#will i ever come back?? i mean probably not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovieku · 2 days ago

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HANDS ON ME ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you like what you see, baby put your hands on me.

it’s about to look like jeongguk’s birthday everyday with you.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: nerd!jk x popular!fem reader

genre: smut

ratings: 18+ / mdni

warnings: lower case intended, jk is inexperienced and sooo whipped, it’s his birthday!!! and he’s getting it hhhh, lowk dom!oc x sub!jk, size kink, tit play, dry humping, brief coochie play, cum eating omfg, blow job, cutest babies ever

word count: 3.9k

a/n: first thing i saw this morning was that ask, so of course i had to write this. like THANK U ANON that was such a good idea yes yes yes. hope u enjoy 🩷🩷

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive @nooooooooonnneeeeeee @vantelover1306

────୨ৎ────

jeongguk didn’t wish for his birthday party to look like this.

the second he casually mentioned that his parents would be out of town on the very same day he would turn 21, his small friend group (consisting of the two nerdiest guys in college, probably even battling him for the top spot) took it on them to turn what he imagined would be a calm, quiet night spent with the comfort of jimin and taehyung in front of video games into a contending rival of a literal frat party. in his own house. when he never approved of it, nor asked for it.

there’s an inestimable amount of faces he has never seen before this moment, but they all seem to know him, congratulating him every time he comes in their vision. then, they go back to drinking, kissing, soft-fucking on his couch, and seemingly pumping up the volume of the music more and more with each blasting and ungraceful song.

that is probably why he’s struggling a bit more than he usually does with breathing. he’s a huge germaphobe, and having all these strangers barge into his space and lean on every possible surface with their greasy, alcohol stained hands has him close to hyperventilating.

he still hasn’t figured out how his two friends did it, but they managed to involve what looked like the whole uni into coming at jeongguk’s 21st birthday party like it was an unmissable event. it truly did seem like one, though, the birthday boy looking around in a confused awe and realizing this is all he’s ever missed from his teenage years. meh. not all that.

what really got him struggling to breathe is you. you, the most popular girl in college, talks about you on the mouths of all guys and girls in the hallways, loved yet envied by every single one of them, are here. and when you greeted him, you did so with a kiss for each of his cheeks. he stood there like he truly was going to let his lungs stop working, and you just smiled up at him through your long lashes and big eyes.

you’re not popular for the cliché reasons a girl in college might be. you’re not mean, you don’t square uncool people from head to toe with a judging look, you’re not known to be scary and unapproachable. the reason why you’re surrounded by a devoted swarm of bees is because you’re the literal definition of an angel.

an angel always ready to help anyone who seems like struggling, flash them with pearly whites, and be impossible to resist with bug, wide eyes conveying all your most honest emotions.

you’re known for genuine reasons. he’s never even heard many rumors about you, and if he did he assumed it was coming from way too envious people. the only thing he allowed himself to believe about your privacy, is that you’re very caring in bed.

he won’t admit it, feels disgusting for it, but he’s touched himself to that thought a couple of times. maybe more.

it doesn’t matter now, because you’re closer to him than you’ve ever been, and you sit in the overwhelming circle that has formed on the floor of his living room, people he has never even talked to proposing games and pushing drinks into his hand since he’s now 21.

unlike most people, that number doesn’t mean a lot to him. he’s not that thrilled about the knowledge that he can now get his hands on anything that was previously denied to him, alcohol and substances of those sorts. he never liked them, and he doesn’t think he will just because of this newfound freedom.

he’s now getting the full experience when someone, sharp-eyed and drunk on audacity, spots the wooden door to his dad’s wine cellar left slightly ajar and suggests seven minutes in heaven with the kind of enthusiasm jeongguk imagines newton felt when that apple hit his head.

on his right, jimin panics for jeongguk, “you’re not going to fuck in mr. jeon’s wine cellar.”

“who said anything about fucking?” dahye, a friend of yours, the complete opposite of you with a mean aura and sliced eyes, intervenes and has everyone laughing.

jimin rolls his eyes and plops down from where he straightened up on his knees, and jeongguk stays silent. he gave up fighting long ago, when the first drink spilled on his carpet.

he just gives a tight-lipped smile when his blonde friend tries an apologetic look, shaking his head and studying the room. jeongguk gulps when his eyes inevitably fall on yours, and he finds you already staring, an intensity he hasn’t seen often. when he’s sure he’s perfectly resembling a deer caught in headlights, you tilt your head amusedly, and he hastily focuses back down on his lap.

“well, since jimin is so afraid we’re gonna break his boyfriend’s stuff,” dahye continues, feeding off the childish chuckles coming from around her, and maybe also off jimin’s annoyed glare, “why don’t we let the birthday boy go first?”

at that, jeongguk’s head snaps up, his fluffy hair bouncing with the sudden movement, and he looks around wide eyed. he’s not sure what the game entails, he just knows something is supposed to happen, but he’s not sure exactly what the people hungrily gawking at him are expecting.

taehyung is about to add something when dahye interrupts once again, resting her hand on your lap beside her, “he can go with ___. i know that would make his day.”

sitting at her left, you’re the only one who doesn’t laugh at the sneaky implication; instead, you glare at your friend, who shrugs in response.

both jimin and taehyung fall in total silence, their eyes alarmingly looking at their friend in the middle. jeongguk seems a hundred times more panicked, but not because of the same reasons.

while his two best friends are simply excited at the prospect of jeongguk’s every dream coming true, eagerly expecting a positive answer from his mouth, jeongguk’s whole focus is on you, and your seemingly impassive face. his mind spins with haunting worries, giving at least twenty different interpretations to the way you’re looking at him, brows subtly twitching up.

he clumsily parts his lips to say something, but with absolutely no senseful thought swarming his brain, nothing comes out.

a beat of anticipated silence goes by before you gracefully stand up, all eyes following you, and even if quiet, your voice goes through the music, “let’s go, gguk.”

jeongguk loudly gulps, and he hopes the sound isn’t heard, but he doubts it since he’s receiving a scary amount of attention that goes over what he’s received his whole life.

if it wasn’t for the two guys at his sides pushing him to stand up, he would have stayed with his ass perched to the floor. instead, he stumbles and almost trips, meeting your eyes with awkward shame as you just softly smile at his gawkiness.

you don’t wait for him, daintily walking to the room victim of the game, pushing the door open and curiously peeking inside. jeongguk hastily jumps over the people sitting on the ground, still quietly observing the scene, and he’s at your side way faster than the time it took for him to even realize what was about to happen.

he exhales loudly at the proximity, standing behind you and basking in the height difference, your head barely reaching his chest, and he thinks he truly sees heaven when you turn around to look up at him, grinning delicately as you tilt your head back, “wanna go in?”

jeongguk is sure he has lost the capability to speak. no matter the sounds he tries to force up his throat, they’re not strong enough to fight their way out. he simply closes the door behind the two of you, and he’s glad when it significantly helps drown out the loud music and drunkish chatter.

he’s less glad for it when it means he’s officially left alone with you in a relatively cramped space, the silence almost more suffocating than the room and its strong smell. but he’s convinced you must be an angel when you don’t complain, not even slightly, your face the expression of composure.

he stands in the middle of the cellar while you explore it in a circle, letting your heels click on the parquet floor and your fingers carefully brush the wine bottles.

the simple action makes him feel hot, naughty mind conjuring up images of you tracing his skin with such care, and he releases a shaky breath before you can stop him, blurting his messy thoughts out, “we— we don’t have— have to do anyt—”

“sit on that stool, gguk.”

the command is anything but harsh, your voice a soft melody of calmness, but it still startles him. no, it shakes something in his chest, traveling all the way down to where he’s starting to feel a strong urge.

you point to a wooden stool in the corner of the room, which doesn’t look too high, but when he obediently goes to sit on it with his knees wobbling, you promptly place yourself in front of him and grin at the way he’s still almost at face level with you, his forehead reaching only a little under your chin.

his huge proportions compared to yours have always managed to make your head spin and thighs squeeze together whenever you managed to sit next to him in the few lectures you shared, lashes fluttering seductively to have him fix nonexistent bugs on your computer just to see his wide hand close to yours on the keyboard.

now, with his puppy eyes staring up at you expectantly, his drawn up brows only emphasizing his yearning, you need to steady yourself with hands on his shoulder to hold back from quite literally grinding on him. you whisper, “good.”

his orbs shake impossibly more, and from the corner of your eye you see his fingers fidgeting in his lap, fighting a delirious need. his legs are spread just enough for you to be standing right in the middle of them, but you push yourself further into him, his chin lifting up even higher to never be forced to look away from your firm gaze, hanging from your lips when you voice an apology, “i didn’t bring a gift, ggukkie.”

jeongguk is almost panting, the endearing nicknames only adding to the warmth of your sweet body, your vanilla scent clouding his senses and gouging the truth out of him, “th—that’s okay, ___. i—i’m very happy you’re here.”

you smile, but it’s one he’s never seen on you. it’s not one of those you flash when you’re grateful, understanding, or even amused. it’s mischievous, almost belittling. “are you saying i’m your gift?”

his eyes widen, and he’s ashamed of the way your accusative tone causes him to throb in his jeans, and in his speech too, “huh— oh my god. i’m so sorry. that must sound so—”

you chuckle, stroking his broad back with your hands sliding across his width, “hey, slow down. it sounds so very cute coming from your lips.”

jeongguk appreciates your efforts at trying to put him at ease, truly. but your soothing touch and words only have him in a state of alert, even more when your fingers travel up his nape and find home in his locks. you’re impossibly close now, and he feels your voice resounding within him, “but i’m still not satisfied. i wanna give you more, make you forgive me.”

your whisper fans over his lips, and he unconsciously parts them for you, his eyes hooded by the second and glassed over with desperate want. you smirk.

stepping back enough for his neck to rest at a comfortable angle, he whimpers deliciously at the loss of your touch, but you shut him up just as quickly when your dress is off you and on the wooden floor in a swift motion.

jeongguk is definitely panting now, breathing manually and focusing too much on having his heart pump oxygen for him rather than the view of your exposed body in front of him.

he gradually realizes he could care less about dying right now if it means the last thing he’s going to be faced with is your nipples hardening with the cool, and hopefully something else, and your lacy white panties barely covering your core.

jeongguk stares like a starved man being met with his first meal after weeks of seeking, his hands trembling on his thighs and squeezing into suppressing fists.

his gasp turns into an awfully high-pitched moan when you hook a finger under the hem of your lingerie, sliding it daintily down your legs and walking out of it, never breaking eye contact with him. only thing you’re left with are your high heeled boots.

the next thing you do has the organs that keep all his vital functions going completely stop working, his heart missing more than ten beats and catching up with an alarmingly fast speed, causing his voice to shake, “___, wh—what are you—”

swinging one of your legs, you sit on him with your ingloriously stained panties pressing right on his crotch, hands placed back on the base of his neck, basking in the way you can feel his rapid beating under your fingers.

you lean into his ear, “if you like what you see, you can put your hands on me, baby.”

jeongguk throws his head back for air, his chest heaving with trembling exhales before he finds your eyes again, and in the fraction of second he needed to look elsewhere if he didn’t want to bust in his tight pants already, you’re a whole different person.

your eyes are sliced, pupils blown and hooded, and your parted lips stretch just enough to paint a wicked smirk over your face, its effects flooding right down his stomach and making you feel his hardness through the material.

his hands dance a panicked rhythm hovering over your sides, not sure what to do, not deeming himself deserving of feeling your skin under his touch. but you take it upon yourself to guide them, pressing his palms against your hips and letting them ride up your exposed breasts.

he whimpers, fingertips unconsciously testing the sense of the soft curve of your boobs with a subtle press, but it’s not enough. you can’t feel him.

with your hands still on his, you arch yourself further into his touch and have his thumbs slice over your sensitive nubs, letting out a moan of your own that goes over his low groan. you lick your lips and struggle to find your breath and words too, but you whisper them through an already too fucked out smile, “see? you can touch me, just like that.”

the go-ahead is all he needs for him to dive his head right into your chest, his tongue catching your nipple in an unpracticed hunger, messily sucking on it and quickly leaving your skin soaked with spit. he works clumsily with his hand on your other tit, movements uncoordinated and unsure.

but the fact that he seems to not care about his inexperience, willing to learn right at this moment all it takes for you to keep whimpering and trembling when he touches, has your usually composed senses lost in a haze of desire, the need to give your all to the nerdy boy that is finally being properly touched just as he turns 21 clouding your senses and pushing you to unconsciously buck your hips against his.

he moans with his mouth full of you, his free hand gripping your thigh, and he tries to stop it but he can’t help the way he meets your grinding, snapping up as if he lost all sort of control over his body. he quite literally wails in desperation, “fuck— don’t— don’t do that. i’m gonna— oh, god.”

“you’re gonna cum?” you sound just as crazed, hips rutting at a faster speed on him, the slickness smearing all over his jeans and leaving a wet patch right where his dick stays confined.

“no! i— i mean, just give me a second, shit. i swear, i—”

“ggukkie, this is about you. i’ll make you cum, hm? how’s that sound?” the sweet sound of your promise has him seeing stars, eyes squeezing shut as he feels himself getting close to a point he doesn’t think he’s ever reached before.

until he’s back to zero.

you lift your hips off his, helping your weight up by placing your hands on his broad shoulders, and you sport a devilish smile when he opens his eyes again, protest ready on his tongue. his brows are furrowed and there’s tears ready to spill out from his eyelids, but you don’t let them.

the huge palm that was still fondling your breast is now being led by you further down, until it disappears between you. you have him cup your wet core, the intensity of the moment only heightened by your gaze never leaving his, “touch me.”

when panic flashes over his expression once again, you instruct him through it just how you did minutes before, and he quickly gets the hang of it. you always appreciated him being a fast learner, but you couldn’t imagine that it would come handy in a scenario like this one.

you hum when his ring and middle finger trace your slit, only to come up to try and find your clit in a surprisingly good attempt, “good, get all of it. make your hand wet.”

the moment squelching sounds reach your ears, you leave your seat from his lap and stand on your heels again. he whines, unknowingly reaching for you, but you halt his hand and redirect it on the zipper of his jeans. you tilt your chin, “take them off.”

he’s quicker than he was at the beginning of his seven minutes in heaven now, freeing himself from the tight pants, boxers going along with it, and his cock springs free deliciously, standing tall and proud against his tummy.

you groan, almost already falling to your knees like you are planning to do soon. it’s an adjective you don’t think you’ve ever used on any of the guys you’ve been with, but jeongguk’s cock is pretty. its pink tip matches his lips, swollen from the harsh biting, and it doesn’t look rough. it has just the perfect length, girth, and when it twitches under your awe, you see it bend subtly to the right.

you smile, meeting his face again, delirious need written all over it, “stroke your cock with the hand you touched me with,” the second the order is out your lips, he’s already working himself. you can see him trying to go at a merciful speed, his grip loose, and it makes you grin amusedly, “mh, aren’t you so obedient. let me have a taste, gguk.”

you clearly have noticed that he’s not as quick on his feet as he usually is, brain clouded, so you once again take it upon yourself to lead his hand, this time introducing two of his fingers in your warm mouth. you hum loudly around the thick digits, eyes rolling back, and you speak around them, “fuck, you wanna try that?”

you don’t wait for him to reply, knowing it would get him minutes that you sadly don’t have to formulate a senseful answer, and you simply feed him his own fingers, carefully watching the way he lets his cheek hollow around them. you chuckle feverishly, “we taste so good together, don’t we?”

he nods eagerly, eyes glassy with more tears, and you think you can see one drop at the side of his face just as you fall to your knees in front of his seated body, your pretty figure even smaller from his view, and he’s graced with your bug eyes staring up at him through long lashes.

you don’t waste any more time, knowing there’s not much left in the heaven you’ve created for your own, and you wrap your ravenous mouth around him, showing none of the previous mercy in your speed.

he lets his mouth hang open, moans uncontrollably loud, and he needs to grab the sides of his stool to get the illusion of some sort of power still left within him. he closes his eyes in bliss, but quickly snaps them open when he realizes what he’s missing.

you’re bobbing your head up and down his length, and you still manage to maintain that dainty elegance that characterizes you, slim fingers gripping around the base and making up for the spots you can’t reach. he pants on the verge of a heart attack, pitch high as he begs, “fuck. look— look up at me, please.”

you do, aligning yourself better to meet his frenzied state, eyes communicating all the words you can’t say, too engaged in having him unravel all over your lips. he groans at the eye contact, thinking back to all the times he’s seen this exact scene flash behind his closed eyelids, and he’s a fool for even believing his mere imagination could compare.

it will never be enough, never again. not after this. not after knowing what you look like as you devote yourself to him, precise movements getting him closer, the way your tongue flickers out to reach down further and how you let his tip meet the back of your throat finally causing him to snap his hips up involuntarily, and before he can say something to warn you, he’s painting your warm mouth with his cum.

ropes of white, hot liquid spill out from you, but you promptly collect all of it, making sure not a single drop is missed, gulping it down with eager want. you wordlessly smile up at him, infatuated with the way his chest heaves and his lips part, trying to regain some composure.

he thinks he will need hours to fully recover. and he’s not even sure he wants this moment to end, blurting his predominant thought out before he knows it, “i wanna make you feel good, too.”

you chuckle as you get up, quickly soothing your knees before collecting your panties from the ground and walking back inside them, “it’s okay, baby. this was my birthday gift for you, hm? besides, we don’t have much time left before the others come in.”

“but…”

jeongguk helplessly watches as you get dressed, cringing at the stickiness of your wet core but nonetheless slipping your flowy dress back on. he just had the best orgasm of his life from the girl he firmly believes to be the love of his life, and he doesn’t get to give it back. oh, he feels like an absolute asshole.

you seem to read it all simply by scanning his face fondly, words soft, “that doesn’t mean you won’t get to do that, you cute boy. you will, and soon.”

when you’re done fixing the creases over your clothes, you walk to him and help him back in his jeans. tucking his softening length in, you lift up the zip of his pants and you’re glad for the way the patch of your wetness seems to have dried.

standing between his spread legs, you brush a hand through his hair, tenderly watching the way his curls fall and tickle his forehead. you smile and whisper quietly, “i got your number from dahye. i’ll text you, okay?”

he gulps, nodding hastily at your rhetorical question and feeling the blush creep up his neck. god, he must look like a total fool, “o—okay…”

humming lowly, you press your lips to his cheek, then to the tip of his nose, “you’re so pretty, you know that? don’t be sad.” next, your mouth rests on his, molding in a kiss that has his eyes shooting wide, and that ends way before he can even realize what’s happening. you chuckle at his expression, and you can’t resist another peck before promising, “happy birthday, gguk.”

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etheraltides · 3 days ago

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Shelter in the Storm

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summarize: Rafe is acting weird during the storm and you’re about to find out why

Warning(s): mention of gun, protective Rafe.

A/N: feedback always make me happier, love y’all – also tysm for all the love in my fics

The storm outside was relentless, sheets of rain hammering against the windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that felt too close, too ominous. Rafe stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the faint glow of the firelight. His jaw was tense, his hands flexing open and shut at his sides.

You had packed a bag and driven to Rafe's earlier today when you received a warning in your phone about the upcoming storm, not wanting to risk staying at yours to see the damage - your small house in the Cut had barely survived in the last one and neither you nor Rafe wanted to risk it. Not when his place was as much as yours as his.

You watched him from the couch, bundled up in an oversized sweater, your book abandoned beside you. He hadn’t spoken much since the phone call earlier, but his restlessness told you everything. Something was wrong.

“Rafe.” you said softly, pulling his attention away from the storm.

He turned, his blue eyes darker than usual, stormier. He didn’t respond, just studied you for a moment like he was trying to memorize every detail. It wasn’t unusual for him to brood, but tonight, something felt different. He never got that weird over business that went wrong.

“You’ve been pacing for twenty minutes, quiet ever since I've arrived. What’s going on, baby?” you asked, your voice laced with concern.

Rafe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

“It’s not shutting you out, alright? ” he snapped, then immediately softened his tone as he noticed you flinch, his chest tightening with guilty. “It’s keeping you safe.”

“From what?”

His eyes flicked away, unable to hold your gaze. His silence was answer enough.

“Rafe…” You stood, crossing the room to stand in front of him. Your hand rested lightly on his clothed chest. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He hesitated, torn between wanting to protect you and needing to tell someone. He didn't like to keep things from you. Finally, he sighed. “You remember Morroco?”

Your brow furrowed. “The trip? Of course.”

He had called you to meet him by the beach, kissing you goodbye as he said he had an important last meeting to close a massive deal and that it'd probably take him a few weeks before he was back.

“It wasn't just a trip.” he said bitterly. “It’s a mess. A deal went sideways, I went after Groff to get my money back and then... Then there was this blue crown treasure hunt with those... pogues. We crossed some people." His jaw clenched. “Now they’re coming for me.”

Your blood ran cold as you tried to process everything. Not even paying a big attention to the fact that Rafe had lied to you. “They?”

“Mercenaries” he admitted, the word dripping with disdain. “Hired guns who don’t care about anything but the paycheck and that fucking crown that slipped away from our fingers."

Fear pricked at the edges of your mind, you could hear your heartbeats in your ears. Mercenaries. “And you think they’ll come here, after you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’m not taking any chances.”

You stepped closer, your hands gripping his arms. “Rafe, we should call someone - Shoupe, the poli—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “The cops won’t do anything. I’ll handle it, okay? I can take care of my own shit."

“You can’t handle this alone, Rafe. We're talking about mercenaries and not a cougar whose money went sideways in a deal!” you argued, your voice rising slightly.

“I’m not letting you get involved,” he said firmly, his hands resting on your shoulders. His touch was warm, grounding.

“I’m already involved,” you countered, your voice softening. “I care about you, Rafe. That means I’m in this with you, whether you like it or not.”

His expression cracked, the tough exterior slipping to reveal the vulnerability underneath. “You don’t get it,” he whispered, his hands sliding down your arms. “You’re the only thing I’ve got that’s good. If something happens to you because of me—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” you said, stepping even closer. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. “You’re here. You’ll keep me safe.”

He stared at you, his breath hitching slightly. “You have too much faith in me,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“I have the right amount,” you whispered back.

For a moment, the tension hung heavy between you, the storm outside roaring as if reflecting the chaos inside him. Then, before you could say anything else, Rafe’s hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he muttered, a small, almost pained smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were swallowed as his lips met yours. The kiss was desperate, almost frantic, like he needed to remind himself you were here, with him, safe. His hands slid into your hair, holding you to him as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The warmth of his body, the way he kissed you — it all felt like a promise, and a plea rolled into one.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy. “I’m not letting them get near you,” he vowed, his voice raw.

“They won’t,” you assured him, nodding as your hands smoothed over his chest.

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hands skimming down your sides. When he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, you felt the full weight of his fear and his determination.

“I should send you away,” he muttered against your hair, his lips brushing your temple. “Somewhere safe. Away from Outer Banks."

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. “No. I’m staying right here. With you.”

Rafe stared at you, his jaw tightening. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” you said with a small smile, not wanting him to know how terrified you actually were. “But so are you. We’re a good match, remember?"

Despite himself, he chuckled, his grip on you tightening. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you teased.

He didn’t answer; he just pressed another kiss on your forehead before pulling you into his chest. His hand smoothed over your back, lingering there as if the simple act could protect you from the world.

After the conversation, the weight of the threat hanging over him, Rafe couldn’t let you out of his sight. He needed to feel you close, needed to know you were safe in a way that words couldn’t assure him - and it didn't help that you decided to organize everything that was out of place, moving between the rooms without saying anything. He knew you were stressed. You always clean whenever anxiety hits you.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low as his arms slid around your waist.

You blinked up at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your cheeks flushed. “I can walk, Rafe.”

“Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me do this.”

Before you could protest, Rafe bent down and swept you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. You let out a soft yelp of surprise, your arms instinctively looping around his neck.

“Rafe—”

“Shh,” he murmured, glancing down at you with a small, almost teasing smirk. “Just let me take care of you for once, okay?”

You pressed your lips together, your cheeks warming at the way he held you so effortlessly, his grip steady and secure. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a calming rhythm that contrasted with the chaos of the storm outside.

The walk to the bedroom was silent, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the roof. Rafe nudged the door open with his foot, carrying you inside. The room was dark except for the faint glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting warm light over the space.

He set you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he stepped back. You watched as he moved around the room, double-checking the locks on the windows and door. His movements were methodical, his expression tense.

“Rafe,” you said softly, sitting up. “You don’t have to do all this.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes, I do.”

You wanted to argue, but something in his tone stopped you. He was carrying more than just worry — it was guilt, fear, and the overwhelming need to protect you. It was his way of tricking himself into believing he had some control over the whole situation.

Once he was satisfied, Rafe returned to the bed. You noticed the subtle way he opened the drawer of his bedside table, checking the loaded gun inside.

Your stomach tightened. “Do you really think it’ll come to that?”

His gaze flicked to you, softening slightly. “It’s just a precaution,” he said, his voice steady.

You nodded, though the thought of him having to use it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Come here,” he said, holding out a hand.

You crawled toward him, settling into his arms as he pulled you close. His body was warm, solid, and the way his arms wrapped around you made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“What about you?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I’ll sleep,” he promised. “Just need to make sure you’re out first.”

You frowned but didn’t push further. His hand smoothed over your back in slow, soothing strokes, lulling you into a sense of security.

Eventually, your breathing evened out, and Rafe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He stayed awake, his eyes scanning the room, his ears attuned to every sound beyond the rain. Every creak of the house set his muscles on edge, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. But then he’d look down at you—your peaceful face, your fingers loosely curled against his chest — and the storm inside him would quiet, even if just for a moment.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, Rafe reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your cheek.

“You don’t even know how much you mean to me,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the rain.

His hand moved to your shoulder, then down your arm, his touch light, almost reverent. He wanted to memorize every detail—the way your skin felt against his, the rise and fall of your breathing, the warmth you radiated.

For a long time, he just watched you, his thumb idly brushing against your arm.

No one would hurt you. Not the mercenaries, not anyone. He’d burn the world down before he let anyone take you from him.

When his exhaustion finally began to creep in, Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. Even if it's the last thing I do.”

With one hand resting on the gun in the drawer and the other wrapped protectively around you, Rafe finally allowed his eyes to close, the storm outside fading into the background.

As long as you were in his arms, nothing else mattered.

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron x you

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skeltnwrites · 2 days ago

Text

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

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

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

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

── .✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cinderella’s gone missing.”

“Missing?”

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s Penelope dealing with it?”

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

You nod and hand him another sheet.

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

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

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

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

“I know. You’re just– thanks.”

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

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

You grin, largely at the nickname.

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself.

“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”

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

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

“After work then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Penelope.”

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

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

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

“All for you.”

She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm.

“Wanna help me look for your dad?”

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

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

“Steve?”

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course.”

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

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

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

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

“Need help?”

“Yes please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy, are we going now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.”

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

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

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

“So maybe I should climb up to check?”

“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”

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

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

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

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

“No running away!”

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

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

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

You coo.

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

You hum in agreement.

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

“Did you find something?” you ask.

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

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

“I think he’s dead.”

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

“Hiding? Why?”

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

She squints, “For the whole winter?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“How do they do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” you smack his bicep.

Penelope points, “That is not nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like hide and seek?”

“Yeah.”

She considers your words carefully. “But why?”

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

She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?”

You smile back. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

“Can I go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”

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

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

“Did you paint this?”

“Yes, at school.”

“Wow. Did you write this too?”

“Yep. My teacher helped me.”

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

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

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

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

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

She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze.

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

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

“Absolutely. I hope you find her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penelope,” Steve sighs.

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

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

“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was her! I know it was! I saw!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready to go home?”

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

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

“Five more minutes,” she begs.

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

She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cinderella,” she whimpers.

“We’ll look again tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

Her miserable expression doesn’t falter.

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

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

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

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I don’t care, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?”

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

“You can pick three, missy,” he says.

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Four and a half?”

“Three.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pleaseee!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better not be doing my dishes.”

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

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

“What?” Steve smiles.

You huff through your own. “Nothin’.”

“Why are you laughing then?”

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

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

“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”

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

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

“Steve.”

“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite.

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

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

The trill of the phone interrupts.

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

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

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

“Who was it?” you ask.

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna sleep in your room.”

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

She nods against his chin.

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

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

“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll find her, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

“Promise you’ll get some rest too?”

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

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

He shakes his head, “Come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call me when you get home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She considers his invitation before striding into his touch.

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

Cinderella chirps happily.

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

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

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

“Here. Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A high-pitched scream severs the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”

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

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

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

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

“You're very welcome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should head home,” you say.

Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!”

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

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

“Good luck keeping her inside.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s no problem, Steve, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d love to, Steve.”

He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“See you then.”

“See ya.”

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

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

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

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

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

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tthoroughfare · 2 days ago

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crush (part 2) // abby anderson

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: i owe you a black eye and two kisses. tell me when you wanna come and get 'em. abby finally confronts her feelings in the spur of the moment, then gets scared and runs away. it all works out in the end, though.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: canon!abby x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: nsfw. nothing too crazy just some yearny sesbian lex using hands. light injury description and abby being a horrible communicator

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 2.9k

this is part two of this series! find part one here

i hope you enjoy the second part! i'm so down to write more of this so lmk if anyone wants it

abby keeps it all to herself. she enjoys having you as a friend, and reasons that it’s better not to mess it all up. just because you like her whole entire gender doesn’t mean you like her. plus, she’s not even sure about what she’s feeling. figures that if she actually wasn’t straight, she’d surely have already known by now. but then again, she didn’t know you back then. didn’t feel what she feels around you.

then, one night, you’ve been around at hers, drinking and watching a movie with manny. she’d accidentally overindulged, possibly (definitely) out of nerves. you’d had to drag the chair and beanbag over in front of the TV, you and abby both piling onto the beanbag, chair not big enough to hold the two of you.

there was still barely enough room, and you were pressed up against her. at first, you were awkwardly perched, body rigid; but then, as the film went on and you had a little more to drink, you found yourself sinking into the seat, further into her.

by the end of it, your head is comfortably on her shoulder, laughing and chatting freely — she can smell your hair, feel the heat of your body against her, and she truly thinks she might combust.

once it’s gotten late, you say you’d better be heading back to your own place. abby tipsily insists on walking you back, even though it’s really not necessary. like, at all.

you jovially chat and giggle on the way back through the stadium, and all you can remember thinking is how glad you are that you met her. how rare it is for you to know someone who you feel so connected to, who everything feels so easy with almost instantaneously.

when you get to your door, she lingers around, keeping the conversation going even after you say goodnight — like she wants something from you, wants to say something but can’t. there’s a moment where it drops quiet, and she’s just looking at you. studying your face, maintaining eye contact for probably longer than she ever has. that’s when you realize she’s automatically drifted closer.

and then, liquid courage coursing through her veins and affirmed by you leaning on her earlier, she kisses you.

it’s quick, and you don’t return it. not because you don’t want to, but out of pure shock — never in a million years would you have seen it coming. you’d fully shelved your crush on her, under the impression it was never going to happen.

before you have a real chance to react, she pulls back, cheeks tinged red.

you speak at the same time: her blurting out, "sorry, fuck"; you simply shaking your head a little, stuttering, “a-abby, i…”

a beat passes, you slightly open-mouthed, abby’s hands anxiously fiddling with themselves at her sides. immediately, she’s sober. “fuck, i-i’m sorry. that was stupid.”

“no, abby, it’s just—“ before you can finish your sentence, she mutters something inaudible and turns, beginning to stride off down the hall, feeling like a fucking idiot. of course you didn’t like her, and she’d just drunkenly ruined it all for nothing.

your call of her name, followed by a, ‘wait!’ falls on deaf ears, and she turns the corner, gone. you’re left stunned, frozen outside your door, trying to process what just happened.

you want to go after her, have her allow you to explain yourself, but decide against it. you don’t know if she really meant it, you don’t know what her reasons were for running off; you don’t know what the fuck to do. so, despite every ounce of yourself begging you not to, you simply go inside and try your best to sleep. you can’t, though, mind whirring for hours on end until you finally pass out.

the next morning, you pray you run into her. usually, you always saw her at some point, but it was like she was avoiding everywhere you might be.

you see manny in the canteen later in the day, catching up to him and asking him where she is; he just shrugs, saying that she’d picked up an extra assignment and headed out that morning. might not be back for a day or two.

you can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh, crossing your arms. you knew it was on purpose. all over a kiss. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he gives you a funny look. “you two have a fight or something? she was… quiet when she came back.”

rolling your eyes, you shake your head after a moment. basically the opposite. “no… no, we didn’t.”

“right.” he quirks an eyebrow slightly, taking a breath. “you want me to talk to her when i see her?”

you shake your head vehemently, furrowing your brow. “nah, nah, don’t. just… let me know when she gets back, please?”

he nods once, tapping the side of your arm. “you got it.”

you utter out a thanks, and with that you’re off.

you don’t want to be mad at her, but you are. you don’t know why she’s running away from you, quite literally putting her life on the line just so she doesn’t have to face you. what makes it so much worse is she didn’t even give you a chance. if she’d have just heard you out instead of storming off, there wouldn’t even be an issue in the first place.

the next morning arrives, and abby’s still not back. the whole day, you fight the urge to walk over to her apartment and knock on the door every five minutes. you know manny said a day or two, but you can’t help but anxiously await her return the moment it’s plausible.

you try to keep yourself busy with work, but all your mind does is wander back to her. thinking about what she’s doing, if she’s okay, what you’re going to say to her when she gets back. you replay the kiss over and over in your head, scrutinizing every millisecond of it. what if the reason she freaked out was that she only did it because she was drunk, immediately realized she regretted it, and that’s why she’s avoiding you?

her absence just gives you too much time to worry, conjure up every worst case scenario. by the end of it, you’re essentially convinced she doesn’t like you, that it was a mistake, and now your friendship will never be the same.

finally, around noon the day after, manny collars you in the hallway and lets you know abby’s back. you let out a half relieved, half nervous sigh, nodding and thanking him. you can’t go talk to her right away — you’re too swamped with work, on your way back from the shortest lunch break known to man, but you know the second you’ve called it a day, you’re finding her.

it’s not until almost eight that you finally get to a place where you can break off, leaning back in your chair and running your hands over your face. you pack a few items away hurriedly, heart beating in your chest as you make your way over to abby’s.

it’s not her who answers the door, though — it’s manny. you blow air out of your nose at the fact you’re seeing more of him than her at this point.

“where is she?” you question gently, as if he doesn’t already know what you want.

the corners of his mouth quirk. “guess.”

“library?”

he clicks his tongue in affirmation, and you roll your eyes fondly before telling him you’ll see him later, turning to make your way down there.

standing outside the door, you realize how nervous you are. you’ve wanted nothing more than to see abby since it happened, but now the moment’s here you can’t help but feel hesitant about all the ways the conversation could go.

after a beat of psyching yourself up, you gingerly crack the door open, spotting her on the ottoman before gently wrapping your knuckles as you peer in. “knock, knock.”

she looks up, an unreadable expression on her face.

“can i come in?”

she pauses, sitting up properly and placing her book to the side. “uh… sure.”

you smile gratefully, picking your way in and softly closing the door behind you. you make your way over, taking a seat next to her with your hands folded in your lap, avoiding eye contact. “so…”

you can see her fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt in your peripheral vision. “so…?”

looking up at her, you go to say your rehearsed spiel, then the words get caught in your throat when you notice the injuries littering her face. a couple of gashes are set into her forehead and chin, purple blossoming over her cheekbone.

“what the hell have you done to your face?” it comes out a little more frustrated than the caring tone you intend, but you are frustrated. if she’d have stayed and listened, she wouldn’t have been avoiding you, and in turn wouldn’t have gone off and gotten herself hurt. you pivot your body to face her side, knee bending to rest your left leg sideways.

“it’s not anything.”

you tut, unable to help yourself from reaching out and running your thumb tenderly over the bruising. she pulls away from your touch slightly, to which you shoot her a look. “worse than i ever get.”

“you’re sheltered.”

she says it matter-of-fact, and you know it’s true. you’ve always had it better than her, better than most, never really being required to go into the field. both your parents are still alive, a rarity nowadays, both academics. the last time you were in real danger was simply when you were being moved into the base, going from safe point A to safe point B.

still, it stings a little.

“yeowch,” you respond as you allow your hand to drop from her skin, only half joking. “there’s no need to be mean, abby.”

she rolls her eyes, still keeping her sight trained firmly ahead. “i’m not being…” she trails off, shaking her head a little and looking down at her hands. she moves to lean forward, forearms resting on her knees.

a pause passes that feels like an eternity, until you finally will yourself to speak. your voice is soft, low. “why did you run off on me the other night?”

she gnaws at her lip, not saying anything for a moment. “can we just forget about that? it was…”

“a mistake, i know. you were… you’d had a few drinks. i know you didn’t mean anything by it.” you finish her sentence for her, and she sighs and shakes her head in annoyance at how wrong you have it.

she swallows thickly in defeat, urging the words to come. she might as well tell you; she’s already basically fucked everything up. what does she have to lose?

“that’s… not it.” her words come out quiet, and she looks at you for the first time since you walked in, hands wringing in her lap.

you automatically shuffle a tiny bit closer, her leg warm against yours. “then what is it?”

“i didn’t… it wasn’t… because i was drunk. it was because i wanted to.” she takes a deep breath, shoulders sinking. “and then… you reacted all… i don’t know. anyway… you don’t see me like that. can we just move on?”

you look at her, mouth opening and closing a little. your brow furrows. “oh my god. are you serious?”

“what?” she replies, a little defensively.

“i reacted like that because i was fucking shocked. as far as i was aware, you didn’t even like girls, never mind me, and then you just kissed me out of nowhere. i didn’t know how to react. and then, you didn’t even give me chance to say anything and just walked off, and then i don’t see you for two days,” you blurt out, floodgates opened.

it’s her turn to be speechless again, looking up at you like a deer in headlights. “so… w-what are you saying?”

you don’t even bother to answer, knowing you can show her tenfold better than you can tell. you pull her up to you, hand resting on her jaw, pressing your lips to hers with a gentle urgency. she freezes for a split second before kissing back, one hand leaning on the ottoman behind you, the other coming up to cup your cheek.

you shift further in subconsciously, right leg going over one of hers and your free arm wrapping around her neck.

“jesus christ, abby,” you mumble against her lips between adoring smooches, “i can’t believe you.”

she breathes out a chuckle. “sorry.”

you have sex for the first time that night. you invite her to stay over, not even having those expectations. you just want to be with her, want to feel close to her, wake up side by side.

but then it drops late, and your lights are on low, having spent the evening conversing on your bed with the tv droning in the background. you’re both on your sides facing each other, propped up by an elbow. and you look so pretty in the dim yellow light, she can’t help herself from leaning in and kissing you, dripping with want.

you end up on top of her, fingertips stroking over either side of her face, hers pressing into your hips. all you can hear is your own pulse banging in your head, the labored, rapid breaths the two of you let out into each other’s mouths.

you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything this much. you can feel yourself soaking your underwear, and nothing’s even happened.

abby swallows thickly, pulling back for a moment, knowing where this is all going. “you know i’ve never…” she trails off, implicating the last few words, voice husked with arousal.

you pause to look at her, lidded eyes dragging over her face, a slightly amused smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“i know,” you respond, leaning back in to mouth at the corner of hers, before kissing down to her jaw. you continue to speak against her skin, voice low. “you’ll figure it out.”

and she sure does.

you make love to each other. it’s all slow, and testing, but wanting and desperate. a lot of abby asking every two minutes if what she’s doing feels good, you guiding her and showing her how you like it. when you first flip her on top of you, tenderly taking her hair out from its braid and running your fingers through it, leading her hand under your waistband and showing her how wet you’ve gotten for her, she truly doesn’t know how the fuck she was ever, ever uncertain about her feelings.

you take your shirt off, baring yourself to her, then hers, needing to feel your skin flush against one another. her hands automatically move to make quick work of the lower half of your clothing, gaining confidence. and then you’re naked, spread out underneath her, all flushed and open mouthed, hips shifting into hers desperately — and it’s just like something takes over her.

she kisses over your chest languidly, exploring, needing to taste your skin. you gently take her wrist, moving her hand back between your legs, and your head falls back when she runs a finger through your folds. it’s a little clumsy, a little anxious, but abby’s a quick learner. she finds a rhythm, circling your clit as her mouth attaches to your nipple.

“abby, fuck…” you moan shakily, one hand tightening around her wrist, keeping her where it feels good, the other gripping lightly at her hair.

“is that okay?” she asks. she’s looking up at you reverently, desperate to impress, and the sight sends even more heat pooling in your lower belly.

you nod hungrily and your hand moves from her wrist to her waistband, voice coming out a lot more needy than you intend. “take these off.”

she obeys you without a word, and your free hand immediately goes to touch her, spreading her apart and toying with her clit, reveling in the noises it draws.

you make each other cum like that, touching each other at the same time, all needy and yearning. you’re first, abby’s nerves getting the best of her, you unable to help yourself. it all builds and builds until it hits you hard, breathy, high pitched moans and whines of her name tumbling out against her shoulder. hearing you, seeing you like that sends her absolutely reeling, and it’s not long until she’s there too. you pull her face level to yours with your free hand, threading your fingers through her hair, needing to look at her as she cums.

she looks so pretty, eyes screwed shut and brows drawn, parted lips rosy as she pants her way through her orgasm, unable to help the string of mmphs and low, strangled moans that escape her.

you work her through it, slowing your movements gradually, stroking at her face as she comes down. it’s quiet for a moment, just the sounds of the forgotten movie across the room and both of you attempting to regain your breathing.

“okay?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

she nods, eyes still closed, tongue darting out to wet her lips. then, her mouth twitches, corners forming a small smile. “yeah. fuck.”

you mirror her, a tiny smile of your own tugging at your lips. “good.”

kissing her nose lightly, you shift your hand away from her pussy and pop your messy fingers in your mouth, cleaning her off you, relishing in her taste.

she watches through hazy eyes, committing the sight to memory.

yeah. she’s never looking back.

#tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson #abby tlou2 #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson tlou2 #wlw fic #lesbian fic #my writing

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

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Giiiiirrrrrl, I'm back. Finally 😅

(It's been awhile lol We need to catch up in dms 👀)

I was so excited to get into this story, this universe, this character, and, most of all, your immaculate writing 🤓😍 (I finally caught up on all things Tracker, so nothing is stopping me from devouring this deliciousness now 😋)

First of, Professor Goldstein is a piece of work... 😒 I wouldn't blame her for spitting into his coffee every time he calls her sweetheart. But Russell, I see you. She's gonna be so annoyed with him 😂

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name

Ooooh, another professor character paired with some rugged Mountain Man 😏 I'm addicted to those couples. She's all business up front, and he's all party in the back (seat of his Chevelle) 🤪

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said

UGH. The nerve!!!!! Massage therapist????? How about I step on your back with my high heels, bro...

And then to go on about his trip and parasailing... Guess it's true. Ignorant people are happier 😂

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

Or why are campuses so big in general? My university actually had several faculties strewn throughout the city. Sometimes it took an hour and several subway rides to get to your next lecture 😅

and these heels were killing your feet.

She needs a pair of sneakers in her purse. Or rollerskates!!! One of those electric scooters? 🤓 (Dory's or Russell's next Xmas present for her would be something like this after they listened to her complain for months lmao)

Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

Please tell me Russell's in the room when she said that 😄🤞

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

Yes, he is. Bahahahaha!!! 🤣🤣🤣

He's gonna love her 😝

Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers.

Ooooh, right! I wonder how much she knows about the Shaws. Not something that comes casually up in the cafetaria I imagine 😅

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile. “I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.” Ugh. Another sweethearting man.

Love this whole exchange. You're making my dreams come true, babe 😘

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh.

Dead 🤣🤣🤣

His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

I keep thinking he probably has that look now because he was in the army for so long. Young Russell was pretty much young Dean Winchester in a uniform (hello there, soldier 😏)

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

Well... It's a toss-up, I'd say 😆

You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

In. His. Car 🚩🚩🚩😂

“Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

If any strange man said that to you... 🚩🤣

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said.

Well, at least, Colter has an Airstream 😅🤷‍♀️

His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

He is a professional flirt. Kind eyes...

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked.

Dear God, he does not stop, does he? 😆 (On the show, I loved his persistence with Reenie too, even though it was mainly just to annoy Colter. But you captured him beautifully here with this sort of charm 🥰)

PS: schmutz, schlep... I love the sprinkles of Yiddish in this 🤓

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

STOP IT! And he upgraded too!!! 🤣

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

I mean... Why not? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ I'm with her on this. Red flags be damned 😂

I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS! Gah, this was fabulous! I'm hooked! 😍👏

Are they gonna stay casual? Something about her brooding and reluctance tells me it's not usually her style? Which means, will he eventually settle? Get out of the dangerous hitman-nomad life? And then there's the stories about their respective families. We already know some about Russell's. How is she gonna react if she learns everything? And there's something odd about her private life as well. Can't wait to dive into that bombshell 😂

Zep, my sweet genius Alex, you've outdone yourself once again. Bravo!!! 👏👏👏

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk.

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor.

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.”

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely.

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in sriracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad.

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your sriracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gather your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

“Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and sriracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Sriracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but next up is a series that will continue this one-shot. It's called Every Second Counts.

Next Time in Part 1:

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips.

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still on the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 1

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

#wayne reads #russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x female reader #russell shaw

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slut4thebroken · 3 days ago

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Pathetic

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Stepbro!Neil Lewis x reader

Summary | Your stepbrother is weird and annoying, but you’ve found a way to make good use of him.

Warnings | Smut, dub con? but like not really, incest technically, dry humping, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, he’s very pathetic, and subby, reader is very mean.

Words | 1.2 k

Notes | Idk in my head they’re both in college but still living at home lol. Also once again, I can’t think of a title😭

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 17: degradation

You thought your step brother was super weird and honestly a little annoying… but there were some redeeming qualities. He’ll pretty much do whatever you say— he’s only a few months younger, but he acts like it. Even though he’s taller and probably stronger, you can still boss him around like an older sister should. Then there was… his other useful quality.

“You’re such a fucking pervert.” You spat, almost disgusted, and he whined behind you as his hips sped up. You were currently on your hands and knees on his bed, wearing just a shirt and panties. Neil was behind you, holding your hips still so he could dry hump you with his clothed dick in the cleft of your ass, over your underwear. “This is what gets you off? Humping your sister like a dog?” You snickered.

“Oh god…” He moaned, rutting against you harder and faster. “Fuck, I- I’m gonna come.” He whimpered and you barked out a laugh.

“Already?” His whines got louder and louder until his hips stilled a little and he was moaning and whimpering instead. You could feel his come soaking through both pairs of underwear and his cock twitching as it stayed pressed between your cheeks. “That’s all it takes? You just rub your dick on something and come in less than five minutes?”

“Stop..” He whined pathetically.

“Get off me.” You huffed, leaning up to push him down on the bed. You got him on his back, then straddled his hips and began grinding on him again, this time with your cunt.

“Wait- wait,” He choked out, grabbing your hips. He let out a pained whine at the overstimulation, only encouraging you.

“Don’t be such a baby.” You started grinding down on him harder, mostly to make it hurt more for him, but also to finally get yourself close to the edge.

“Please stop..” He threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, barely coping with the overstimulation.

“God- do you ever shut up?” You groaned, leaning over him to put a hand over his mouth. The new angle was stimulating your clit even more, making you curse under your breath.

He sobbed out a moan behind your hand and looked up at you with glossy eyes, his brows scrunched together in pain. Pink dusted his cheeks and you couldn’t help but enjoy the sight.

He’s never looked more pathetic.

“Y’know, if you actually knew how to make a girl come, I wouldn’t have to do this.” You said bitterly, making him whine. “Of course I had to get stuck with a fucking virgin for a step brother. Maybe I’ll go find one of your friends— see if they have better stamina than a fucking teenager.” His hips bucked under yours, making you smirk a little.

“Oh, do you like that?” You sneered. “Is that what you are, a cuck? Should I let you watch your friends do a better job than you ever could?” In response, he whimpered and shook his head.

“You’re so fucking useless. This isn’t even worth it— I’m just going to get off by myself.” You started to lean up and when he reached out for you in a panic, you slapped his hands away.

“No! I- I’m sorry. I can help.”

“Can you?” You scoffed. “I don’t think your pathetic excuse for a cock will help me very much.”

“My— my mouth..” You huffed, but laid down on your back, making him frown when your come soaked underwear got on his sheets.

“Get to it then.” You snapped, bringing him into motion. He laid down between your legs and wrapped his arms under your thighs, then pulled your underwear to the side. He started with slow kisses and licks, quickly testing your patience. “Why am I coming like this and not with my vibrator?” You asked sarcastically, egging him on. Which got him to start moving more enthusiastically, sucking on your clit and slurping up your arousal.

“God, you even eat pussy like a fucking virgin.” You muttered, sounding almost bored. He whined against you, sucking on your clit even harder and occassionally fucking his tongue inside you.

You waited for him to bring you to the edge, but it was taking a while, so you decided to grab your phone and watch something to help you get there. The movement of you picking up the device caught his attention and he looked up at you without removing his mouth from your pussy. When moans started playing through the speaker, he immediately frowned and his ministrations faltered.

“I let you come. Do the same for me or I’ll tell your mom about how much of a pervert her ‘precious baby boy’ is.” You snapped. He stared at you with slightly wide eyes, then reluctantly put his attention back on your cunt.

The porn was definitely helping, as was knowing how degraded he probably felt. After a few minutes, he pulled back and you looked down at him, raising your brows.

“My tongue is getting sore.” He explained with a pout, making you scoff.

“You’re the one who begged to eat me out. Stop fucking complaining.” Using your free hand, you grabbed his hair and yanked his head back down, burying his face in your pussy. You held him in place like that for a few minutes, but when you started nearing the edge, you put his head in a leg lock, keeping his mouth pressed firmly against your cunt, giving him no other choice but to make you come.

When you finally fell over the edge, you squeezed his head with your leg even tighter and your back arched off the bed. He was moaning against you and humping the bed, apparently enjoying your orgasm almost as much as you.

After the pleasure faded, you let out a heavy breath and sagged back onto the bed, closing your eyes. Neil let out a soft sound against your pussy, so you sighed, but let your leg fall back down onto the bed, allowing him to pull off. The bottom half of his face was completely covered in his spit and your arousal, and he panted heavily for a few seconds as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Can I please come again?” He asked timidly, waiting until you had mostly recovered from your orgasm to ask.

You looked down at him, then rolled your eyes and reached for your phone again. “Whatever. Hump my leg I guess.” He whined quietly, but straddled your thigh and started rutting against you while you scrolled through your phone, waiting impatiently for him to finish.

Soon enough, his breathing was starting to pick up and his hips were moving more desperately as he neared the edge. “Fuck.. I’m gonna come.” He choked out, humping you frantically. When the front door slammed shut though, both of you froze.

“Can you help bring in the groceries?” His mom called out from downstairs.

“Be right there!” You yelled back, then sat up, making him whine loudly.

“No- please.. I’m so close.”

“Not my problem, loser. Get off.” You spat, pushing him off your leg onto the bed. You stood up, but paused when you heard quiet whimpering. More come was leaking from his underwear and he quickly reached down to try and salvage the rest of his ruined orgasm. You watched him stroke his erection through the fabric, getting his come all over his hands and crotch, making an even bigger mess.

“You’re so fucking gross.” You scoffed, making him whine pathetically. Before leaving, you picked up his shirt from the floor and wiped the rest of his come from your ass, then put your shorts back on and walked out.

#neil lewis smut #neil lewis x reader #neil lewis #Neil lewis x reader smut #cillian murphy #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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leclerc-s · 7 hours ago

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so let me this straight, charles leclerc cannot, absolutely, for no reason, lash out ONE time at his team after being constantly screwed over by them, but another driver’s family member can like a degrading tweets about him and it’s all fine? we’re all supposed to forget about that and act like it never happened? fuck that honestly.

charles has always played the team game, always. singapore, australia, mexico, hell even japan because he’s supposed to have faith that the team and his teammate will follow through on what they discussed before hand. they are fighting for a wcc, personal results (getting one over on your teammate) matter less than team results. what was a potential p2-p3 for the team was ruined by a single decision one person made. he made the overtake, overtook verstappen but then couldn’t break the drs train and fucked over the teams overall results.

every single time charles has had the opportunity to fight against his teammate for the win THIS SEASON he’s been told to hold back. there were actual complaints in mexico from his teammate when there was a NINE SECOND gap. there was an agreement this weekend that the team came to that BOTH drivers were aware of. one driver was going to, assumably charles, get priority, over his teammate and his teammate disobeyed those orders. this isn’t the first time it’s happened, but it probably is the last considering his teammate is leaving at the end of the season. one can hope that after today charles won’t take anymore of this bullshit.

it’s hypocrisy, plain and simple. it’s hypocrisy from sainz and it’s hypocrisy from his teammates fans. mind you these are the same fans who threw a tantrum over arthur leclerc ALLEGEDLY driving car 55 in abu dhabi for fp1. they were calling it nepotism as if the call isn’t coming from inside the house. the constant hypocrisy from the other driver and his fans is what makes me glad he’s leaving the team. good fucking riddance.

if you ever, and i mean ever want to question why mercedes or red bull didn’t sign sainz it’s because of this. his actions today, and through out the season alone, have showed that no, he is NOT a team player despite whatever narrative he tried to push. he is only a team player when it is convenient to him, and even then he still find some shit to complain about.

#f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc #thank you for coming to my ted talk

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24hrsoda · 2 days ago

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here’s some non-angsty Ra’s and Talia headcanons

- Ra’s knows a million and one ways to tie hair up, quick styles to keep it out of the way for combat, and elegant styles for formality. Talia always goes to him when she wants her hair to look extra pretty because she doesn’t trust anyone else to do it and not fuck it up.

- Talia never grew out of wanting her dad when she’s sick. At age 5 and age 50, she has stood in Ra’s’ doorway in the middle of the night to tell him “Baba I threw up.”

- (She also does this when Damian is sick btw. In his doorway holding on to 3 year old Damian’s hand, “Baba….Damian threw up.”)

-Talia is one of the few people Ra’s actually enjoys sparring with. She’s competitive and sometimes downright mean. He’s well aware that she is probably fueled by spite and arguments they had 20 years ago and also every time he’s ever annoyed her or pissed her off, but she makes sparing fun. He also loves recognizing the things he’s taught her, and observing her own techniques she’s developed on her own.

-He may be one of the most powerful men in the world but he still does the MOST annoying dad things, like randomly coming in to her room to just look out the window or stand on the balcony with hands behind his back.

-As a kid she played dress-up in his clothes, and as an adult she occasionally will use his big elaborate capes as blankets when she wants to be cozy

#ra’s al ghul #ras al ghul #talia al ghul #batman #damian wayne

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scribescrawls · 7 hours ago

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Transformers One setting, I like to headcanon that the 50 cycles when the High Guard were being hunted down were rough especially as energon no longer flowed. Now imagine soon after the events of the movie when Megatron is with the rest of the High Guard at their new base that’s still half being set up, Starscream or one of the others will just mention something extremely wild that happened to them casually to each other that it makes Megatron go “that can’t possibly be real” or “for your sake I really hope you’re lying”. For instance, imagine Starscream trying to actually impart some surface survival skills to their new leader and points to a set of weird looking plants/grass growing out of the planet and Starscream is like “if you’re ever extremely desperate and stranded with no energon sources wandering wastelands on the brink of shutting down, you can eat these as a last resort. It will give you the energy to stay online, but be careful. It’s best to only consume it if you have someone with you who can tie you up and carry you. I recommend taking shifts so you can keep moving forward”.

Megatron, confused: Wait why would I need someone to tie me up and carry me?

Starscream: Side effects. I mean it about it being a last resort. It makes you not yourself. Feral, aggressive, and a potential danger to both yourself and others. Then the hallucinations start setting in. You start hearing and seeing things. The visions are different for everyone, but rarely are they pleasant. And the feeling of it finally burning out of your system at the end hurts like a glitch.

Megatron: How do you even know for sure that’s what it does?

Starscream: First hand experience. But one day it could save your life so remember it.

Megatron, doubtful if Starscream is telling the truth, but morbidly curious: What did you hear and see?

Starscream: Have you ever seen the dead come back to life wrong and their face plates slowly melting off as you hear the dying screams of bots long past?

Megatron: No…

Starscream: Let’s try to keep it that way.

He wonders if maybe Starscream is just messing with him or trying to scare him about the surface, but then he turns his head to see Shockwave and Soundwave nodding seriously and confirming Starscream’s statements.

Shockwave, referring to Starscream: I used to have dents in my old arm from when he bit me under its effects. Of course I can’t show you since that was on my old arm before I lost and replaced it later down the line.

Megatron: Wait that’s not your original arm? What happened to it?

Shockwave, casually with no context: Oh Starscream cut it off. I don’t hold it against him though, it was the logical thing to do at the time.

Megatron is just like wtf were you guys doing in those 50 cycles?! In what circumstances does cutting off someone’s arm make logical sense?! Poor Megatron is probably wondering if it’s not too late to run back to Iacon.

I just like the idea that during those 50 cycles the High Guard were going through the Horrors™.

#transformers #transformers one #tf one #starscream #shockwave #megatron #tf one high guard #tf one starscream #tf one shockwave #tf one megatron #tf one spoilers #transformers one spoilers #I think the high guard should go through the odyssey levels of suffering during those 50 cycles #long post #headcanon

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ppnuggiexxx · 3 days ago

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-> best / biggest tits to suck on || whb

• characters :: ronove ,, mammon ,, marbas ,, glasyalobolas

• contains :: dom reader ,, fem reader ,, hickies ,, marking , possessive reader (mammon + marbas) ,, switch marbas ,, making glasya submit ,, mentions of glasya's chest hole ,, possibility of being caught by levi (glasya) ,, they all have fat tits

• minors dni

-> ronove

| • hes one of the few larger demons ,, and one with a large chest too . most devils of abbadon already know how big his tits are ,, having experienced them first hand

| • though when you see for the first time ,, after finally getting him out of all that clothing ,, you were whipped for a little touch

| • have you seen that one fanart of him as a nun w/ nipple piercings ?? had me drooling ngl

| • his would be so soft ,, after all he does take good care of his skin and his chest is mostly covered by soft cloth

| • his nipples perk easily with temperature change and / or the slightest touch

| • all you gotta do is rub your thumbs over them and theyre already budding up ,, hardening under your fingertips

| • now they arent too sensitive ,, but that doesn't change the fact he still feels pleasure from them

| • you can truly tell how soft they are when your tongue swivels around one of his nipples

| • he'll groan through his gag ,, humping against your leg as you suck on his nipple

| • 10/10 tiddy ,, 10/10 experience ,, softest skin ever

-> mammon

| • i mean ,, is there even an explanation needed for him ? he has his tits out 24/7 ,, takes any chance possible to have your face buried in them ,, and encourages you every time you ask to put your face there

| • theyre so soft and squishy ,, its quite addicting and makes you always come back for another feel ,, only to end up unsatisfied when your time is up

| • though he'll always have time for you ,, its only when other kings pull you away from his chest does your time end

| • no matter how much you whine about your lost ,, the other kings won't listen to it ,, mammon being the only one to back you up on your wants

| • after all ,, what his master wants is what his master will have ,, even if its his body ,, especially if its his body

| • if you wanted his body then you would have it ,, all of it or any specific part you want ,, because you're his master and you will always get what you want from him

| • and if that includes sucking on his tiddies selfishly ? well ,, who is he to deny you such a thing ,, especially if you get all shy and fidgety about it ,, he finds it cute whenever you ask in a quiet voice to suck his tits

| • theyre not as soft as ronove's ,, but theyre still super squishy ,, who needs a stress ball when you have this ? who needs slime when you can just massage mammon's tits whenever and wherever you want ?

| • though he can't help the little whimpers he gives when you finally suck on his tits . who knows ,, maybe you could splash some liquid gold on there and lick it off his nipples and suck bites into the flesh

| • it'll certainly be obvious who he belongs to ,, fueling your selfishness and letting him walk proud knowing you own him ,, that only his master can give him such treatment and truly feed into his sin

-> marbas

| • it'll certainly be a moment before you can get him shirtless . after all ,, lucifer has him bound and restricted for a reason ,, not to mention his role as a doctor for devils coming day in day out with injuries

| • though the moment you get him without a shirt on ,, probably in the morning or at night when he's changing his clothes ,, is when you'll finally get your chance to pounce

| • his are rough and firm ,, but it doesnt make it any less fun to suck on

| • straddle his lap ,, he'll keep ahold of your hips while you take your time with him ,, sucking and biting wherever you can

| • even though they'll show up as bruises the next morning ,, he wouldn't mind ,, as he is a doctor and does have solutions to hiding any signs of pain on his skin

| • though the devils that do notice dont bother to say much ,, though a few will be bold enough to ask and tease ,, asking if he got ravaged by a wild beast with how much you've marked his pale skin

| • he'll only glare at them and continue with his treatment ,, quickly shooing them out of his way for the next patient

| • that doesnt mean he hates it ,, if you want to mark him head to toe he'll gladly let you ,, granted he could do the same

| • after all ,, you do have all night ,, and the night after that and the rest of the year and years to come

| • you can renew your marks whenever and he can return the favor for you

| • his nipples are always perky ,, firm and always budded up ,, but theyre quite sensitive

| • you can suck all you want against his nipples ,, maybe even give them a little nibble . you'll feel his hard dick twitch underneath you ,, pressing up against his pants painfully

| • whenever they brush against his restraints he has to hide his moans ,, the stimulation only adding up more reasons for lucifer to bound him tighter

| • the last thing he needs is marbas losing control of his pleasure while healing patients ,, this is a hospital not a club

-> glasyalobolas

| • it doesnt take much coaxing from him to let you see his tiddies ,, you just have to know the right method

| • while a fan of seeing trouble be caused ,, hes not one to enjoy getting in trouble if it means being caught

| • but the thrill of being caught by leviathan ,, with you sucking on his fat tits while sitting in his lap ,, outweighs his worries

| • he'll risk being hung and punished ,, especially since you're so polite when you ask ,, how cute you look asking if you can suck on his tits ,, saying you'll let him grind against you if he wants to

| • its offer he has trouble refusing ,, taking you to an empty room near leviathan's office and letting you have the satisfaction you've been craving

| • his chest is also firm ,, but his skin isnt as soft but its not exactly rough ,, not to mention the whole in the middle of his chest

| • a healing wound ,, but one that you can have fun with ,, poking your fingers in it and threatening him that if he makes a noise ,, that if leviathan hears ,, you'll do worse then just stick your fingers in there

| • glasya couldnt help the whimper he gives ,, his gaze darkening as he mutters how cruel you are

| • though you decide to save that for another day ,, another night where you can have him all to yourself and tease his body to your heart's content

| • he'll be quiet when you finally suck on his nipples ,, maybe gasping and groaning when you bite him

| • due to how tall he is ,, he'll probably lean up purposely ,, making you lose your grip on his nipple as he stands up

| • all you have to do is command him to kneel ,, and if he doesn't you could always pull his noose to bring him to his knees ,, maybe pushing him farther to ground with your foot

| • trapping him against the wall and ground ,, standing above him as you hold onto the chains attached to his horns as you threaten to punish him again

| • he'll listen this time ,, letting you enjoy your suckle and leave hickies along his skin ,, knowing you'll get off to his pain

#whb x reader #whb #what in hell is bad #whb mammon #mammon x reader #whb ronove #ronove #whb glasyalabolas #glasyalabolas #whb marbas #marbas #📼.whb

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ramhaiba · 20 hours ago

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𝖫𝗂𝖺𝗋, 𝖫𝗂𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗍. 2

Pairing- Yandere Rintaro Suna x Reader

Masterlist . . . Part one

"For what it’s worth, princess, if the devil is real. It’s me.”

Contains- Serial Killer! Suna, oral (f receiving), dubcon, semi-public fingering, groping, choking, biting, manhandling, riding overstimulation, marathon sex, mentions of necrophilia/noncon, implied somnophila, baby trapping(?) A/N- sorry for the long wait guys, writer's block can be a bitch

Sleeping with him was the biggest mistake of your life-

No. letting him ‘help’ you was the biggest mistake of your life.

Ever since you two had sex, he’s been sleeping in the same bed as you. You did attempt to persuade him to sleep on the couch once again but he simply responded with

‘We both saw what happens when I sleep on the couch, sweetheart. Besides, sharing the same bed might bring back some of those ‘dear’ memories you lost.” As you predicted, it would be challenging to sneak out of your room at night, especially when Suna’s arm is wrapped around your waist, his chin tucked on your shoulder, and his stern back against your chest.

You thought about lying to him, telling him you’re getting up from bed to use the bathroom but really you’re planning to find his car keys and drive away from this nightmare. But what if you take too long and he gets suspicious? Last time you got lucky when he misunderstood your attempt to steal his car keys.

You hate that you spent the entire week with him, pretending to be in a loving marriage, kissing him sweetly, and sometimes bathing with him. But he hasn’t fucked you since the first time- well with his dick at least.

If he thinks you look too cute in a nightgown- which you always do, he’ll push you down on the bed, scrunching up your silky slip-on onto your breast and shamelessly make out with your cunt, fingers holding your thighs down and apart to keep you from squirming away. He never fails to give you an intense orgasm. You're so addicted to his touch that you don’t know how you’ll be able to cum again once you escape from him...While on the topic of escaping, you’re finding the idea of freedom too difficult to obtain by yourself. You’re gonna need help.

“ So- I remember you mentioned before that we were still friends with twins from high school” You blurted out while having dinner with your ‘fiancé.’

“ Yeah, Osamu and Atsumu. What about them?” Suna asked nonchalantly. “Well, I think you should invite them over. I think it’d be good for me to meet someone from my past” you suggested.

“ It’d be hard to contact them because the service in this place is horrible” Suna claimed, leaning back in his chair. You let out an instant “oh” with a noticeable pout on your lips.

Then you heard Suna sigh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Okay. There is this part of the house where the service is somewhat usable. But it’s on the roof so I don’t want you following me there. Your body is still sore which makes it difficult for you to stay up there without falling” Suna pointed out.

He’s right. You’ll probably hurt yourself if you try going on that roof. So the idea of stealing his phone to call for help isn’t possible.

“You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you, Rin” You complimented. “ Yeah well, I gotta keep my wife happy” Suna got up and kissed your forehead before retreating upstairs.

You waited impatiently for Suna to come back down. A sick part of you wishes that he’d accidentally slip off the roof, breaking his neck because then you’d be freed from this nightmare. But he only takes twenty minutes to come back down, placing his phone back into his pocket as he walks towards you.

“So? Did they say yes?” you questioned. “They said they would love to stop by. But I had to make Atsumu promise he wouldn’t bring another hookup over. I better start cooking dinner because those two guys know how to eat- especially Osamu” Suna replied, giving you an endearing pat on the head as he went to prepare for their arrival.

You hadn’t seen any pictures of the twins prior before they arrived, so it was quite intimidating when two muscular tall men stood at your doorstep. The dark-haired one holding a classic bottle of wine. While Atsumu opened his arms to you, giving you an unwelcomed hug.

“There is our Y/n. It’s been too long since we saw ya” The bold twin one cooed, his arms around you tightened.

“You’re one foot in and already flirtin’ with my fiance- don’t you have any shame, Atsumu?” Suna replied, subtly informing you of the difference between the twins.

So if the blonde, somewhat pervy, twin was Atsumu. The other one must be Osamu.

“I ain’t flirting. I was just being friendly to a friend who’s gotten into a terrible- just terrible accident “ Atsumu pouted.

“I decided to tell them your situation. I hope you don’t mind” Suna commented, smiling innocently.

It’s unsettling.

They’re completely lying to you- you’re not friends with them. How are they so eerily confident then? How can these two lie straight to your face and pretend that you’re Suna's fiancé?

Because you’re not. You’re not his fiancé.

Right?

Dinner with them made you even more confused. They’re doing the same thing that Suna did. Reciting old stories about your so-called past together. It’s getting more difficult to distinguish what’s the truth or not. Yet Atsumu’s words manage to slip you back into reality.

“You should really be thanking me. If I set you two up in college- y’all would not be getting married.. at least Suna wouldn’t be” Atsumu teased.

“I thought we started dating in high school?” You spoke up, pointing out Atsumu’s mistake. Rather than Atsumu getting embarrassed for making such an innocent mistake.

Atsumu got nervous.

If you weren’t already so superstitious during dinner, you wouldn’t have noticed how he blinked away, how forced his laughter sounded, and how his brother deadly glared at him.

“Would you pardon us? I think I have to remind Atsumu about some manners” Osamu asked, seeming all friendly while his jawline clenched, a fist under the table.

Suna clicked him, glancing at a nervous Atsumu and then back at Osamu.” Go ahead,” Suna replied.

You were left alone with him once again.

You and you’re fiancé-no he’s not your fiancé. You and your demon.

“You’re lookin’ a bit nervous, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay? Just say the word and I can get these idiots to leave any time” Suna suggested. “No- they don’t need to leave. I just need to go to the bathroom to freshen up. That’s all” Your laughter sounded a bit too forced, sweaty palms pushing you up out of your seat. “Don’t take too long” Suna mumbled, watching you march quickly out of the dining room.

This is your chance.

You can ask- no- you're going to beg the twins to help you because surely, they wouldn’t want to risk being an accomplice for a serial killer.

You followed their distant voices, words too unintelligible to understand. Eventually, you ended up in front of the door connecting the garage to the summer house. Luckily, they left the door slightly ajar, allowing you to hear their conversation clearly.

You were about to walk in before you heard Osamu say

“Are you a fuckin’ idiot, Tsumu? At this point, Suna not gonna let either of us have a turn with her” Osamu argued with his brother.

“Shut up- shut up. I’m a fuckin’ volleyball player not an actor” Atsumu huffed. “Yeah and I own a restaurant but I know how to keep my story straight,” Osamu remarked.

“I don’t even know why Suna cares s’much about keeping up this whole game” Atsumu commented.

“he’s just gonna kill her like the rest.”

Your heart is racing because your last hope of escaping this n nightmare just revealed they could care less about your life- fuck they could be worse than Suna. Instinctually, you step away from the door, wanting to be as far away from them as possible. But that’s when you feel a stern chest against your back, stopping you from backing away. You slowly turn your head and notice Suna behind you, his eyes glued on the view of the twins arguing about whether they’ll still get a ‘turn’ with you after Atsumu’s mishap.

“Rin-“

“Quiet. It’s always amusing to watch the twins argue, right? “ Suna replied, his hand tilting your face to watch the twins, his chin resting on top of your head, forcing you to watch the truth unfold.

“You know he does sadistic shit like this all the time. Just try to have fun with her while she’s still alive” Osamu huffed.

“I didn’t come here to play an actor. I just wanna fuck her before Suna finally cuts her up or whatever sadistic shit he plans to do with her” Atsumu groaned.

“ Yeah, well, there's no way in hell he’s gonna let you have a turn with her if you don’t play along correctly. You’d be lucky if he even lets you fuck her corpse”

Atsumu hummed, his once annoyed attitude slowly disappearing as he looked lost in thought- until he made the comment

“I wouldn’t mind that at all actually.”

You want to stop listening but Suna won’t let you. “Please, just let me go and I won’t- I won’t tell anyone” you muttered, voice cracking. Suna laid his forehead on your shoulder, you could feel his smile on his skin.

“What about our wedding?” he cooed, voice teasing, his hands wrapping around your waist, tips of his fingers sliding under your waistband.

“Rintarou, please- I-I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything just don’t hurt me” you begged.

“I don’t like when you call me by my first name, it makes me feel like I’m in trouble” Suna commented, a soft pout on his lips. This time his hands are traveling further down the inside of your pants until his fingers are tracing over your covered slit. You wish you could fight his touch but you’re too scared to upset him.

“Rin, I don’t wanna pretend anymore. I just wanna go home” You’re starting to cry and he doesn’t need to look at your face to know that tears are pouring out of your eyes.

You act like you’re strong but the second you’re faced with a challenge, you crack like glass. So easy to read. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much.

“You wanna go home? Go ahead and ask the twins for help. But I don’t if they’ll be that compliant” Suna suggested. He’s right. He’s always right.

“I like you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so infatuated with a person like this before. So I’ll give you two choices. You could either go beg the twins to take you away from this ‘hell house’ or

you can become my pretty wife”

You don't want any of that. You want to run far far away. But he’ll catch you like he did the first time and then he might actually kill you.

“So, what will it be, princess?” He repeats, forcing you to break from your silence. That nickname, it always appears when his true colors are shown. You're starting to hate that word because now you associate it with danger.

“How do I know you won’t kill me,” you ask, in the quietest voice, afraid of his answer. He chuckles at your question, raises his head from your shoulder, and smiles.

“Because I'll never get bored of you.”

That’s all it takes. You nod your head, not wanting to hear yourself agree to stay. To be his, forever.

He leans over, lips almost touching yours, narrow eyes with an unwearying stare forcing you to look at him.

“You know how to keep quiet, don’t you Mrs. Suna?”

That’s when his wandering fingers finally slip beneath your panties and you’re reminded that Osamu and Atsumu are right behind the door in front of you. “Rin, not here” you begged, squirming to get out of his grip, only for him to hold you tighter.

“Why not? Atsumu would probably wanna hear, that fuckin’ freak” Suna laughed. Just as you were about to utter an argument, you’re cut short by the painfully slow pumping of Suna’s fingers, thrusting into your cunt. You feel weak.

Instead of telling him to stop, your words cut into a breathy moan and Suna is forced to lean over to your ear.

“ Careful, princess. You don’t want them to hear you.” He whispered a reminder, tongue poking out of his mouth to lick a stripe down your neck, causing you only to tighten around his long thrusting fingers.

“ Try to argue with me but I can feel how wet you are. Maybe you’re the crazy one huh? Or maybe it’s both of us. Guess we're soulmates then” he’s talking more than he usually does. Maybe because he knows you're scared to get caught.

Or maybe he’s drunk on the success of your agreement to your engagement. Doesn’t matter because he’s only getting more confident, pulling down the neckline of your shirt as long as your bra with his other hand, groping the soft skin of your breast all while his thumb is massaging your clit.

Fuck- you’re so close and he’s so fucking hard, forced to grind his painful erection against your back.

You feel pathetic when you're uncontrollably humping his ruthless fingers, chasing your high.

When you hear him chuckle from behind you, most likely realizing your movement- he has no right to sound so fucking sexy.

“Can’t believe you were begging me to stop, aren’t you just the prettiest liar.” He mumbles.

And you’re finishing on his fingers, legs shaking, eyes tearing up, your hands covering your mouth muffling uncontrollable moans.

Suna slowly pulls his hands out of your pants, bringing his drenched fingers into your mouth, disgustedly making you clean his fingers, tasting yourself.

He spins you towards him, leaning over to wipe off your smeared make up, fixing your appearance for you because you are all too stunned by what has just occurred.

Just on time, Atsumu and Osamu are opening the door, both surprised to see you.

“ Holy fuck- how long were you two standing there" Atsumu called out. You both turn around to look at them, Suna wrapping one arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side.

“We just walked in actually” Suna lied for your sake.

“ Well…Wow! look at the time- “ Atsumu said, checking his watch, pretending to read the time. “It’s getting late, ain’t it? I’m a bit too tired to drive…guess me and Osamu gotta stay over the night” Atsumu whistled.

Holy fuck- Atsumu and Osamu still think they have a chance with you.

You’re beginning to tremble at Suna’s side, fully not trusting him to protect you.

“I’ll call you two an uber,” Suna says blankly.

You could see Atsumu grit his teeth, not knowing why he wasn’t getting rewarded for his ‘efforts.’

“Well- can we at least visit tomorrow” Osamu questioned, trying to hint if they’ll at least have a chance to fuck your dead corpse.

Sick mother fuckers. Just like Suna- maybe even worse.

“Next time we’ll see you is at our wedding” Suna smiled passively aggressively, knowing he just pissed off the twins.

Atsumu is about to open his mouth, most likely attending to spoil the truth because Suna ruined all of his ‘fun.’ But Osamu stops him by gripping the back of Atsumu’s shirt.

“ No need to argue with an old friend. We’ll leave… just call us next time when we’re allowed to come over” Osamu sighed.

Then they proceed to leave. Not without Atsumu forcing you into a hug, his hand dangerous lying on your lower back, a final act of perversion. They leave and you’re left alone with Suna and his narrow eyes are locked on yours.

“Could fuck you here or on the bed. Pick one”

There is no option to deny him. He is going to be your husband after all.

“Bed.”

He’s not even letting you walk there, probably thinking you’ll move too slowly for his liking. So he's picking you up effortlessly because of his muscular arms, delivering you to the bedroom before and tossing you onto the mattress. He’s on top of you in a heartbeat, his hands tugging off your clothes, not caring if you’re telling him to slow down because they’ll rip.

He’ll buy you a new one- fuck he’ll buy you anything you’d want as long as he gets to fuck that tight pussy of yours.

Your heart is slipping at the sound of his belt unbuckling, too nervous to look at the sight of him sliding down any of the clothes covering his hard cock.

“Fuckin’ you raw, yeah? Doesn’t matter anymore since we’ll be married soon” Suna clicks his tongue, holding his heavy cock in his hands, pressing his leaking tip against your hole.

You shake your head frantically, “Don’t please Rin- don’t do that to me” you shuttered.

“ What? Ya afraid you’ll conceive the devil’s reincarnation? For what it’s worth, princess, if the devil is real.

It’s me.”

Without another argument he’s forcing himself into your shameless cunt causing a gasp to slip out of your mouth, not waiting for you to adjust until he’s fucking you into the bed. You’re holding onto everything but him. And he doesn’t like this- it’s not wife behavior is it?

So he leans over and painfully bites into your collarbone, “ hurt me back.” He commands.

And you give him exactly what he wants, slipping your hands under his shirt, digging your nails into his toned back, causing him to only get fuck you harder like it a competition on who can break the quickest.

You’re not holding back your moans- thankful for the lack of people near you, only giving Suna the privilege of hearing them.

Once you orgasm for the second time that night, he’s switching positions and forcing you to take him on his lap, his back resting on the bed frame.

You know what he wants you to do but you’re already so tired, you drowsily shake your head, hoping he’ll stop, and let finally you sleep.

Except all you do is annoy him, hissing under his breath as his hands grip your hips, forcing you to bounce on his cock, overstimulating your insides.

“ Slow down, Rin-“ you asked, knowing he won’t let you stop but at least the idea of slowing down seems possible.

“You wanna go slow, princess? Then you gotta do it yourself” he commented. You hesitate before nodding your head, thinking it’s a better option than letting him fuck you relentlessly.

His hands go behind his head while yours leans over on his thigh, slowly pushing yourself up, sucking in your breath and you sink back down.

Suna whistled at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, acting like the perfect wife.

He’s moving the hair out of your face before wrapping his hands around your neck, freaking you out as he lightly squeezes the sides of your neck. The action is causing you to stop your movement.

“Did I tell you to stop?” He asked, tightening the grip around your neck, making it harder to breathe, a growing light-headed.

Your hands are shaking as you’re lifting yourself up and down on his cock. It’s humiliating, knowing you’re getting off because of him- how easily he has control of your body

“Say you’ll stay” he pants, chest heaving, feeling your cunt squeezing on his cock because of his husky voice.

“ Say you’ll stay forever. Can’t ever leave my side, princess. Dont think I can live without this pussy” he asks, face flushed.

“ I’ll stay—Rin” you managed to croak out with the tightness around your neck.

That’s all he needs until he’s leaning over to your torso, hands moving to grip your waist, forcing you to stay still on his cock, cumming deep into your pussy.

You think that’ll be it for tonight until he’s pulling back and kissing you, tongue slipping into your mouth, hands moving to grope your breast again until he’s hard once more.

He’s manhandling you until you’re on your hands and knees. He's behind you, watching your legs shake as he guides his cock back into your stuffed pussy, fucking his leaking cum back into you.

You’re screaming from overstimulation, tears soaking the bed sheet under your eyes, hands gripping onto the bed sheet. You feel like you’re being crushed when he presses his chest against your back, his arms wrapped around your lower stomach, cock bullying your insides.

He’s never this energetic.

And you’re also never this honest, finally admitting to knowing the truth behind this charade. But you tell him you’ll stay isn’t something he believes in.

“ Bet you’re thinking about leavin’ when I’m asleep, yeah?” He huffed against the nape of your neck.

“You’d probably find a way to kill me first though. You’re not dumb enough to think I won’t find you” he uttered, talking to you as if he’s not fucking you into oblivion.

“ Doesn’t matter if m’dead or not. I’ll always be with you- every second til the day you fuckin' die, you'll be thinking about me. dreaming about me. haunted by me. So don’t you dare test me. Just be good and I’ll be good back. I fuck you good as well” he adds, his finger rubbing your swollen clit while his hips are forcing you to the edge, squeezing his cock so hard he can’t pull out to cum- not like he was going to do in the first place.

Suna lifts himself and rolls you to the side, admiring your fucked out expression, how you’re staring at the ceiling, chest heaving as you recover from your intense orgasm.

“ Maybe if fuck a baby into you. You wouldn't be able to leave,”Suna commented, the lack of playfulness in his tone suggested to you that he was actually serious about the idea of knocking you up.

“ I'm not - I not planning on leaving— I won’t do it, Rin. I’m telling the truth” you babbled, crying at the idea of going another round, hands frantically wiping down tears that felt never-ending.

Suna chuckles because for once, he believes you. He leans over and kisses your cheek sweetly.

“I’ll be nice and give you a morning-after pill I got laying around somewhere afterward, yeah? I’ll take care of you, but you gotta take care of me,” he cooed.

You are too cute. So much more innocent than Suna is- never committing the horrendous crimes he’s done. And he thinks you begging him to spare you from sex is so much more exciting than you begging him for your life.

But to you- it feels like you’re begging for the same thing. You’ll die if he fucks you again- that your body is too overstimulated and exhausted.

That doesn’t stop him- nothing will really, from getting hard, thrusting into you again. You don’t know when he stopped fucking you- was it after you passed out the third time? Or did he continue ever after that? When it’s over, you’re half awake, back leaning on his chest, his hand ushering you to take the suggested birth control in his hand. Then slowly tilt the glass of water down your mouth. While you manage to drink the refreshing liquid, you get a glance of the mess between your spread legs, cum shameless dripping out and you wish you never met him.

You’re awake and you don’t feel physically dirty, the evidence of cum wiped off your legs by Suna while you were sleeping.

If he hadn’t marked your body with his teeth and hands, you’d almost pretend last night was nonexistent. Plus the aroma coming from him cooking from the kitchen downstairs only ruins the fantasy even more.

Maybe you’ll run away one day and get away with it. But you can’t say you could ever truly escape, Suna.

Because that would just make you a liar.

taglist @fynn1issshh @kodsuken

#yandere x reader #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarō #suna x reader #yandere smut #yandere suna #suna smut #yandere suna rintaro #yandere suna x reader #suna rintarou

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