enlighten me, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been fucking her this whole time.” His head snapped up, and his voice took on a dangerous edge. “That’s not what happened.”
“Then what?” she demanded, stepping closer. “You ‘accidentally’ fell for her? And so did your dick inside of her? Was this why you got so close to her? Why you were so ‘supportive’ all of a sudden? Because you wanted her?” Joel’s chest rose and fell heavily. “I didn’t plan this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It just happened. She’s not a child, and this wasn’t some sick—”
“Don’t you dare try to justify this!” she hissed, cutting him off again. “You’re supposed to be her father. You were supposed to protect her—not—” Her voice cracked, and she had to look away, blinking rapidly. "Oh my god."
Joel stepped forward, his voice softening. “I never meant to hurt anyone.” She glared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You think that makes it better? That it wasn’t ‘on purpose’? My God, Joel—this is why you married me, isn’t it?”
His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely taken aback. “What?” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “It makes sense now. You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You saw an opportunity, and you—” Her voice broke again, and she turned away, her hand pressed to her mouth. “That’s not true,” Joel said firmly, his voice rising just slightly. “I loved you. I cared about this family. I—”
“You used this family,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “And don’t you dare pretend otherwise. You’ve destroyed everything, Joel. Do you understand that? Everything. And for what?”
Joel’s expression hardened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “For love,” he said, his voice rough. “I love her. And you can hate me for it all you want, but that’s the truth.” Her mouth fell open slightly, disbelief etched across her face. For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.
“You’re disgusting,” she finally said, her voice quiet but laced with venom. “Do you know what people are saying? What they’re going to say? You’ve ruined her, Joel. You’ve ruined her life, and you don't even understand."
Joel’s throat tightened, and his heart sank with every word that came from her mouth. “I never meant to hurt her,” he said again, his voice thick with emotion. He took a step forward, desperate to make her understand. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I love her, but I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I never wanted to destroy this family.” The words seemed to hit her like a slap. She blinked rapidly, as though trying to keep the tears at bay, but they came anyway—one by one, streaming down her face. “You already have, Joel,” she whispered.
There was a heavy silence between them. The weight of everything that had happened hung in the air like an oppressive cloud. Joel wanted to reach out, to comfort her somehow, but he knew he couldn’t. Not now.
Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was cold, almost venomous. “You’re not going to get away with this. I’ll make sure of it. I’m telling everyone. I’ve already told people, Joel. You don’t get to just pretend this didn’t happen, that it’s all okay. I will make sure everyone knows what you’ve done.”
His blood ran cold. “You can’t—”
“I will,” she spat. Joel stood there. He wanted to scream, to argue, but the truth hung there. He had screwed up. And he knew that.
“I didn’t want this to happen. You have to believe me,” he said hoarsely, voice cracking. “I was trying to be there for her. I—I never wanted to hurt her or you. It just—it just happened. And I don’t know what to do, but I swear, I never meant for it to go this far.” She crossed her arms tightly, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. “You never meant it, Joel? Then why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you stop? You could’ve stopped. You could’ve walked away.
His throat felt tight, constricted with guilt, but he refused to back down. “Because I couldn’t.” Her lip trembled, but she quickly bit it, hiding the emotion that flickered there. She took a deep breath, then looked him square in the eyes. “I want you to leave. Now.”
The command was sharp, final. Joel hesitated, his gaze lingering on her, and then he nodded—slowly. He wasn’t sure what else to say. There were no more words that could fix this, not right now. He turned, heading for the door, the weight of everything pressing down on him with each step.
He felt sick.
With one final glance at the door he’d just walked away from, he turned and walked down the street, away from the house, away from everything. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, but none of them made sense.
He had destroyed everything.
And now, there was no going back.
Joel had just come back from a supply run, the door clicking shut behind him. You glanced up from the couch, where you’d been sitting in silence, staring blankly at a book you weren’t really reading. He dropped the grocery bag on the counter, pausing before he looked at you.
“You’ve barely eaten,” he said, his voice rough but laced with concern. You shrugged, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not hungry.” He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, baby. I know it’s hard, but we’re in this together. You know that, don’t you?”
You looked at him then, searching his face for something—reassurance, maybe, or a sense that he really believed what he was saying. “Together,” you echoed, the word feeling hollow. “We might be together, but everything else is ruined, Joel. My mom hates me. She hates you... And everyone else knows now too."
Running away now sounds about right.
Joel crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Your mom’s angry. She’s hurt. But she’ll come around. And whatever others say... Fuck 'em.” You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. “She won’t, Joel. Not after what she said. Not after what we did.”
“She doesn’t get to judge us,” he said firmly, his voice low. “She can be angry all she wants, but we didn’t do this to hurt her. We didn’t plan for any of this.” You flinched at his words. “That doesn’t make it okay. We still—Joel, we still had an affair. We lied to her. I lied to her... and I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Joel reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re the same person you’ve always been...My sweet 'n smart girl. And you’re not alone in this. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
You looked at him, his eyes filled with determination and tears. He meant it—every word. But that didn’t erase the reality of what had happened. It didn’t change the fact that you’d hurt someone you both cared about, even if that love had long since soured.
“Do you regret it?” you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice trembled, barely audible. “Do you regret... us?” Joel froze, his hand tightening around yours. For a moment, you thought he might say yes—that he’d take it all back if he could. But then he shook his head, his voice resolute.
“No,” he said. “I don’t regret loving you. I can’t. But I hate how it happened. I hate what it’s done to you—to us.” Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself cry for everything you’d lost—for the family you’d broken and the love that had brought you here. “I’m scared, Joel,” you whispered. “What if it’s not enough? What if we’re not enough?” His arms tightened around you, his voice soft but unwavering. “We’ll figure it out. One day at a time, baby.”
You wait for the moon to rise and hug you.
Tonight, as the moonlight filtered through the thin curtains in his bedroom, you realized you couldn’t stay here anymore. Not in this town. Not surrounded by the memories of everything you’d lost.
Joel was beside you, his breathing steady but shallow. He’d fallen asleep sitting against the headboard, a book forgotten in his lap. His brow was furrowed, even in rest. You stared at him for a long moment before gently nudging his shoulder. “Joel,” you whispered. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a second, he looked confused, but then his gaze softened when he saw you. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”
You nodded but didn’t answer right away. Instead, you sat up, crossing your legs and pulling the blanket over them. Joel straightened, too, setting the book aside and giving you his full attention.
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” you started. Joel tilted his head slightly. “What’s that?”
You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. “Why don’t we leave? Just... pack up and go somewhere else. Start over. There’s nothing keeping me here, Joel. Not anymore. We could move, get away from all this, and just... be us. We could have a life, a family of our own. Isn’t that what we’ve always wanted?”
Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, the way he was trying to process what you’d just said. “You want to leave?” he asked finally, his voice low.
You nodded. “I can’t stay here, Joel. Not after everything. Everyone knows. They’re all talking about us, judging us. I can’t go anywhere without feeling their eyes on me. And my mom... She’s made it clear I’m not welcome. But we don’t have to stay. We could go somewhere no one knows us. Start fresh.”
Joel rubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know, darlin’. Moving... It’s a big decision. And what about you? Your work, your friends?”
“They’re not my friends anymore,” you said bitterly, the sting of betrayal still fresh. “If they ever were, they’re sure not now. And work... I can find something else. None of that matters, Joel. All that matters is us. If we stay here, this will follow us forever. But if we leave, we can leave all this behind.” His shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked at you; sadness and longing. “You really think running away’s the answer?”
“It’s not running away,” you argued gently. “It’s starting over. Joel, you said we’d figure this out together. This is how we do it! We can’t change what happened, but we can choose what happens next. And I choose you.”
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Joel’s gaze locked on yours, and you could see the battle raging inside him. He wanted what you were offering—a chance to leave this mess behind, to build a life with you. But he was also scared of the unknown and the risks that came with it.
Finally, he reached out, his hand covering yours. “If this is what you want,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “then we’ll do it. We’ll leave. Wherever you wanna go, I’ll follow.”
Relief flooded through you, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you threw your arms around him. “Thank you,” you murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you..." He held you tightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You’re all I’ve got, darlin’. I’d go anywhere for you.”
That was enough. It had to be.
The hum of the apartment felt suffocating, but there was a strange comfort in it, too. You’d been in the same place for so long, yet now, every little sound—the refrigerator humming, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall—felt like a reminder of everything that had fallen apart. The town that had been home for so many years now felt like a prison, a place where the whispers never stopped, and the eyes of judgment followed you wherever you went.
But you weren’t staying here. You couldn’t stay here. You were both looking for a way out. Maybe you more than him.
Joel had been working overtime, pushing through his job, despite the whispers about him at work—the rumors that now tainted his every conversation. His job, the stares, the small-town gossip— it all got to him. to both of you.
As for you, you had quit yours. There wasn’t any point in pretending anymore. Your coworkers had given you that look— the one that said they knew but couldn’t talk about it openly. You didn’t need that anymore. You didn’t need to keep hiding in a job that felt more like a cage than an opportunity.
What you needed was space. You needed to leave. To escape. To start somewhere far away from here.
You stood by the counter, stirring a pot of vegetable soup as the familiar sounds of the apartment surrounded you. You were tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of fighting for something that had no resolve. It should’ve been an easy answer. You knew this would happen, how it would end up. And you could see it in Joel’s eyes, too. But every time you thought about leaving, about getting out of this town where everyone knew too much, there was a brief moment of hope. A spark. What if this was the first step toward something real? Toward a life that was just yours? Was it that horrible you wanted to he happy despite what you had done?
You let out a deep breath, your thoughts interrupted as Joel stepped into the kitchen, his tired eyes locking onto yours.
"Hi, baby." he murmured, his voice a little rough from the long day. You turned to him, a smile tugging at your lips despite the exhaustion that had been weighing on you. “Hi,” you said softly, and before you could say anything more, he closed the space between you. Joel’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then your temple. “Missed you,” he said, his lips brushing against your skin. “Every damn minute I was at work, all I could think about was gettin' home to you.”
You laughed quietly, resting your hands on his chest. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, but there was no bite in your words—just warmth, just the comfort of knowing he was here. “Only for you,” Joel replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his expression softened. “You’re my whole world, baby. Don’t you know that by now?”
Your chest tightened, but in the best way. You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I think I do,” you whispered. Joel’s smile grew, and he leaned down to kiss you—slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world falter away. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his hands stayed firm on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.
“We’re really doing this..?” you said. “We’re leaving. Packing up and going to a whole new place..."
“Damn right we are,” his voice was steady. “We got that apartment a few towns over...with the balcony and all that sunlight you love so much, could maybe get a puppy too, who knows? It’s ours now. We’re making this happen.”
"Or a kitty." you giggle. "Whatever you want, angel. anything you want." You nodded, a smile breaking across your face. Your future home. Yours and Joel's. For how unreal it sounded, it felt like a lifeline. It was small but perfect, tucked away in a quiet area where no one would know your names. It was far enough from here that the whispers, the judgment, and the past couldn’t follow. It was everything you both needed. “I still can’t believe they approved us,” you said, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. “It feels too good to be true.” Joel chuckled, pulling you tighter against him. “Believe it, baby. It’s happening. And I can’t wait to see you in it. Can’t wait to start a real life with you..." he trails off, palm settling on your lower belly and, oh, butterflies bloom into your stomach. His words made your chest ache. He leaned down to kiss you again, his hands moving up to cradle your face. The kiss was longer this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour everything he felt for you into it. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were shining. “We’ll start packing this weekend,” he said, his tone laced with excitement. “I’ve already started thinking about how to load the truck. Gonna make sure all your stuff’s safe, no scratches or anythin'.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so practical.”
“Hey, someone’s gotta be,” he teased, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “But seriously, I want you to feel at home there. I want it to be everything you’ve ever wanted. Hell, I don’t care if we’re in a shoebox as long as it’s with you.” Your throat tightened at his words, and you buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I love you,” you said softly. Joel’s hand came up to tangle in your hair, and he pressed his lips to the top of your head. “I love you, baby. More than anything.” it seemed real enough for you.
For a while, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the warmth of the moment settle around you. You weren’t just running from something anymore, or someone. You were running toward something— together. And it was wrong, yes, and maybe karma will eventually make it's way to you, but until then this was your chance to be happy.
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taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury @untamedheart81 @dollyxzy @mybvalentine @am-3-thyst @cuteanimalmama @corinnedollete @lovely-vamp-princess
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skeltnwrites · 2 hours ago
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The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉
As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist
part three - you help steve and penelope look for cinderella 11k
a/n - this actually took me ages oh my god. but to those asking about cinderella here you go! CW lost pet (happy ending i promise)
── .✦
The clock hanging in the hall clicks annoyingly loud. Tick, tick, tick, like a bad song stuck in your head. You watch the minute hand cross another line. It hasn’t been adjusted since the time changed last week. Similarly, the calendar below it has yet to be flipped. 
It’s November now, but more importantly, it’s Friday. It’s quickly cementing itself as your favorite day of the week. Friday’s mean lunch in Steve’s office and trading weekend plans and hearing about the kind of mischief Penelope’s been up to at home. 
But it’s a quarter past eight and Steve hasn’t arrived yet. He’s never been late, or even absent since you started volunteering. It’s odd, but everyone has their days you suppose. Still, a dull twinge blooms in your chest. Working without him might as well be a form of punishment. 
Someone had shoved a vacuum in your hands while they try and figure out if he’s coming. It’s boring work, not the kind Steve would give you. And when he has to give you boring work, he at least makes it fun. Turns most things into games or competitions. Like last week, he bet you any candy from the vending machine that he could sort donations faster than you. You bought him a Reeses, of course, but if anyone asks, you let him win on purpose. 
You hear Steve before you see him. He’s not loud, but his voice is distinct against any others. By now, you could pick him from a crowd by voice alone. You find him in the threshold between his supervisor's office and the hall. He lingers halfway out, toying with the door handle like he can’t decide if he should go inside. 
“Ah, look who finally decided to show up,” you overhear. “Was about to send a search party for you, Harrington.” The man cackles at his own joke, tone devoid of any edge. 
Steve laughs strangely. A laugh you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard from him before. He spills a string of apologies for his tardiness, but his boss waves him off and sends him to work. 
When he backpedals out of the doorway, you chide, “Tsk. Tsk. You’re late, Harrington.” 
Steve spooks easily. He hates to admit it but it makes him an easy target for office pranks which you do take full advantage of now that you’re friends. But you aren’t even trying to scare him this time. 
He visibly tenses at your voice, eyes snapping to yours. They’re as intense as you’ve ever seen the lovely shade of brown, yet dulled with the toll of exhaustion. The next thing you notice is his hair. It’s combed back behind his ears and by the looks of it has no product. 
“Hey,” he tries, stopping halfway to clear his throat. 
As if his appearance isn’t alarming enough, the lack of a comeback is triple worrisome. You try– and fail– to contain your concern. “What happened?” 
He deflates in one big sigh. Any attempt at a facade vanished. It’s impossible to lie to you when you look so concerned. 
“I’m the worst dad ever,” he declares, skimming your arm as he sidesteps past you. 
You catch up to his long stride with practiced eloquence. “Uh-oh. What’d you do?” 
“Cinderella’s gone missing.” 
“Missing?” 
He nods.
“But she’s an outside cat, right? She’s probably, I dunno, chasing birds or slumped over a can of tuna at a neighbor's house.” 
Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s been four days. Four. She’s usually around at least once a day, if not, every other. I can’t even remember the last time–”
“Wait, wait. This makes you the worst dad, how exactly?” 
He forces his key into the lock of his office door, jostling the handle in frustration. “Because Penelope’s begged me since forever to let her be an inside cat and I always say no. She wouldn’t have got lost if she was inside.” 
You flick on the light and hum, understanding more than agreeing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but I think you’re exaggerating.” 
He plants his bag on the desk and unzips it. “This is serious. She loves that cat more than me, I swear.” 
“Okay, first of all, not true. Second of all, this is serious and it sucks but it doesn’t make you a bad dad. You know that right?” 
“Besides the point,” he passes you a heavy pile of paper. “Will you help me hang these up?”
You don’t answer because you don’t need to. He already knows you’ll say yes. 
Black ink across the top page reads, “MISSING CAT”. There are two patchy images of Cinderella, one of which you’ve never seen and the other underexposed beyond recognition. Steve’s name, phone number, and address are listed at the bottom too. You flick through the stack, finding each version of Cinderella has been coated in a thick layer of brown crayon. 
“Penelope insisted on coloring all of them so people know what color she is.” 
Steve doesn’t have time for the pity party of a look you show him. If you cry, he’ll cry. And he’s cried enough in the last few days. 
You accompany Steve to the bulletin board outside his office. Unspokenly, you accept the very important job of paper-passer while he’s in charge of the stapler. 
“Thanks,” he says flatly, thumb catching on yours as he takes the page you’re holding out. 
“Don’t worry, Steve. She’ll come home. Cats just like their space sometimes.” You aren’t totally sure if that’s true about cats, but it sounds like the right thing to say. 
He mutters something under his breath. Not mean, just doubtful. 
It’s unusual to be the one filling the conversation. Steve’s good at talking, a Chatty Cathy as he often calls Penelope. But you try your best to fill his shoes. 
“How’s Penelope dealing with it?” 
“Awfully.” He chuckles dryly. “She’s on strike for just about everything right now. Refused to go to sleep, refused to eat breakfast, refused to get in the car this morning.” 
You nod and hand him another sheet. 
“I’d bet by lunch I’ll have to go pick her up. She was hysterical at drop-off.” 
“I’m sorry, Steve.” You have a funny urge to tack on something other than his name. Dummy or boss are typical but ill-fitting. And honey or sweetheart would probably cross a line, though, they’re nice to consider. 
He sighs, kneading his eye sockets. “I’m sorry. I’m being… I know you’re trying to help.” 
“You’re allowed to feel frustrated you know.” 
“I know. You’re just– thanks.”
“I’m banning that word from our conversations. You say it too much,” you tease. 
He gives you a look, neither happy nor sad. “Cause you’re always helping me, dummy.” 
You grin, largely at the nickname. 
Every board in the building is covered with posters and every person is notified of Cinderella’s disappearance in half the time it would normally take you and Steve. He’s not in any rush, just in his head. And after that, you dissolve into separate work, never far but still apart. 
By noon Steve’s on his third cup of coffee. But no amount of caffeine or sugar will erase the heavy bags under his eyes. Finding Cinderella might be the only cure. 
So there’s no debate in your mind when you offer, “I can come over and help look tonight?” 
Steve holds a finger up, gaze trained on an address book with his phone clamped between his ear and shoulder. “Hi, Miss Crawford?” He pushes the bridge of his glasses further up his nose. It’s rare that he wears them in front of you. Cute, nonetheless. “Yes, it’s Steve,” he says. 
There’s high-pitched rambling on the other end, not clear enough to discern anything other than an old-timey affection for Steve. You aren’t sure of the nature of Steve’s relationship with the woman, but he appears equally fond, even through the somber hues of his story. 
She offers no valuable insight as to Cinderella’s whereabouts but promises to keep an eye out, making her… strike seven. Steve’s determined to phone every person he knows and then every local in the phone book in the span of his thirty-minute lunch break. You joked about stealing his office neighbor’s phone to help, but Steve insisted you didn’t. 
When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself. 
“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”
“I know, but I can… If you want. It’s up to you.” 
“I– okay,” he sighs. “Only if you really don’t mind. It would be really helpful honestly.” 
“After work then?”
“Uhh, sure. I just have to pick up Penelope when I get off.” 
“Sounds good.” You grin and stir your food idly with a fork. It eventually goes cold in your lap. You’re more preoccupied with what you’ll wear tonight and what to bring Penelope to cheer her up. Candy’s probably your best bet. You know she’s already run out of Skittles from Halloween. 
Steve’s lips twitch happily as he dials another number. 
That’s about the happiest you see him. The rest of the day is a blur, mostly busywork as Steve is consistently ushered away by someone for something not even in his job description. For the first time possibly ever, he leaves on time. And he doesn’t say goodbye. He’s clearly having an awful day so you pretend it doesn’t sting, but the walk to your car is painfully silent. 
At home, you change quickly, pop something frozen in the microwave, and retrace your steps back to the car in record time. The drive to Steve’s is unfortunately not very long. It doesn’t give you much time to mull over every possible scenario like your brain desires. But you’ll survive. 
It still feels unfamiliar, pulling into his driveway. Less so than the first time, but still. You notice things you hadn’t before. The long crack like lightning in the pavement, the tinkle of a wind chime against the breeze, and the stepping stone with a ‘P’ carved in it. Halloween was the last time you were here. A couple of weeks has never felt like such a lifetime. Steve’s been busy parenting and working late and all. You don’t blame him. Sometimes you wonder how he ever made time for you in the first place with his schedule. 
On the front steps, Penelope plucks a weed and adds it to her bouquet. Her cheek is squished against the top of her knee and she’s curled over herself like a pillbug. Brown eyes flick up as you near. One blink, then two. The epitome of indifference. 
“Hi, Penelope.” 
“Hi,” she says. She sounds uncharacteristically small. And she is small, but her voice is anything but. You know her to be bold, unapologetic. But not today. 
You squat, toe to toe with her little Mary Janes, and wave a pack of Skittles. “Look what I brought,” you sing. 
The slightest lift of her frown before she restores the pout for good. “For me?”
“All for you.” 
She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm. 
“Wanna help me look for your dad?” 
It’s not a bribe, though her presence does tend to balm your Steve-induced nerves. So you are a little disappointed when she shakes her head. But disappointment wanes into sympathy and sympathy to determination. Determination to help her find Cinderella as soon as possible. 
You palm her shoulder as you stand. The front door is ajar, the breeze eating any warmth in the foyer. It’s eerily quiet inside. 
“Steve?” 
“One second!” he calls back, muffled from upstairs. 
The entryway is messier than you remember it. Shoes in a jumbled heap behind the door, Steve’s unzipped backpack slumped against the baseboards, and winter gloves and hats knocked haphazardly onto the tile. You bend to pick up a knit beanie as Steve hurdles down the stairs. 
He struggles to squeeze into a raincoat over the thick sweater he wore to work. “Hey,” he smiles softly, gaze sweeping across your clothes. “Thanks for coming.” 
“Yeah, of course.” 
“Do you want a heavier coat? Radio said it’s supposed to storm tonight.” 
“Oh,” you peer down at your denim jacket. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 
Steve tilts his head, passing you a bundle of crumpled pink cloth. “Give this to Penelope? I’ll grab you one.” He doesn’t allow you to argue before turning around, but he stops halfway up the stairs, leaning over the railing to say, “Tell her to grab her boots too.”
You find the boots in the pile by the door and bring them to Penelope outside. She stares at you helplessly with one shoe halfway on the wrong foot. 
“Need help?”
“Yes please.” 
You take her ankle and prop her foot against yours. It takes a few tries and lots of wiggling but you slide the boot on and lace the purple strings all the way up. The second round is easier but you still wonder whether kids shoes are supposed to be this difficult. 
The door groans behind you and a warm hand cups your shoulder. “Did you eat?” Steve asks. “I can make you something before we go.”  
You rise to face him. The sky’s overcast, muting his tan complexion, making him look even more spent than he had earlier. “I ate. But thank you,” you smile, hoping to encourage one back. 
He doesn’t but he unfolds the coat he’s carrying, shaking the arms free so it’s easier for you to slip on. “See if this fits.”
It’s not your typical size, but the extra weight is nice. Traces of pine and juniper linger, like it’s been taken on a hike recently. And you’re instantly warmer, a comfort that extends beyond the garment alone. 
“Nice,” he nods, taking it upon himself to even out the hood strings for you. His fingernail skips across the zipper teeth and for a second, you think he’ll zip it up too. 
“Daddy, are we going now?” 
Steve spins on his heel, shuffling for his keys at the door. “Yes, baby. What did we talk about?” 
Penelope kicks a load of gravel into the grass. “Ummm, I dunno.” 
“No running off. If I can’t see you, we go home. Capeesh?” 
When he jogs down the steps to her side, she sighs. “Capeesh.” 
“Ready?” He pats her head, “Got your detective hat on?” 
She peers up then, a flush of fresh purpose, and nods. 
“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.” 
Steve’s yard is embraced by dense woods on every side but the road. He leads you to the tree line where a trail has been carved smooth with frequent use. Bark stretches tall and needle branches weave a canopy of orange above. 
“Katie said I need to think more like a cat.” Penelope cranes her head up, “Do you think Cinderella went in the trees?”
“Maybe,” Steve mumbles, focused on jamming his nail under the metal tab of a can of cat food. 
“So maybe I should climb up to check?”
“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”
“But what if she’s in one? Like, a really, really tall one.” 
“I think she’d pick a shorter one so she could get down,” you supply. “It would probably hurt her nails going all the way up there too.” 
She hums. You drift into a steady rhythm of whistling and calling Cinderella’s name. Penelope waves a toy ball with a little bell inside while you rattle the jar of treats. 
Penelope orbits off course slowly and when she hops out of sight Steve calls, “What did I say Nell?” 
“No running away!” 
He shakes his head at you, “This kid’ll be the death of me, I swear.”
You grin, turning back to him when you spot Penelope. Steve has a lovely side profile. You try to memorize the shape without tripping over any twigs as you walk. “How was she at school?” 
“Sad, they said. She cried at nap. Refused to sleep at all.” 
You coo. 
“But she ate all her lunch, so that’s good.”
You hum in agreement. 
Penelope crouches to examine the inside of a log. Her pigtails flip as she tips her head upside down. 
“Did you find something?” you ask. 
Penelope pulls something dark out, a dopey smile rounding her cheeks. “A slug.” 
Steve scrunches his nose but quickly slackens it in a poor attempt to conceal his disgust. Thankfully, you don’t have to be a good actor to fool a four-year-old. “Nice, honey.” 
“I think he’s dead.”
“Why don’t you put him back? He’s probably hibernating.” 
“Hiding? Why?”
“No, hi-ber-nat-ing. It’s when the animals go to sleep during the winter.” 
She squints, “For the whole winter?” 
“Yeah, think so.”
“How do they do that?” 
“Umm, I don’t know.” Steve glances at you for help but you only shrug. “They just do.” 
One of the joys of parenthood you’ve discovered through Penelope is the plethora of questions that you have absolutely no idea how to answer. 
Penelope replants the slug in its home, making a point to clarify, “Cinderella wasn’t in there.” 
The trail dips steadily downward, covered with a mess of broken branches, scattered pinecones, and crunchy leaves that crackle beneath your feet. Steve’s leading the way, rambling about something or other and you’d swear you’re listening if he asked. But truthfully, your eyes trace the fit of his jeans shamelessly. He has a nice ass, it’s hard not to notice! 
Your foot snags on something hard– a root, a branch, you aren’t totally sure– and it all happens so fast. You yelp and pitch forward, knees and hands slamming into the dirt with the full force of your weight. 
Steve whirls around and assesses the damage, quickly determines there are no injuries severe enough to warrant a hospital visit, and then he fucking cackles. 
You scoff, burying your own amusement as Penelope mimics him. Some example Dad is setting. At least he offers to help you up, Penelope just watches your embarrassment unfold.  
“Don’t laugh!” You yank his hand, harsh enough that he stumbles forward onto your toe. “Ow– Steve!”
“That’s what you get!” He hauls you up, grip faltering with each peel of laughter. 
You twist around yourself, sweeping your backside. “Do I have leaves on my butt?” 
He looks for as long as he deems appropriate which is not very long at all. “Just dirt and a ton of bugs.” 
“Shut up,” you smack his bicep. 
Penelope points, “That is not nice!”
“Yeah, keep your hands to yourself,” Steve teases. 
You trap a retort behind clenched teeth and look to Penelope. “Sorry.” 
“Uhh. You’re supposed to apologize to me.” 
You skip past him to Penelope’s side. “I’m helping Penelope look right now. Maybe later.” 
Steve knows you won’t see it but he hopes you feel him sticking up his middle finger. 
Penelope trudges along, the corners of her mouth drawn tight in quiet sadness. She fills the silence before you find the words.
“Do you think she’ll come home?” she asks earnestly. 
“I do, Pen. I think she’s probably just hiding.” 
“Like hide and seek?”
“Yeah.” 
She considers your words carefully. “But why?”
“I dunno. Cats are just silly like that.” 
She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?” 
You smile back. “Exactly.” 
The trees taper off, merging with the cracked sidewalk lining a cul de sac. Penelope’s ponytails are swept off her shoulders as a car whizzes by.  
You cuff her smaller fingers in your own just as Steve tells her to hold someone’s hand. 
He stops at her other side, surveying the neighborhood. It’s the type you’d imagine families live in. Basketball hoops, sidewalk chalk, bikes thrown against the lawns. 
“I’m gonna go talk to some neighbors. Will you hang some posters?” Steve asks you. “We should hurry. I think it’s going to rain soon.” 
“Can I go?” 
Steve’s eyes trail from Penelope back up to you curiously. 
“Yeah, I’ve got her.” You squeeze her hand, reassuring yourself more than anyone. 
“Okay. Penelope, be a good listener. Don’t go on the road by yourself. I’ll be just over there.” He points to a house with yellow siding and starts across the road. 
You turn Penelope by the shoulders and unzip her bag, taking the stapler in one hand and the stack of paper in the other. 
“Can you carry these?” you ask, thrusting the posters toward her. 
You straighten out the stapler and pick a sheet off the top before she braces them against her chest. “You know, this reminds me of when we first met.” 
“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”
“Mhmm.” You line the page up against a tree, nailing each corner to be sure it sticks. 
Eventually, you're passed a different poster, a painting. It’s a charming tangle of shapes and a riot of brown and orange. At the top, "MISSING" is written with two backward S’s in a crooked slope.
“Did you paint this?”
“Yes, at school.” 
“Wow. Did you write this too?” 
“Yep. My teacher helped me.” 
“Very good!” You tack it to a telephone pole and pivot to face her, brimming with pride. 
She’s not nearly as happy as you are about it. Her lips thin as she stares at her work and she hesitates before asking,“Do you think we’re bad detectives?” 
Your chest aches so sudden and fierce like you’ve been punched. You crouch, rubbing the soft fleece at her elbow. “No. No, honey. We aren’t bad detectives. Detective work just takes time. We have a lot of ground to cover.” 
Her frown wobbles, lashes shining. “It’s taking so long,” she whines. 
“I know, Pen. Cinderella didn’t leave us many clues, huh?” You swipe a tear before it reaches her mouth. You want to promise her that Cinderella will come home but your gut won’t let you. You don’t know if she really will. “Let’s go check on your Dad. See if the neighbors have seen her. Hmm?” 
She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze. 
Steve’s halfway up the steps of someone’s porch, mid-conversation with a young woman. Her frown deepens as you and Penelope approach, unlike the baby on her hip who smiles at you. 
Steve glances over before continuing. “Well, please call, if you do happen to see her.” 
“Absolutely. I hope you find her.” 
“Thanks,” he waves, descending the stairs to stand beside you.  
“No luck?” you ask, peering up at the clouds. They’re getting moodier by the minute and it’s started to sprinkle. 
His hand settles around Penelope’s skull like a claw, he shakes her frown away but not easily. “Not yet. We’ll keep looking.” 
Penelope walks a few feet ahead of you and Steve. Every few mailboxes you and Steve stick another poster up. Penelope doesn’t stop to wait, but she’s thorough in her searching, checking under cars and in drain pipes. Enough to even out the distance that grows each turn. 
You’re faced away, unclogging the jam in the stapler when Penelope gasps. 
“Nell! Wait!” Steve shouts as you turn. By then she’s already halfway up someone’s lawn.  
Steve jogs after her and you jog after Steve. Penelope’s made it to the sideyard when you catch up, stretching onto tiptoes and squinting through a rotted hole in the fence. 
“Penelope,” Steve sighs.
“I saw her Daddy! She jumped over the fence!”
“Are you sure?” His hand curls over the top of the fence but his eyes can’t reach. 
“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!” 
He scrapes through his hair, judging the wood planks. They’re at least a head taller than Steve, but there’s a thin lip dividing each in half. If he angles his foot right, he could use it to boost himself over. 
He shakes his head. He might've hopped a fence or two as a teenager, but he's grown now. “We have to ask. It’s someone’s yard.” 
Penelope wails, yanking his arm repeatedly. “No! Daddy! What if she’s gone? We have to hurry!” 
“Just go,” you wave, already backing up toward the house. “I’ll go knock. See if they’re home.” 
Steve winces at himself for what he’s about to do. But one glance at Penelope’s worried little face is all the courage he needs. He tests his grip, the sole of a shoe scraping wood for a scary second before catching on the trim. With one leg on either side, he pauses to look at Penelope. “Stay there,” he says, before leaping into the grass. 
He scans the backyard. There’s a swing set, a raised garden bed, a kiddie pool, and lots and lots of toys. It reminds him of his own yard. Steve takes a handful of hesitant steps, gaze flicking across each window for any horrified faces. He’s thankful not to see any. 
Then, a meow—faint, but unmistakable. His heart lurches, his head whipping up to the nearest tree even faster. His eyes comb through branch after branch, then again when he comes up empty. But a second meow and he’s never been more sure. He wedges his heel into a groove, hugging the trunk for balance. His nails dig uncomfortably into the bark as he pulls himself up. 
And there! Right where he swears he looked, a strip of golden-orange fur, blending seamlessly with the leaves… Except, Cinderella isn’t orange, she’s brown. Steve’s shoe slips, sending his chin hard into a thick branch on his way to the ground. The cat hisses equally if not more upset than Steve about the situation. He groans, glaring at the tree as he picks himself up. 
“Did you find her? Was it her?” Penelope yells, still peeping through the hole in the fence. 
Steve waits until he vaults back over to answer. “No, princess. Not her.” 
“Your chin,” you point out, but your words are eaten by Penelope’s shouting. 
“It was her! I know it was! I saw!” 
“It wasn’t, Nell. Promise. That cat was orange.”
“But it was! I saw her!” Penelope crumbles into hysterics, batting her fists against Steve’s thighs like they’re punching bags.  
Steve scoops her up, clamping her arms between their chests. 
“Daddy, we have to go back! I saw her!” Several gasps slice through her sentence and tears pour down her face in even streams. 
Steve shushes her gently, fanning her hood across her head as it starts to rain. You follow him up to the road and then down the street. Penelope’s relentless, squirming and screaming in his ear. It’s the first of her temper tantrums you’ve seen in person, though you’ve heard plenty about them, and you caught the beginning of one once through the phone. Steve’s more composed than you thought possible, waiting patiently until her sobs have dwindled into teary hiccups to set her down. 
“It’s not nice to hit. Even when we’re mad, you know that.”
She glares at him, more serious than you’ve ever seen. 
“Are you ready to go home?” 
Penelope’s face starts to wilt. She nearly cries again. 
“It’s too rainy. We have to go home soon or we’ll get sick.”
“Five more minutes,” she begs. 
“Okay.” He buttons her coat up to her chin. “Are you tired?” 
She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise. 
“Do you want me to carry you?” 
Penelope thinks long and hard. It’s a trick question. Of course she wants to be carried but God forbid Steve finds out she’s tired. 
He picks her up anyway. “You can still look from up here.” 
Penelope hooks her chin over his shoulder, cheek tipping to kiss the pad of his jacket. So much worry and too many days of poor sleep etched into each flap of her lashes. She looks utterly exhausted. And she really tries to stay awake– she needs to find Cinderella– but she lost that battle before it even started. The hiss of rain and the warm swing of Steve’s embrace send her straight to dreamland. 
Steve feels her arms slacken and slide down his back. He chances a glimpse at you to ask what he already knows but can’t. Not when you’re already watching Penelope with a type of love he believed was his alone to give. 
Alarm pulses when he registers the weight of your stare has shifted to him. The same velvet endearment skips across every feature on your face. It’s lovely and adorable but it terrifies the hell out of Steve. 
His cheeks burn and he smiles like a madman. He can’t help it. It sticks long after his eyes dart away. 
You drift into a comfortable quiet. The spray of rain is like white noise, making even you drowsy. Maybe Steve could carry you back too. It’s an amusing idea, enough to make you grin to yourself. You’re glad he doesn’t notice. He couldn't torture that information out of you. 
Halfway home, you hit a particularly steep incline in the forest, slick with the beginning sludge of mud. 
“Here,” Steve calls, boosting Penelope higher up his chest before casting his arm at you. 
You accept his hand, grateful for more reasons than one, and trace the wet shoeprints he leaves behind with your own. It’s a slow journey. Steve strains with the added weight on his front, but he doesn’t let go of you until you reach the top of the hill. 
You cross the threshold back into Steve’s yard as a bout of thunder splits the sky above. Penelope shakes awake and peels herself off Steve. She blinks unhappily, cheeks stamped with red lines mirroring his coat folds. 
“It’s okay,” he soothes, fixing her hood after it falls. 
“Cinderella,” she whimpers. 
“We’ll look again tomorrow.” 
She sniffles, voice so frail, hollow with sleep. “No. I–” 
Another wave of thunder startles her to panicked tears. Steve picks up the pace to the front door, shuffling through his pocket for the keys. He’s well-versed in unlocking the door one-handed– between groceries, backpacks, Penelope– he always has something to carry. But he’s thankful when you take the keys and do it for him. 
You scoot inside last, joining the choir of shoe squealing on the tile. 
Steve sets Penelope on the floor and kneels to unlace her boots. She wrestles with her coat zipper until Steve intervenes with much gentler hands. 
“We looked really good while you were asleep,” you promise while shedding your own coat. 
Her miserable expression doesn’t falter. 
Steve smears her tear tracks one cheek at a time. “Stay for a bit? Until the storm passes.”
You bend to collect Penelope’s coat off the floor and hang it next to yours. “Okay,” you say when you realize his words were directed at you. 
“I’m gonna give her a quick bath. Do you need anything? Water? Towel?” 
“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.” 
“Okay. We’ll be upstairs. Please, help yourself to whatever. Seriously.” 
When Steve disappears from view, you mosey into the living room, searching for something to keep your hands busy. And it’s not hard to find. There’s a pile of laundry that looks like it’s been trampled through more than a few times. Clothes stretch from one end of the couch to the other. You push them into a pile and get comfortable, folding each item with more care than you would your own. 
Four neat stacks later and Steve spots you from the stairs. “Please don’t do that,” he says. 
You clear your smirk as he nears. “Do what?” 
“You know what,” he snatches a sock from your grasp. It’s one of his, longer and duller than the others. “Sorry, I know it’s a mess.” 
“You know I don’t care, Steve.” 
He gazes down at you in pretend petulance. “Well, I do.” With a dramatic flick of his finger, he sends the sock sailing back into the hamper on the floor.  
“If it makes you feel better, I have a pile of clothes covering half my bed right now.”
 “Mmm. It doesn’t,” he decides. “But I came down because Penelope’s very kindly requested that you come read to her before she goes to bed. If you want to.” 
“Of course I want to.” Your lips bend into a funny little line, happy and curious and doubtful all dressed in one. “She really asked for me?” 
“Yeah,” he says in the same cadence he would duh. He offers his palm, drags you up easily. “Why’s that so hard to believe?” 
“I dunno.” A toothy smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. But your lips close as soon as you stand, pressed closer to him than you expected to be. 
“Sorry,” he chuckles, breaking away. “Come on.” 
He seemed nervous– the way he laughed, how his hands retracted like he was burned– but maybe you’re overthinking it. You forget about the interaction by the time you reach Penelope’s room. 
Several books are fanned around Penelope where she stands, like fallen petals from the stem of a flower. Her shelf has been mostly stripped. What isn’t on the floor has been scooped into a flimsy stack in her arms. 
Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?” 
Penelope turns and two books slide off the top of her tower. You can’t see her mouth but you can tell by her eyes that there’s a smile behind that copy of Goodnight Moon. 
“You can pick three, missy,” he says. 
“Five?” 
“Four.” 
“Four and a half?”
“Three.”
“No,” she giggles, definitely delirious. “Four.”
“Okay.” He kneels at her feet, reshelving unchosen books two or three at a time. 
It’s not an easy decision, but Penelope decides on her four and promptly thrusts them into your hands. You follow her to bed where she packs herself against the wall, politely leaving the rest of the twin mattress for you. 
“Wait!” she shouts when you open the first book, “The lights!” 
“I’m working on it,” Steve grumbles, standing to flip the light switch by the door. The room is swallowed in black apart from the nightlight glowing to life across the room. 
Penelope stretches across you to snatch something off her nightstand. A flashlight, you realize, as she clicks the switch. She trains the light on the page and beams at you with equal vibrance. 
The first story is the shortest and the second not much longer, but the third takes time. Time you get to notice the heat of her breath as she yawns into your arm and time to appreciate the weight of her head limp against your shoulder. 
You don’t have to look up to know Steve is still tidying. Every second counts when you’re a single parent. But you steal a glance in between each page anyway. Find him chucking clothes in the hamper and dumping an armload of stuffed animals onto the foot of the bed. They’ll be kicked to the floor by morning and yet he straightens them up anyhow. 
He concludes his rounds by the final pages of the fourth book, taking a seat on the floor just in time to hear you whisper, “The end.” 
Penelope bats her dark eyes up at you. She knows you’ll say yes before she even asks. “One more?” 
“No,” Steve interjects. “No more tonight, babe.”
“Pleaseee!” 
“No, you already hustled me into four. We usually only read two.” 
“Pretty please!” she adds, puppy dog eyes bouncing from Steve to you. 
Oh the cruelty. To defy Steve or disappoint Penelope. Both are terrible choices but only one of the pair currently has a heartbreaking little pout. 
“I’ll read one more really really short book if you promise to go to sleep after?” 
Her head bobs eagerly as she kicks the blankets off, springing to her feet.
Steve’s head flops against the sheets, hair like satin ribbons shining from root to end. You consider if it’s as soft as you assume and if you’ll ever have the chance to find out. 
“Supposed to be on my side,” he whispers through a gooey grin. 
“Am I?” 
He tuts, craning up to find Penelope. “Don’t take all of those back out. I just cleaned them up.”
She exchanges the two in her hand for a thick chapter book. 
“No ma’am,” Steve says as she turns. “Short one, ‘member?”
Penelope huffs and lugs herself back to the bookcase. She plucks a thinner paperback and uses Steve’s calf as a stool to launch herself back in bed. He doesn’t complain but he pinches her side in revenge. 
The book mirrors the length of tonight’s first, yet it takes double the time for your own selfish reasons. You linger on each word, emphasize each sound, and savor every second. Penelope is nestled against your hip as you read the final sentence, sleepy and oblivious that you’ve turned the last page. 
Steve pulls himself up to perch on the edge of the bed, mindful not to sit on anyone’s legs. He runs the back of his hand across her face, giving her nose an extra tap. Enough times and it’ll put her to sleep. 
“Can you say thanks, Nell? And goodnight.” 
She squirms away from his touch, pushing into your thigh. “I don’t wanna go to sleep.”
“Pen, remember our deal.” You squeeze her shoulder gently. “You promised, hmm?”
You swallow the urge to smile when she juts her lip out and frowns. The drama never ends with this one but you love it. 
“Goodnight,” you whisper. Your hand glides over the shape of her arm beneath the blanket. “I had fun reading to you.” 
She avoids your gaze, picking a loose string from her blanket. If she sees you grinning, she’ll end up grinning too. She can’t have that, she’s protesting. “Night.” 
Steve shakes his head dismissively at you, grinning fondly himself. “I’ll be down in a second,” he explains. 
You stand, slotting the book back in its home on the shelf and steal one last glimpse of them on your way out. A trail of nightlights guides you to the stairs like beacons. You end up in the kitchen, hands braced on the sink, eyes drifting around the backyard through the window.
There’s a patio with chairs and string lights. In the grass, a trampoline, a sandbox, and a toddler-sized picnic bench, all draped in purple moonlight and sparkling with rain. It’s easy to imagine life here. Birthday parties and cookouts and lazy Sunday afternoons. 
The swish of sock against tile knocks you from the fantasy. You locate Steve’s reflection in the glass.
“You better not be doing my dishes.” 
Your lips flex instinctually at his voice. “I thought about it.” 
He leans back against the counter, hip a hand’s width from yours. Strips of hair sag across his forehead like a botched set of bangs. Your height difference and the angle only accentuate how silly he looks. 
“What?” Steve smiles. 
You huff through your own. “Nothin’.” 
“Why are you laughing then?” 
“I’m not. Just…” you reach for his face but the courage fades halfway. You wave obtusely instead. “This hair,” you finish. 
He flattens the piece down, then another, combing more and more over his face like a real pair of bangs until the ends graze the ball of his nose. “What? You don’t like it?”
“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.” 
“I dunno. Thinking of changing it up anyway.”
You shake your head, peeling your eyes away from him. “Stupid.” 
Stupidly gorgeous, you decide. He’s a mess, no doubt; rumpled and sweaty, and still, stupidly, impossibly gorgeous. 
He rakes his hair back where it belongs, “You’re too good to me, you know.”
“You’re so dramatic.” Your gaze remains on the window but you watch Steve in your peripherals. “I’m the perfect amount of good to you.” 
“Well, agree to disagree. But, thank you for coming over to help look. Really I–”
You face him fully then. “Steve, you don’t have to thank me.” 
“No, I do. Really, you’re… you’re great and it’s been nice, you know, having help. Even just having company. It hasn't been easy making friends the last few years.”
Your brain stalls at his choice of words. You spout the first thing that comes to mind. “That’s what friends are for, right?” The words sting like acid on your tongue but you smile anyway. You’re pretty sure your heart just split itself in half on the way to the friend zone. 
He hums, pushing off the counter toward the fridge. “Let me return the favor, please. I’ll make you whatever you want. Spaghetti, PB ‘n J, uhh, pre-packaged salad?”
“I’m good, Steve. I ate earlier. And you don’t need to return the favor.” 
He sets a jar of jelly on the counter. “Your loss. Penelope says I make the best PB ‘n J’s.” 
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” 
You settle at the kitchen table and watch him work unapologetically. His focus is entirely on a one-sided debate about the perfect peanut butter-to-jelly ratio, leaving him oblivious to your ogling.
He plops down in the chair across from yours when he’s finished. “Sure you don’t want some? You can have half of mine.” 
“Steve.” 
“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite. 
You watch the slow drip of water from the eaves. The rain has subsided enough that you could go, but neither of you suggest it. Your mind is elsewhere. Stuck on friends. 
“Hello? Anybody home?” Steve chuckles when you blink back to reality. “Did you hear me? I was–”
The trill of the phone interrupts. 
“I’m holding my thought. Don’t go anywhere.” Steve abandons his sandwich and crosses the room, pulling the phone from the counter. “Hello?... Uh-huh… Yes, yes.”
The sudden shift in his tone catches your attention. He sounds borderline ecstatic. 
“Okay. I’ll be right over. Thank you!” 
“Who was it?” you ask.
He snaps the receiver back into place. “A neighbor saw her just now.” 
“Really?” 
“Yes! Well, they’re pretty sure it’s her. It sounded like her, how they described. Are you able to stay here while I go check? I don’t wanna wake Penelope up.” 
You don’t even think about it when you insist, “Of course. Go!” 
“I’ll be right back. Thank you!” He squeezes your shoulder and jogs out of the kitchen. The sound of jangling keys fades with the closing of the front door and before you’ve processed it, you’re alone in Steve’s house. 
It’s a strange thing, being in Steve’s house without Steve. You’re not technically alone, Penelope is still tucked in bed upstairs, of course. But the silence is thick, suffocating even. So you’re admittedly glad when you hear tiny footsteps from upstairs. 
On the bottom step, Penelope freezes and her hand tightens around the railing, not expecting you to be there. “Where’s Daddy?” she mewls at you, bottom lip quivering against her words. 
“It’s okay. He went out to look some more, that’s all.” 
“I want Daddy,” she whines, breath hitching in between words. 
“He’ll be right back, sweetheart. I promise.” 
A sob wracks her chest, tears escaping as she scrunches her eyes. Sniffles cut through a mush of sounds, woven between them, she pleads, “When?”
“Oh, honey. Come here.” You hoist her up against your chest instinctually. It feels like the right thing to do, and it must be– her arms wind underneath yours like puzzle pieces. “Real soon,” you reassure. 
You hope so anyway. Half for Penelope’s sake and half for yours. You’re afraid to overstep, to parent her in a way Steve wouldn’t approve of. You feel the echoes of his constant self-doubt in your own mind. But you’ll try your best until he returns. 
Penelope’s not heavy, but it is the first time you’ve carried another human down a set of stairs. It’s a slow descent with lots of maneuvering and readjusting limbs so you can see the steps ahead but she doesn’t seem to mind. By the time you make it to the sectional, your arms burn. Still, you’d do it ten times over just so she doesn’t have to walk herself.  
She sweeps her runny nose across your sleeve and her knee digs uncomfortably into your ribcage but you can’t find it in yourself to mind. She feels safe enough with you to do so. It’s a compliment more than anything. And the weight of her head against you is a type of soothing you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. 
Your fingertips trace the shape of her shoulder blades through her nightgown. “Did you have a bad dream?” you whisper. 
She draws similar lazy patterns on your arm, pausing to hum yes. 
You hum back. “‘M sorry, Pen. Wanna talk about it? Might help.”
She shakes her head, the slightest movement against your collar. 
“Okay, I got you. Don’t have to worry,” you whisper and pat her head. “I won’t let any more bad dreams get in here.” 
Steve’s gone long enough to fuel your nerves and keep your mind buzzing, though your eyes beg for the sweet release of sleep. Penelope’s not helping, like a warm, weighted blanket on your chest. She’s barely awake herself when he arrives, but you’re surprised she’s awake at all. You aren’t sure what time it is but it’s definitely late. 
Two clicks from the front door’s lock and a Steve-shaped shadow slides inside. He’s being particularly quiet, like when tries to sneak up on you at the rec center. Like a ninja, he always says. 
Penelope’s head shoots up to peer over the couch. “Daddy?”
Steve stops in his tracks, but his head snaps in your direction. When his eyes confirm his ears he starts toward the couch, waiting until he can sit to coo, “Hey, baby. Hey.” A hand scoops a piece of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing up sleepyhead?” 
Penelope splinters off of your chest but remains situated on your thighs. She offers several half-lidded blinks to Steve. “You didn’t find her?” 
He melts like her eyes are made of sunbeams, reaching up to thumb sleep from under her lashes. “No, baby. Someone thought they did but it wasn’t her. I went to make sure.” 
“Oh,” she says, not sad, just tired. Penelope slowly leans over to him like a bridge, wrapping her arms around his neck as he tows her into his lap. 
He looks at you then. A long look. An expression you're having a hard time untangling. His eyes flutter back down when Penelope yawns. “Have to go to bed, okay?” he whispers into her crown, planting a kiss while he’s there. 
“I wanna sleep in your room.”
“That’s fine but I’m not laying down yet. You still have to go to sleep.” 
She nods against his chin. 
“I’ll carry you up. Can you say goodnight?” 
Penelope turns so you can see one side of her face, the other glued to Steve’s sweater. 
“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly. 
She only shudders out a sigh but manners aren’t on Steve’s mind, especially when he knows you wouldn’t care about that. His knees crack as he stands, hiking her up higher before he heads upstairs. 
You yank a blanket from the arm of the couch, missing the warmth Penelope lent you. It’s a risky move when you’re already fighting to keep your eyes open. 
But Steve’s back before you have time to fall asleep. He’s trampling down the steps with a confidence that Penelope’s out for good this time. And he flops onto the couch with the same heaviness, sighing like you’ve never heard. Pure frustration. It’s understandable. But odd off his lips. 
“You okay?” you ask, the same syrupy sweetness you’d used with Penelope.  
He turns to face you and he looks awfully sad. The rainwater clinging to the ends of his hair doesn’t help. But he nods anyway because he’s Steve. “It was a stupid raccoon.” 
“You’re kidding? They thought it was a cat?” 
“I should’ve known,” he scrubs his face. “Practically senile that lady.” 
“You’ll find her, Steve.” 
He takes a deep breath and swallows. “I don’t know anymore. I’m really starting to think worst-case scenarios.” 
You press your lips into a firm line. It’s a possibility you don’t want to consider. “Why don’t I go look a little longer? I’m off–”
“No, please,” he leans over to cradle the shell of your knee. “You’ve helped all night. I mean this in the nicest way possible, you look exhausted.”
“Way to treat a guest, Harrington,” you smirk, peeling his pointer finger off your leg to hook it under your own. 
He squeezes your finger like a trigger, shifting focus between your hands and face. “Go home, rest, please.” 
“You sure?”
“Hundred percent. Rain’s let up so the drive shouldn’t be too bad.” 
“Promise you’ll get some rest too?” 
He smiles despite the pang in his chest and the ache behind his eyes. You're the first to show him this kind of care in years. “I will. I promise.” He releases your finger, binding your pinky with his instead. 
There’s something unreal about the way you smile back at him. Like you’ve entranced him with a spell. Steve believes in a lot of things– superpowers, demogorgans, parallel dimensions– but this is the first time he’s ever believed in pinky promise magic. 
He shakes his head, “Come on.” 
You take his hand, groaning in sync as he helps you up. 
In the foyer, Steve unhooks the coat he’d lent you earlier. “Here.” And before you can contend, he adds, “Keep it. It’s an extra. I don’t need it.” 
You let him guide your arms into the sleeves. And the same deliriousness possesses you to spring in for a hug after. “It’ll be okay, Steve,” you murmur, lips skimming the embroidered design across his chest. 
He deflates for half a second before reciprocating. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.” 
You wait until he softens to pull away and open the door. 
The wind whips and howls blowing a wave of mist onto the other end of the porch. Steve scans the yard, then the road, both slick with rain. He asks himself if it’s a good enough reason to ask you to stay. But he decides it isn’t, not yet, at least. 
“Call me when you get home?” 
A wild smile splits your lips. “Okay,” you blink stupidly, too tired to care. 
“Careful!” he shouts as you run to your car. Steve leans against the doorframe, loitering until your headlights flash his house and your car rolls out of the driveway. 
It’s only sprinkling but streetlights are scarce near Steve’s place so you turn your high beams on, highlighting lawns on either side of the road. You drive slowly, inspecting one yard, then the one opposite, hopeful that Cinderella’s still out there. 
There’s a stop sign at the end of Steve’s street. A landmark you know to make a left at. But you decide to go right. I wanted to take the scenic route, you’ll say if Steve asks. You drive that road and the one beside it and another beside that. 
And it’s only a few turns away when you spot something sort of cat-shaped laid at the end of a driveway. 
“Please do not be a raccoon,” you mumble, squinting as you inch the car closer. The longer you look the more it makes sense– two ears, a wavy tail, it’s definitely a cat. “No way.” 
You put the car in park across from the house and study it. It bats its tail against the concrete, staring lazily back at your car. There’s just no way, not after all that looking. You find her after what, ten minutes of driving? It just can’t be her. 
You push your door open gingerly, slipping onto the asphalt one foot at a time. The cat perks up, ears twitching with each crunch under your shoes. You slink over slowly, crouching into an uncomfortable crab walk when she stands. Brown coat, no collar, just as she’s been described to you. But it’s hard to say. You’ve only seen one picture of her and it was out of focus. There’s no way to really know it’s her. 
Honking a few streets away slices the silence and your focus in one go. You flinch back a step which spooks the cat. She scampers up the driveway, weaving underneath a car to the other end of the yard. 
You stick as low to the ground as you can while skipping after her. You’d guess you look ridiculous, but at least Steve isn’t here to see. The car blocks the view and you lose her by the time you reach the other side. But there’s a swirl of shrubbery, good for hiding probably. You blindly grapple for branches, blinking rapidly, slowly adjusting to the growing darkness the farther you move from your car’s headlights.
And then the porch light flickers on, spotlighting you digging through a random person’s bushes.  
“Shit.” You freeze, hand choking a wreath of leaves, embarrassment flaring hot and red through your entire body. A minute passes, then two. Everything’s still. No cat, no angry homeowners, no police cars. You decide it’s safe. Must’ve been an automatic light. You hope, anyway. 
Upon further inspection, the bushes are empty, and from what you can see the porch is too. There are a few trees but it’s difficult to make out any cats through the dark web of branches. A sudden gust of wind shakes a handful of leaves loose. Your eyes track them across the yard as they tumble back toward the driveway. And there’s the damn cat, sitting on the roof of the car like it was there the whole time. 
“You better not set that alarm off, dude,” you grumble. 
She narrows her eyes and growls as you draw closer. Cinderella is irritable– this makes sense. Or it’s a totally random feral cat who is about to claw your eyes out. 
You’re within touching distance when you realize you have no plan. She very likely could claw your eyes out or give you rabies or something else awful. But you're in it now. You’re gonna get Penelope her cat back. So you shrug Steve’s coat off cautiously, eyes never leaving the cats. It’s raining again, you realize as it starts pelting your neck, trickling like ice down your shirt. But that’s the least of your worries right now. 
“Nice kitty,” you whisper, unfolding the jacket. 
She hisses as you lean in but before she can pounce or swipe you throw the jacket over her and scoop her off her feet. She goes stiff and growls low and throaty. 
You speed walk to your car, toeing the cracked door open and maneuvering carefully into your seat. The jacket peels open as you shut the door. She sees an opportunity and takes it, nosing her way through the hole and under your elbow. There’s a shine of teeth as she bats your face, dragging a sharp set of claws against your cheek. 
“No, no– shit! I swear if you don’t,” you argue, cramming her arms back in the fabric one at a time, tucking and tightening until she’s secure. 
She huffs through her nose, glaring menacingly at you from her swaddle. 
“Cinderella– if you’re even Cinderella– which you better be! You’re being a real jerk right now.”
She growls in response. Steve wasn’t lying about her attitude. 
You shift the car into gear one-handed and forgo a seatbelt. It’s a short ride and you’ve maxed out your risk-taking meter for the night. While it really is a short drive, it goes dreadfully slow. You’re cold and wet and you feel like you are driving with a bomb strapped to your chest. 
Getting out of the car is just as easy, as in not easy at all, as getting in. But you make it to Steve’s porch, surging the cat further up your chest so there are no last-minute getaways. You tap gently on the door with your toe, hoping not to disturb Penelope. 
The instant the door opens, you squeeze by Steve and release the cat onto the floor. She scampers ahead a few feet before stopping to turn around. “Tell me this is the right cat and I didn’t just kidnap some other kid’s pet.” 
He shoves the door closed. “Oh my God! Where the hell did you find her?” 
You exhale with one big slump of your shoulders, all the worry bleeding away. “Like, five minutes down the road. Just hanging out in someone’s driveway.” 
Steve gawks, crouching and coaxing her closer with an open palm. 
She considers his invitation before striding into his touch. 
He strokes her from head to tail and back. “I can’t believe you. I was about to make funeral arrangements.” 
Cinderella chirps happily. 
Steve twists to look up at you. For a second you think he might cry. Or kiss you. 
He promptly stands and cups your jaw and your stomach tumbles because he might actually kiss you. But he aims your cheek against the light instead and whispers, “You’re bleeding.” 
“Oh,” you tap around your cheek blindly, “It’s just a scratch.” 
“Here. Come here.”
You follow him to the bathroom where he pulls a towel from the closet and drapes it around your shoulders like a shawl. 
“You’re wet,” he says like you don’t already know. 
You tug the fraying ends taut across your chest and watch him dig through the medicine cabinet. “If only someone let me borrow their coat.” 
“If only,” he snickers, dumping the contents of the first aid kit in the sink. “I’m sorry Cinderella beat you up. She really has no manners.” He strips the plastic cover off a Barbie-themed bandaid and lines it up with your scratch, pressing, and smoothing it over your skin gingerly. 
“How hideous do I look? Scale of one to ten.” 
He shakes his head, smiling at you like an idiot. You make him smile like it’s your only job. And it sends his heart flying every time. He feels out of control around you. He hates feeling that way but somehow you make it easy. 
“You could never be hideous.” Steve chuckles, still in disbelief. “You're amazing.”
Any cold lingering on your face evaporates. “Don’t go soft on me, Harrington,” you tease. 
Maybe it’s the adrenaline buzz of chasing Cinderella or the high of successfully catching her, but you feel like you could do anything. Like you could say anything to him. Your eyes trickle down to his lips. He’s close enough to kiss. Every nerve in your body dares you to do it. You don’t think he’d reject you. Maybe he’d even meet you halfway. 
A high-pitched scream severs the moment. 
Steve jerks away, alarmed and then quickly amused. “Penelope,” he grins. 
And right on cue, Penelope whizzes by the open door, squeals ricocheting down the hall. She chases Cinderella, who does not look happy to be chased, but Steve allows it. 
“Daddy! Cinderella’s back! Look!” She clips her shoulder on the stair post before disappearing into the kitchen 
He turns to you, beaming. He hopes you understand how amazing you are. He’d happily tell you again and again. 
Penelope races out, heaving through a smile with the jar of treats. She sprays the entire contents of it across the floor. Steve can’t even be mad. In fact, it’s the happiest he’s been all week. 
She lies down on her back, eyes skipping between you and Steve. “How did she get here?” 
“I saw her on my way home. She was just a few streets away.” 
“Wow. She’s really good at hide and seek,” Penelope decides. 
Cinderella prances over, using Penelope’s belly as a personal vault. Penelope splays her hand out, patting and petting to her heart's content as Cinderella munches on the treats. 
Steve squats, cupping a handful of them back into the jar. 
“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”
“Her prize will make her sick if she eats it all.”
“Okay. I guess.” She giggles as Cinderella pushes a treat with her paw. 
Steve squeezes her knee where it wiggles, raising his eyebrows, “What do you say?”
Penelope turns to you with a wicked grin. She practically screams, “Thank you!”
“You're very welcome.”
Penelope pushes herself up and cocks her head. “Will you stay and play with us?” 
It’s entirely innocent and equally adorable. You appreciate Steve for being the bad guy. 
“Nuh-uh. You’re supposed to be in bed,” he reminds her. 
She whines and shoots him a mean look. But it doesn’t last. Cinderella is back. That’s all she really cares about right now. 
“You can play with Cinderella in the morning.” His eyes flicker between the two like they’re made of gold. “Maybe she’ll even sleep in your room.” 
Penelope’s eyes and mouth widen into three little O’s. “Really!” 
“Yes. She can stay inside from now on. But! You have to train her, be a good cat mom to her.” 
“I will, I will,” she nods so relentlessly her head might pop off. “I promise I’ll be the bestest cat mom ever in the whole entire world!” 
Steve chuckles, gaze dancing over to you. He looks at you like you’re made of gold too. That’s an intense realization. 
“I should head home,” you say. 
Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. 
“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!” 
Penelope shackles Cinderella’s arm and forces her into a rigid wave. “Bye-bye!” 
Steve follows you out to the front porch, snapping the door shut when Cinderella trots after him. 
“Good luck keeping her inside.”
“Yeah,” he shakes his head, hand dropping from the door handle. “I’m sure she’ll escape by morning.” 
Your gaze sweeps across the lawn. It’s only drizzling now, almost unnoticeably through the overcast veil of moonlight. 
“Oh, here,” you tug one end of the towel until it slides off your neck. 
Steve accepts it tentatively, “Maybe you should keep it. Case she gets out again.” 
“Yeah, guess I’d need something to catch her with, huh?”
His teeth seem to glow in the moonlight when he smiles. He slings the towel back over your head and smooths it across your shoulders. “I know I’ve said this like a million times today,” he trails off, rubbing the fabric up and down your arms. “But I’m gonna say it again.” He looks up, dreadfully serious. Your eyes lock like magnets, like he’s specially polarized yours to stay tethered to his. “First of all, thank you for everything, seriously.”
“It’s no problem, Steve, really.” 
“I know, I just,” his attention drifts away, tension seeping in through the silence. “I think you’re like the coolest person ever.” 
You shake your head and shift your weight from one foot to the other, desperately trying to shake out the scary feeling in your gut.
A warm hand clasps yours. “I mean it. You’re so amazing and are just a super genuine person and– and I care a lot about you.” 
Your pulse hammers so hard you wonder if he can hear it. The icy bite of rain clinging to your clothes turns hot. Hot enough to boil every drop of it off your skin. 
“I dunno, it’s just really hard to make friends as a single parent. You’ve been so kind. And I really appreciate that.” 
Your heart aches. Your eyes sting. That awful feeling triples. Friends, how could you forget? 
He drops your hand, knotting his own fingers together instead. Watching you, waiting for a response. 
You smile, brittle but convincing enough that he smiles back. “Well, that’s really sweet. I’m happy to help. And, for the record, I think you’re super cool too.” You punch his shoulder playfully. Because that’s what friends do. 
“Phew, that’s a relief. Was starting to think you were getting sick of us.”
You smile genuinely then. You don’t think it’s possible to ever get sick of them. “Ehh, I’m still warming up to Cinderella but Penelope’s my favorite, no offense.” 
“No, she’s pretty cool.” He nods, pausing to think. “You can come over tomorrow– if you aren’t busy. If you want to. We’ll probably go buy some cat stuff. I dunno, it’s cool if you can’t.”
“I’d love to, Steve.” 
He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.” 
“Okay.” 
“See you then.”
“See ya.”
You spin on your heel, scurrying down the porch steps faster than you probably should. Forget the rain, Steve’s what you're running from. His laugh and his dopey smile and his overly kind words. You’re too young to die of a heart attack, but surely your heart won’t last much more of this. 
When you tug the handle of your car door, he yells, “Don’t forget to call me!” 
You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling and flash him a thumbs-up before getting in. He’s such an idiot. Probably waking his neighbors up yelling like that. It’s probably unhealthy, the amount of emotions you’ve just experienced in the span of a few minutes. 
But already all you can think about is tomorrow. It seems like light years away, but you’d wait lightyears for Steve– even for just friends Steve– silly as it sounds.
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punchelf · 30 days ago
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Keepsake
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"Erenville?"
"..."
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"I have something for you."
"I don't need anything. I'm fine."
"Well that's too bad. I spent all day crawling around Tesh'pyani looking for this little one."
"...Tesh'pyani?"
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"I know it can't replace what you've lost, but I believe this plant holds special significance for your clan?"
"Is that...? But how? There was nothing growing there!"
"I think it wanted to be found."
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"I... don't know what that means..."
"It doesn't matter."
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"Moni, I- I don't know what to say..."
“It’s alright, you don’t have to say anything.”
“…thank you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elftober, Day 24
(Fun fact: Moni's Special Echo Power™️ is talking to plants)
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crystalpallette · 2 months ago
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so I finished side order recently
#splatoon#pearl houzuki#agent 8#marina ida#acht mizuta#my stuff#inktober piece 2 :)#shoutout to my brother who reminded me i could replay the credits whenever because i had to get some extra refs for eight's model#and saved me from having to slog up the tower again#now if only splatoon could do that for every cutscene eh. please#i want to relive a lot of cutscenes and youre killing me for it splatoon#anyway did you know splatoon's official art has. well it wildly varies from piece to piece#they all follow like a very loose guidelines but also they all split off into their own things half the time#me with seven tabs of art trying to figure out if i want to do lines to separate pearl's fingers: so this one has lines but this one doesnt#'this one isnt relevant to this issue all fingers are splayed'#so in the end i just did whatever i wanted. i think that's a core tenet of art. do whatever you want. forever#also spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what was etched into marina's headphones#im 98% sure it is the off the hook logo. but nothing save from booting up splatoon and checking myself would say for sure#and i didnt wanna boot up splatoon cause if i did then id inevitably be down a couple hours because 'oh well im here already. one run maybe'#but regardless!! im proud of how this came out even if i was supposed to have finished two days ago to keep with my schedule#especially the bg :) i think i did really good on that.#and eight's little smile i think thats the charm point of the whole piece and it took me about ten drafts to get it properly#i think i did good on that too.#im so enamored with splatoon rn help
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sacchiri · 8 months ago
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Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.
Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen
A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death
#hellsing#alucard#kouta hirano#translation was found in a comment by u/lazyfoxheart on r/Kurrent#fun fact this is the highest quality version of this image that exists online#i know because i've been looking forever for a version that's clear enough to actually read what hirano wrote under '1443'#but there weren't any so i had to take matters into my own hands#the real image on the back of the guidebook is only 2 inches tall so i had to take this with my smartphone and will my hands not to shake#anyway i'm pretty sure it's supposed to say Eğrigöz (the location vlad was imprisoned) so yeah. thank you hirano very cool#if i might rant for a sec it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure that out because i didn't have the guidebook at first#and in the images i could find online that part was just a blur that looked suspiciously like a person's signature and i was like. who tf#i was thinking matthias corvinus since he issued some political propaganda against vlad iirc but it didn't match his signature on wikipedia#then i thought it might be vlad II dracul's since he probably had to sign an agreement to send his sons over as hostages at some point#but that didnt seem right either so i kept skimming vlad's wiki page#and then i was like goddammit...hirano.....you just misspelled Eğrigöz didn't you.. ....#i maybe should've made a separate post dedicated to this instead of writing a novel in the tags but eh#the hellsing brainrot runs deep#also- i put it in the source link at the bottom of the post but the german inscription is copied off a real woodcut of vlad from 1491#except instead of depicting him as an adult hirano drew him as a child which gives the inscription a very different feel imo#the one final thing that interests me about this is the fact that hirano published this calendar in 2002#which is REALLY early in the series. like this was before volume 5 came out??#i have no idea why he decided to do a massive spoiler drop in a random piece of japan-only merch#sandwiched between a drawing of alucard as john travolta from saturday night fever and integra as a fish no less#it makes me really curious to know what the fan response to this was back then. like did people even know who this was#maybe im just an idiot and everyone back then was like 'ah yes its alucard as a 12 year old. how very informative'
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blimbo-buddy · 1 year ago
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Girl who says "Brah"
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green-tea-lemonade · 1 year ago
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hii can you please draw applebees/davesol/soldave/honeycrisp... they are my lifefurce....
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Heeeeey anon
Sorry that this legit took so long to get to but this one and another actually stumped me a bit! But lets go ahead and talk some Honeycrisp!
It's funny but as I'm starting to go through ships, I actually find that Sollux is surprisingly moldable to ship with in most quadrants with any character with just a few characters that I think it's pretty obvi he'd be one way or another with them. Dave is one that I can actually see these two being an all-around deal. I think it's actually extremely easy to see either of them together in a red, pale, or pitch manner. Personal opinion though, I think I could see them shift from pitch to pale. However, I do understand the idea of them in red! Trying to go down a little bit of the more romantic route, Dave can somehow get Sollux to be pretty talkative when working if he says the right things. Both of them are pretty tall so there is a pretty frequent amount of them coming up behind the other and attempting to use them like an armrest just for the hell of it. Sollux's constant amount of electronic-like noises from his powers is actually fuel and used snippets in some of Dave's music. I see them being somewhat private about affections towards one another mostly because they don't feel like its anybodys business to glimpse into those parts from the outside of their lives. They're really casual about it though.
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breadclubrising · 1 year ago
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idc enough to rip and upload the video or see if anyone has posted it already
but this video of kenny saying he went somewhere (not canada!) to "recruit an old friend" who is "near and dear", I would have thought was going to be a swerve, like 'yep, my old friend YUJIRO 'THE TOKYO PIMP' TAKAHASHI'...
i WOULD HAVE thought that IF i had not seen kenneth's lil smile when people IMMEDIATELY started cheering when he said "old friend who is near and dear to my heart." he also threw in what appear to be a bashful head drop and a trying-not-to-get-choked-up voice when he started talking again. even in this shitty lil twitter vid from someone's phone, that smile looks real enough to convince me to tune into blood & guts in a couple weeks.
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imwritesometimes · 6 months ago
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Legitimately sat down with the full 100% intent to actually write. My laptop however seems to have other plans 😑
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no-brand-gays · 1 year ago
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anime resale stores here always have absolute mountains of love live figures from every iteration of the franchise with every character and costume you could imagine...except i've never been a figure girlie so i always just look over the shelf in awe because i can't really see myself buying anything. except, that is, for the early love live sunshine aqours figures with no legs. that, i would buy
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#were these the first aqours figures ever?? they can't be right?#either way i remember just how early into lls this was#it's really burned into my memory i have no idea what they were made for though#i just always remember them. and their lack of legs#those shops always have the nice boxed up figures and then the ones that were brought to them without a box#left to sit forever in plastic bags on hooks on the store walls (until someone buys them)#some of those come in multiple pieces? like maybe stands or removable parts...?#but i always think it's gonna be one of these and i'm always so disappointed#cmon rashinban sell me one of the ugliest and most baffling love live figures of all time#personal#honestly it's not just figures i'm just really not much of a merch girlie#living in japan is slowly curing me of that though just because of how normalized it is for everyone to have character merch#i bought a really cute kanan keychain a while ago but then it fell off of my bag when i was out :( i still have no idea where i lost it#the normalization of it really helps though honestly#if you'd told me 2 years ago that i'd be buying little nitotan plushes of my fav characters to hold up to scenery while traveling and#take pictures of i definitely wouldn't have believed it#but that's just like a thing that anime girlies do here. i think it's really cute actually#i still haven't gotten around to actually bringing any of those plushes on trips because i forgot 3 times in a row#and then the next trip i took after that was with my family#nooooot a chance. oh my god there's no way i could've explained that and had them been like oh okay
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elytrafemme · 4 months ago
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today's therapy session was really enlightening which is obviously good but it was enlightening in kind of a freaky degree because i just figured out that something i have been doing for like the entirety of my life isn't actually a common thing and is probably representative of something not working right in my unconscious? dude i thought i was on top of my psychological shit but then it turns out something i wrote off as being emotionally inconvenient but presumably regular actually might be worth its own series of sessions like. what the fuck man.
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what-even-is-sleep · 6 months ago
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Can’t wait for my drivers license to arrive so I can be driving legally again for the first time in 1.5 years!
#for legal reasons this is a joke#SO THIS IS WHATS UP#as a youngin#a young adult one might say#I was starting to learn that some systems are bullshit when I’d previously been a pretty big rule-follower#my mom showing me how to navigate the healthcare system a bit/showing me how student loans legit have practices to confuse and fuck us over#also im really bad at getting things in on time (this is an important fact)#so when I see that my drivers license is abt to expire. I’m like ‘Oup gotta get that done!’ then promptly forget abt it#next time I remember it’s 3 months expired.#I check the date and realize that wait! in a year imma be turning 21 and just one yr after that Real ID’s will become mandatory (im p sure)#so I decide to push off renewing my license! I think that the whole process will b annoying asf bc I’ve only dealt with the DMV in-person#and it SUCKED and took forever. I’m thinking that if I renew my drivers license right on/after my 21st birthday I can knock out two birds#with one stone: I can get it as a Real ID and I can get an updated picture that’s flipped sideways so getting age-checked is faster#little do i know: it’s v much illegal to be driving around with an expired license!#I drive around for a year (over a year? I don’t remember when I first realized it was expired) j having fun#then one month b4 my 21st birthday I get into an abroad study thing and have to get my passport. which I realize is also expired. and#realize that to renew my passport I have to have a valid drivers license. At this point I also realize how fucked I could be if I get pulled#over with my expired license. so I check out the process for DL renewal and rejoice! it’s online!#AND THANK FUCK I CHECKED THEN. bc if I had waited LITERALLY two more days I would not have been able to renew online and would’ve had to go#in-person. and there were no in-person appointments until after my 21st. and I learned in this process abt the fines my state applies when u#renew a DL late and ALSO that u have to entirely retake the test/redo all the paperwork shit if it’s expired for too long. I would’ve had to#retake the test n everything if I’d gone past my bday. I was also in another state for college. idk how incoherent these ramblings are but#basically I would’ve been Ultra Fucked. anyways! got that figured out#renewed the DL and had it sent to my home. then da house floods and crime goes up in the neighborhood and my DL ends up either being lost#Or tossed (with other flood-damaged things) or stolen.#I don’t realize this for 4 months bc I am silly. also in college out-of-state. also other reasons.#finally got around to calling DMV and telling them that my DL never arrived… 6 months after I renewed it!#and they were v sweet and are resending me my DL for free. so in the next few weeks I shall finally b driving legally again#!!!! the end#mypost
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