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skeltnwrites · 3 months ago

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The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

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

part five - tee-ball practice leads to a trip to the emergency room. cw mentions of sex, description of injury (no gore) 12k

a/n - this broke my heart to write i apologize in advance

── .✦

You didn’t spend much time on the phone before you met Steve. The landline lived on your kitchen countertop, collecting more toast crumbs than voicemails. But it has since been moved to the living room on a fold-out table beside your couch. Because now, several times a week, you collapse there with the phone wedged under your ear for hours, a smile as constant as the voice on the other end.

The first thing you do when you get home is check your answering machine. You’ve come to love that little red light that lets you know when you have a new message. Sometimes it’s no one important, a salesman or a scam or work, but most of the time it's Steve.

You know his phone number better than anyone’s. You’ve entered it so many times the digits have started to wear away on your keypad. And the trill is as thrilling as the first time you heard it.

Brrrr. Brr. Brrrr. Brr. Brrrr. Brr. Brrrr. Brr– “Hey, you’ve reached Steve– AND PENELOPE– Yes, and Penelope, uhh– WE’RE BUSY– well, yeah if you’re hearing this we probably are sooo leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can. By– BYEEE!”

Steve changed his voicemail the night you exchanged numbers. He wanted something more him, more Penelope, too. And you love it more than he knows. Sometimes you hope he won’t pick up just to hear the message play.

You press the switchhook before it beeps. You’re turned and only two steps away when it rings back. “Hey,” you grin into the receiver.

“Sorry, hi, I just– I think I've flooded Nell’s bathroom and–”

“You think?”

“Alright, fine, I definitely flooded Nell’s bathroom. Look, there was food in the oven, I told her to start the bath, and then— boom— suddenly it’s the goddamn Titanic in here. I’ve been stomping on towels for like ten minutes, and it’s not helping.”

You snicker down at your pajamas. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No, no, I’ve got it. The house will probably just smell like wet dog for eternity.”

“Better put it on the market now before it really sets in.”

“Yeah, I–” Steve pulls the phone away to shout, “Penelope Anne! No, thank you!– I might have to call you back, she's–” There’s a thump and a crumbly static sound like the phone was dropped, and then– “I wanna talk! Hi, Y/N!”

Hijacking the phone isn’t uncommon in the Harrington household. Steve would scold you for letting Penelope hear you laughing about it. But he’d be just as guilty, smiling through something like you’re supposed to be on my side, you know.

“Hi, Miss Penelope Anne.” You tug the phone’s rubber cord to your heart, your voice sticky with affection. “Are we being a good listener for Dad?”

She giggles. You’ve never used her full name– didn't even know it until two seconds ago– and you’re pretty sure it’s reserved for when she’s in trouble. “Yes!”

“Are you sureee?”

“Yesss,” she promises. Steve’s voice is too muffled to make out in the background, but Penelope fills in the gaps, “I’m not lying, Dad!”

Your hum drags suspiciously. “Did you help him clean the bathroom?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t even my mess.”

“Oh, well, it’s still nice to help, yeah?”

“Will you come to my game tomorrow?”

You are unfazed by her master deflection skills at this point. If Penelope is finished talking about something, she will make that clear. “I thought it was over the weekend, babe.”

“Oh– dad says it’s just pra-tiss.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Daddy! Tomorrow?” A long beat, Steve’s voice barely crackling through the speaker. “Yeah. He said you don’t have to go, but I think you should ‘cause it would be really fun if you did.”

“Sounds super fun. What time tomorrow?”

“Six? Yeah, six,” she confirms.

“Okay, I’ll try to go. But only if you’re a super-duper good listener for the rest of the night. ‘M gonna call Dad later to check, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay.”

“Okay, I’m gonna hang up now. Tell him I said I’ll call back. And go stomp on some more towels with him.”

“Okay, bye-bye.”

“Bye, Pen. Goodnight.”

You hang up the phone with aching cheeks. You’re still smiling as you set out tomorrow's clothes and even as you slip into bed. It’s always like this with them, this perpetual, overwhelming sense of joy.

Work isn’t quite as boring when you have tee-ball to look forward to. But still, each passing hour feels like a hurdle between you and the best part of your day.

You arrive at practice a little late, more than a little worried that Steve will think you’re making his daughter empty promises. But he’s waving at you from the top of the bleachers with a huge grin, and all the worry disappears.

“You made it,” he beams as you climb up past other parents.

“‘Course,” his warm fingers slip across your pulse point as you take his hand. “You doubt me?”

“A little. You are like twenty minutes late.”

You sit, hip to hip, your smile aimed up at his. “There was a bad accident. Had all of Pine Ridge blocked off. Oh, and then I missed the turn and I couldn’t find the entrance. This place is like a maze, they should have more signs.”

He hums agreeably. The sun spills across his front like a can of gold paint was dropped on his lap. One eye’s clamped shut and the other’s narrowed, glinting like a shard of amber. “Nell wanted to get ice cream after this if you wanna go.”

“You buying?”

“Maybe. If you’re nice to me.”

“I’m always nice to you.” You swipe the sunglasses off your head and turn the arms toward his face. He lets you push them up his nose without complaint. You’re much gentler than when Penelope tries to do it. And they look as silly on him as you hoped they would, pulling a bubbly laugh from the bottom of your chest. “See? I’m nice. What number is she?”

His eyes roll behind the tinted lenses. “She’s four.”

You scan the field. There’s a ring of girls in teal at the pitcher's mound, tip-toed with their hands in the sky. Penelope stretches beside the coach in the cutest jersey, HARRINGTON stamped proudly across her back. “Why? ‘Cause she’s four?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he huffs. “She lucked out. I guess three other kids had the same logic. ”

“Aww, look,” you elbow Steve, leaving your arm against his side where it’s warm.

He feels you sit up straighter to wave at Penelope, who’s literally jumping for you now that you’re here. A few girls turn their heads to see what the big deal is, and you feel a little shy when the parent in front of you does the same.

Steve would never tell Robin this, but she has officially been knocked to number two on Penelope’s list of favorite people. Penelope adores you more than anyone he’s ever met. She talks about you more than all of her classmates combined. And most of her crafts from school end up on your fridge instead of theirs. He even had to put the phone up where she couldn’t reach after she memorized your number and started harassing you after work.

The girls stretch and run laps around the field's perimeter before taking turns swinging foam balls off the tee. Penelope’s got a pink glove to match the cleats you helped them pick out. And her helmet’s already decked out in stickers from the Lisa Frank book you gave her. You forget how intertwined you’ve become in their lives until it’s so apparent you can’t even try to deny it.

Baseball fields are quite noisy. Moms trade gossip with other moms, whining siblings are entertained by other even whinier siblings. There’s the consistent knock of a ball against a bat, cheering and chanting from an adjacent field, and the occasional “heads up” to listen out for. You and Steve watch the team, but you slip into the comfort of each other’s company, the outside world fading away as you trade stories. But then someone gasps, and it’s like the whole park stills, the silence hanging just long enough for an awful scream to break it.

“Oh, shit. What happened?”

“It’s one of the girls. She fell I think.”

“Is she okay? Whose kid is that?”

You get up from your seat as Steve pushes past you. Your heart becomes a woodpecker, peck, peck, pecking you in the ribs like it wants out. And your eyes snap between Steve and the field in a desperate search for Penelope.

Steve cuts through the dugout as the girls start to huddle around third base. It’s impossible to tell them apart when they’re all wearing the same shirt. But there’s number six, number thirteen, number two– fuck where is she?

The crowd parts for Steve to get by, and then, finally, you see her. Poor Penelope’s curled up on her side in the clay. Something about it puts your brain on autopilot and your feet start moving on their own volition.

It’s a blur how you end up on the other side of the fence but you’re there, kneeling in the dirt beside Steve with a big audience of onlookers. Penelope squeals out a pitiful little sound and it’s like an anchor drops right on your chest.

“I’m here. I’m right here,” Steve’s promising her. His hands hover near her face. They’re shaking so hard he’s afraid to do anything with them. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Penelope’s whole body trembles with the force of her breath, one gasp tripping over the next. Her face is scrunched bright red, leaking snot and tears like a faucet. And she’s trying so hard to speak but all she’s babbling out are broken sounds.

Steve attempts to move her hand out of the way, but she screams at him loudly.

“I know it hurts, I know– I have to see, baby.”

You pin her ankles to the ground so she stops kicking him for one second. He quickly pries her fingers loose, his voice straining through apologies as she squirms. Her left arm lies limp across her tummy, swollen twice its size, a shade of plum blooming from her elbow out. It’s really an awful sight.

You feel your arms prickle and your face goes cold. You want to turn away, but you can’t.

Someone behind you says, “It’s really swollen.”

A smaller voice goes, “Will she be okay?”

And a third, “Is she gonna die?”

Your neck cracks with the speed at which you turn around. You glare daggers at the kid you’re pretty sure that came out of. Admittedly, not one of your proudest moments.

“Here,” someone shoves a grocery bag full of ice into Steve’s hands, “ice it.”

Steve molds it to her arm and her other hand grasps for something to squeeze. You scoop her fingers up from the dirt, letting her nails bite the meat of your palm.

You miss whatever the coach says to Steve, but it doesn't appear to be good. Steve gears to stand up but falters with wobbly legs. There’s a great distance in his eyes like he’s seeing right through Penelope.

You press up off your shins and squeeze his arm until he nods.

You think her screaming can’t possibly get any worse, but it does the moment he lifts her off the ground. You’re trying really hard to turn your ears off, to trigger whatever dissociative state Steve has gone into, but nothing will stop the hurricane that is your heart.

Steve speedwalks across the pitcher's mound. There are a few dozen sets of eyes on him, but he barely notices. His mind is running a mile a minute. All he keeps thinking about is how he wasn’t watching when it happened.

What if she hit her head? Is she in shock? Should I be helping her in some other way? Which hospital is closest? And where the fuck did I park the car?

You catch up to him and cover the back of his bicep with your hand. He glances at you and exhales a shaky breath he'd been keeping. He doesn’t smile like he usually would. But he’s more grateful for your presence than he can put into words right now.

You shove the chainlink gate open and easily spot the beamer, parked in the very first row of cars. Steve almost eats shit in the dip from pavement to gravel but he rights himself with the help of your hands.

You try the backseat door handle and find it locked. “The keys?”

He takes one hand off of Penelope and quickly returns it when she shrieks. And she nearly launches herself out of his arms when he tries to shift her to his hip. He looks at you miserably and says, “Front pocket.”

You might’ve felt weird about reaching into the front pocket of Steve’s jeans in any other circumstance, but there was no time for hesitation here. You unlock the doors and start the car while Steve fights to get Penelope in her seat.

“Nooo,” she yells, gripping the back of his shirt so hard the neckline chokes him.

You turn in the driver's chair, finding Steve with his teeth gritted, knelt on the edge of the backseat, and Penelope holding onto him for dear life. Her back arches under his hand, her feet pushing the passenger seat forward a notch. She’s relentless. Steve pulls her back out of the car and swings to the other side. He climbs in behind you and slams the door hard. His eyes find yours in the rearview as he urges you to, “Just drive.”

You wrench the gear shifter into reverse and reach behind the passenger seat so you can see. While you are focused on not running anyone over, it’s hard not to notice the battle going on in the backseat. Steve’s wedged up against the car seat, in the middle of the row, and Penelope's crushing his nose with her good hand.

By the time you’re turning onto the main road, Steve has given up forcing her to sit in her own seat. It’s doing her arm more harm than good at this point.

His head slumps hard into the headrest, his arms keeping her tight to his chest. “It’s okay,” he keeps saying. “You’re okay,” he promises, but the words do nothing to relieve her tears.

Your fingers tap the steering wheel impatiently. The cars in front of you aren’t moving nearly fast enough, and you’re already pushing the speed limit. You check the rearview for the umpteenth time. “Almost there, Pen. Promise.”

She warbles something too quiet for even Steve to make out.

“What?” he asks her.

“Don’t want my– my arm– ‘r gonna,” she gasps, “take my arm.”

Steve blinks at her sorely until it clicks. “No, baby. No one’s taking your arm. They’re gonna help it feel better. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

“It hurts,” she sobs.

Steve wipes his eyes. “I know.”

This is simultaneously the longest and shortest drive of your life. You park under the emergency room’s overhang behind an ambulance. Steve tests the child lock on his door until you can get out and open it.

You’re rushing in behind them when an EMT stops you. “Ma’am. Ma’am, you can’t park here.”

You’re ready to argue but Steve doesn’t give you the chance. “Just go park,” he barks, halfway through the automatic doors.

The car’s parked in the first spot you see, and the jog back up to the building is achingly long. From the sidewalk, you can already hear Penelope wailing inside. And the sound only worsens as the entrance doors open. Steve’s not hard to find, shifting impatiently at the front desk.

The receptionist slides a clipboard across the counter like he has room in his arms for paperwork. But you appear at his side as you always seem to, reaching for the pen and paper before he even has to ask.

Steve hoists Penelope back up where she’s slipped and turns around without a word. He’s expressionless, near mechanical in his movements. You’ve seen him have bad days at work and you’ve seen Penelope scare the shit out of him a good handful of times, but you’ve never seen him like this. You follow him to a vacant pair of chairs, hugging the ream of paperwork to your chest as you sit.

Penelope still doesn’t settle. Steve encourages her sweaty cheek off his chest and she looks up at him in this terrible way that splits your heart right in half. Her eyes are glossy, and so swollen, her lashes dampened into dark points. Her ponytails have loosened, frizz bunching up at each hair tie. And she looks like she needs an inhaler the way her chest keeps distending for air.

Steve flattens a hand down the short breadth of her spine, the other wiping snot bubbles from her nose. “Penelope,” he pleads, “take a breath, baby. Take a breath.”

She sucks in air so hard she chokes on it. It’s scary from your position, you can’t imagine how Steve feels.

“You’re okay. I’m right here, it’s okay.”

“No,” she shakes her head and hiccups, “hurts.”

“I know.” He brings her head to his lips, nostrils flaring against her bangs. He’s blinking like tears will fall any second. All he can say is, “I’m sorry.”

You feel so bad. Anxious and useless most of all. You stop clicking the pen in your hand and flip through the intake forms on the clipboard. It's standard stuff– name, date of birth, allergies. You fill in what you know, which isn't much, but it keeps your brain occupied and saves Steve a few questions.

Penelope’s crying subsides to a steady whine. The tears stop, but her back spasms with every handful of breaths. She’s gotten as comfortable as she can be in the crook of Steve’s elbow, his hand stapling her face to his bicep.

“Pen,” you start softly.

Shiny brown eyes flick up to yours.

“Help me out here. Do you know your birthday? You remember?”

She shakes her head as much as she can manage with her head laying like that.

Steve frowns at her. Or maybe he’s just looking at her, and the frown’s a permanent new addition to his face. “Come on, you know it,” he whispers. “Tell me."

“Ju–une,” she shudders.

You wiggle your eyebrows excitedly. “June… first?”

“No.”

“June second?”

“No.”

“June one hundred and sixty-fourth?”

Not even a millimeter of a smile. You might be poking the bear the way her brows twist at you angrily but you continue to tease her regardless. “Do I have to say every number in June?”

She kneads her eye with a closed fist and grumbles, “Se–even.”

“June seventh?” You look at Steve, and his eyes flick to yours. “Eighty-nine?”

He nods. Penelope looks severely unhappy with you, but at least she’s distracted.

You run down the long list of questions together. You fill in his information for the emergency contact, then Robin’s as a secondary, and then Steve asks, “Can I add you?”

“Add me?”

“As another contact.”

You blink at the page and then raise your eyebrows at Steve. The idea would’ve never crossed your mind.

“Only if you want to. It’s fine if not.”

“No,” your brows sink and furrow, “I mean, yeah– I want to. I'd love to.” You grin, and he grins poorly back.

A nurse calls Peneleope’s name from the other side of the room. You’re guided down to triage– less a room and more a section of the hallway, tucked behind a frosted glass partition and cramped with a cabinet full of supplies.

Steve sits in the patient chair with Penelope on his lap. He explains what happened, and that no, she has no allergies, no nausea, no fever, just a very obviously broken arm. The nurse sticks a thermometer under her tongue anyway, cuffs her working arm with a blood pressure monitor, and counts the beats of her pulse. He fits her with a sling tinier than you’ve ever seen and administers cherry-flavored children’s Tylenol, which sparks a whole new well of tears because Penelope clearly stated she wanted strawberry. The nurse isn’t as apologetic as you think he should be, he just straps a bracelet to her wrist and you’re walked right back to the havoc that is the waiting room.

And so you wait. When you’re not people-watching, you watch the clock because there’s nothing better to do. Fifteen minutes, thirty, forty-five minutes pass. At an hour, you peel your legs off the vinyl chair to take a lap around the room. You skim a pamphlet about heart disease and a second about stress management.

You present Penelope with a wrinkled Highlights magazine you found, and she’s not thrilled, but she’s calm at least. Stuffy and tired, but in much less pain than she was. Steve coaxed her down for a nap, but she insisted that it’s too loud. And between the constant sirens and people rushing in and out and the fluorescent lights, you can’t blame her, you wouldn’t be able to nap either.

Steve’s sneaker is a riot under his chair. You cup his knee to stop it from bouncing, though it doesn’t do much. He places the front of his hand across the back of yours. It’s noticeably clammy but it could be drenched in sweat and you probably still wouldn’t move it.

You feel his fingers flex every time a nurse returns with a clipboard and a new name to call. But each time, all the anticipation deflates when it’s not Penelope’s.

Another hour passes, and you’ve had enough when, for the second time in a row, someone who arrived after you gets called back first. You stand quickly and inform Steve, “I’m gonna ask how much longer.”

He nods, gratefully, you think.

The receptionist offers the same rehearsed answer they probably give everyone else– “The doctor will be with you as soon as they’re able.”

You stare at her bland face. You know she has nothing to do with the number of patients here or the order in which the nurses decide to call people back, but it’s no less frustrating.

“Soon,” is what you tell Steve when you return.

He knows you well enough to tell that you don’t actually know how long it’ll be. But he pretends like you’ve told him the truth anyway. He finds it’s much easier to be optimistic when you’re around.

You drop back in your seat, arms crossed, feet tapping away on the linoleum. Steve can’t sit still either. You’d think his hands would get tired, but they’re tenacious when it comes to back rubs. His hips shift, and Penelope whines. You chalk his squirming up to an anxiety similar to your own, but he’s starting to act like he sat on an ant hill or something.

“What?” you ask.

Steve shakes his head, eyes drilled on the floor.

“You okay?”

He funnels air slowly out of his mouth and nods.

“Steve, what?”

“Just have to pee,” he mumbles, his hand kicking back into gear where it paused on Penelope’s shoulder. “‘S fine.”

“Go,” you say. “I’ll sit with her.”

He looks from the floor to you, back down to Penelope. She’s comfortable, finally, and moving her is a risk he doesn’t want to take. But he really fucking has to pee. He nods at you, straightening out in his chair and pushing Penelope forward.

She protests the movement with a great big groan. It’s like when she wakes up from a long nap, always so grumpy, but with the cutest little pout. Though this time, you’re foreseeing a meltdown, and you can’t imagine it’ll be cute at all.

“I have to go potty. I need you to stay here,” Steve explains.

Her face crumples instantly, her lip jutting as her eyes fill with fresh tears. She clings to Steve’s arm like a buoy, blubbering into his sleeve, “Go with you.”

“I can’t hold you in there, baby.”

Her voice rises, earning a few turned heads. “But I want you to!”

“Please, baby. I’ll be so quick, promise.”

“Pen, let’s look at that magazine again,” you try. “I think I saw Tic-Tac-Toe somewhere.”

Steve dumps her in your lap and books it. He feels terrible but he’ll feel much worse if he pisses himself in the ER lobby. He prays Penelope isn’t as rough with you as she is with him, but she’s still shouting for him by the time he reaches the bathrooms. Not a good sign at all.

You press the back of your hands to her cheeks with the utmost care. They’re so warm and slick with tears falling too fast to chase away. She’s gone ballistic, bawling helplessly at you like you’ve done something truly terrible to her. And you sort of have. You urged Steve to go, that you could handle it, but a little part of you is starting to regret that.

There are at least a dozen pairs of eyes on you, filling you to the brim with embarrassment. Generally, you think you’re pretty good at talking Penelope down from a tantrum. You make up silly songs and do weird little dances, but none of it is coming even close to working right now. She’s crying so loud you almost miss her name being called.

“Penelope Harrington,” the voice says again.

You lock eyes with the nurse across the room. Fuck.

“Pen, hey, Penelope, listen,” you tip her face toward yours, “we have to get up, okay?”

“I want Daddy.”

“I know. He’s coming. He’ll be right back.”

“No– we, we can’t–” her voice cracks into another heaving sob.

“We won’t leave without him, we just have to get up.”

She continues to cry as you struggle to your feet. Penelope’s not what you’d consider heavy but her lack of cooperation is making her very difficult to carry.

The nurse meets you halfway and confirms, “Penelope?”

“Yes, she’s– can we just wait one second, her dad’s still– he’ll be right back, he just ran to the restroom.”

The nurse follows your gaze to the empty hall. Her mouth opens and closes like no is on the very tip of her tongue.

“He’ll be just one second,” you plead.

Penelope must gather what’s going on and she’s not a fan at all. Her fit escalates even more, one hand cinching your collar, tugging your shirt so far down you fear you've just flashed the nurse. She nearly flails herself onto the floor, then headbutts your chin hard enough for your eyes to water. The reactionary tears worsen into real ones because you have absolutely no idea what to do. Steve steps away for all of two seconds, and you’re already screwing it up.

“Look,” the woman says in a way that makes the back of your throat burn even worse, “I’ll come back–”

“No, wait, he’s–” You blink until the restroom sign unblurs and find that Steve’s actually there at the end of the hall this time. “He’s right there, see– Steve!”

Steve's jogging life his life depends on it. Nearly knocks someone over trying to pass them. And when he gets close enough to see your matching wet eyes his stomach kinks itself like a hose.

Your arms are burning, nearly trembling by the time Steve takes her. Never in your life have you been so grateful to give up your Penelope.

But Steve is just so good at being a dad. He calms her with practiced ease, cradling her like she’s no bigger than she was the day she was born. The walk to her room gives her a chance to catch her breath and for you to wipe your eyes. Steve asks if you’re okay and if you’re sure when you swear that you are. He’s a great dad but an even greater friend.

Steve situates himself on the edge of the hospital bed with Penelope balanced on his thighs while you stand restless near the foot. You can’t shake the goosebumps from your skin, and your headache thrums like a second heartbeat behind your eyes.

“Alrighty, Miss Penelope,” the nurse reads sternly off her clipboard, “can you tell me what happened?”

Steve reiterates the play-by-play. They discuss her pain levels, medical history, changes in symptoms– it’s deja vu. The woman is as curt as just about everyone else in this place, jotting his answers down like she already knows them. And she’s halfway out the door before you or Steve even have a chance to ask any questions.

Steve shakes his head at you. How he’s not snapped at anyone by now, you have no idea. But you think his last nerve is starting to fray, and yet, his voice still softens when he tells you to, “Sit.”

There’s only one chair in the room, the same peeling vinyl type from the waiting room. You steer it over to the side of the bed and sit.

Penelope mumbles into Steve’s chest, her words buried in the fabric of his shirt.

Steve’s gaze falls to her. “What, baby?”

“‘M hungry.”

“You’re hungry?”

She hiccups, nodding with the tiniest sweep of her chin.

“Want me to go stick my hand up the vending machine?”

No, her head shakes. “Stay.”

You’re already standing when Steve looks at you. He digs around in his jeans for his wallet, but the second you see it, you wave him off.

“I got it,” you press.

He opens it one-handed across his thigh, but you flip it closed.

“Watcha want, Pen?”

You think she shrugs, but your eyes are sewn to Steve’s. He fights the worn leather back open and pulls a crisp twenty out. “Please?”

The magic words don’t work on you at his big age. Not for this at least. You tear the wallet from his hand and slide the bill back inside.

If Steve didn’t have Penelope in his lap and his brain didn’t feel like it had been diced up on a hibachi grill, he’d put up a much better fight.

You swing the door open with an, “I’ll be back!”

Steve frowns at your gloating smile, but his lips catch something similar the second you’re through the door.

You’re thrilled to have something to do. Watching Penelope be miserable is at the very bottom of your list of least favorite pastimes. Your chest squeezes as you remember her poor little face. You’ll never forget that first scream at the field. Or how when she fell, she just laid there. You’d thought so many awful things might’ve happened.

The gift shop is hard to miss with windows stretching from floor to ceiling. And right there on a shelf in one of them is a teddy bear with its arm in a sling. Jackpot.

The door jingles as it opens and an employee greets you from across the room. You browse the get-well cards and bouquets of balloons, but nothing is as good as a new teddy when you’re a kid. You take it to the counter quickly. You’ve been sent out on a very important mission and you’d guess Penelope’s mood is souring with every grumble of her empty stomach.

The first vending machine you find is fully stocked– snacks, candy, soda– a hangry little girl’s dream. You have a pretty good idea of what she likes at this point, but a much safer way to ensure you get the right is to just buy all of it. Maybe not all of it, but you do feed a twenty in the mouth of the machine and buy as much as you can. Pack after pack of candy drops into the well and a few healthier options in the rare chance that Steve vetoes. You shove them all in the gift shop bag and hustle back to the room.

The snacks are dumped across the foot of Penelope’s hospital bed, much to Steve’s horror and Penelope’s great surprise. It’s like Christmas the way her eyes light up.

“Wow,” Steve says. “Bought the whole machine out, huh? Whadya say?”

“Thanks,” Penelope sniffles. Her lovely voice is so congested from all the crying.

“You’re very welcome. Which one you want?”

“M’s.”

“Yeah, M’s,” you laugh. “That’s what I thought you’d say.

Your eyes flick to Steve’s as you lift the pack of M&Ms. He nods as you tear them open.

You hold out your hand to ask for Penelope’s, but she opens her mouth instead.

“What! You need me to feed you?” you play along.

She stifles a giggle, her open mouth twitching to smile.

“Last I checked, you still have one working arm.”

“No, feed me,” she implores.

Steve squeezes her thigh. “Come on, you’re a big girl.”

Penelope shakes her head, still tilted up at the ceiling.

“Alright, alright, here’s one. You can do the rest, silly girl.” You drop an M&M on her tongue and let Steve steal the bag from you.

“Yummy?” you ask.

She nods and pops another few in her mouth.

Your eyes return to Steve’s. “For you? There’s a Snickers and a Hershey’s and…”

He shakes his head, pushing his hair back before it falls over his eyes. “Thank you,” he mouths.

Your lashes mesh together when you smile at him, but your eyes pop back open as fast as they closed. “Oh– Pen, guess what?”

She blinks at you with a mouthful, chocolate already painting the underside of her chin.

“I gotcha something else.”

Her eyes go impossibly wider, and they have a much happier sheen to them. “What?”

She springs up with a newfound energy as you unveil the teddy bear. You press it into her lap and her fingers curl around its tiny ear to keep it upright.

“Like it?”

“Yeah,” she coos, “can I keep it?”

“Of course, it’s for you.”

“We match.”

“Yeah, isn’t that cool?”

She beams, her hand roving all across its fur, her smile blooming full force.

Sometimes, it feels like all the love you could ever need is right here— woven into every grin, every word, every look Penelope gifts you. Her smile truly is like a weight off your shoulders.

The intensity of Steve’s gaze pulls your eyes away from Penelope. He’s looking at you with enough warmth to set your face on fire. And if he’s not careful he really might have to call the fire department. Or maybe just a nurse in case your heart gives out. You turn away, but your smile is no secret.

You end up with a pair of disposable gloves from the counter. They get blown up with air and each a set of eyes with a pen you found, and now Penelope’s got two turkeys to play with. You’re so creative, Steve really doesn’t know what he’d do without you. He’s done this whole parent gig by himself for the majority of Penelope’s life, but he’s starting to rely on you like you're the other half of her. Had you not already been at practice, he’s sure he would’ve called you from the hospital.

It’s during difficult times like these that Steve yearns for validation of his parenting choices from his own mom and dad. He knows they’re no example setters and he has far better people to seek that from, but it’s an urge he can’t put away sometimes. But then there’s you, laughing and making his daughter laugh even harder, and he realizes he just doesn’t need it anymore. He knows he must be doing something right when you’re around.

Penelope gets another snack, and Steve gets his very own balloon turkey. You cycle between lots of games as you wait. You think Charades might be Penelope’s new favorite after you end up in a pretzel on the floor trying to get her to guess that you’re an octopus. Steve gets a kick out of it too, though you are adding it to your book of embarrassing things you did to make Penelope laugh.

Thankfully, you’ve finished making a fool of yourself when the doctor knocks. She’s got a pep in her step and a wide, pearly smile. If only this type of attitude were more universal among the hospital staff.

“Hi, there!” she says. “I’m Dr. Ruthman, I’ll be your–” A hand clamps across her gaping mouth. “Woah! Wait a second,” her eyes flick between her clipboard and Penelope, she flips a page theatrically, “they didn’t tell me I’m taking care of the Penelope Harrington today.

A Cheez-It slides out of Penelope’s hand onto the floor. Her blank stare is comical and says I’ve never met this woman in my life.

Steve appears to be similarly confused– his brain really is fried– but you catch on quickly. “Pen, you famous around here or something?”

Dr. Ruthamn scoffs. “Are you kidding me! Only the coolest, bravest athletes get to see me.” She shoves her hand out in front of Penelope. “It’s an honor.”

Penelope has next to no clue what is happening, but she giggles because it seems like it’s something silly. She takes Dr. Ruthman’s hand and shakes it gently.

“You’ll let me get your autograph, later, won’t you?”

Penelope smiles funny, her voice lilting up an octave. “I guess?”

“You must be a busy woman.” Dr. Ruthman sticks her hands in the sink and flips the faucet handle. “What number are you again?”

Penelope’s gaze falls to her aching arm, snug in the sling. You can just see the gears turning as she realizes her counting hand is out of commission. Her other hand raises slowly, and four fingers unfurl stiffly. She double-checks that she’s got the right amount up before saying it out loud.

“Four! No way! You know, I used to play basketball when I was in school, and you’ll never guess what number I was.”

Penelope tips her head. “Four?”

Dr. Ruthman gawks as she crouches in front of Penelope. “Ugh, you are just the smartest little smartie-pants, huh? How’d you know that? ”

She shrugs. “I dunno. I just did.”

“You just did,” the doctor laughs, “Well, don’t you worry, I’m gonna get this arm back in swinging shape. Get’cha back on the field in no time.”

Her freshly gloved hands run gingerly down Penelope’s arm, two fingers poking and prodding the inflated muscle. Steve cradles Penelope’s knee to keep her still, his other hand working lots of love into her shoulder.

“Score any home runs today?” the doctor asks.

Penelope’s mouth opens and snaps shut. How can she possibly focus on the conversation when this woman is kneading her arm like a cat?

“Being so brave, honey. Can you wiggle your fingers for me? Yeah, good. Your thumb?”

You wince as Penelope does. Fresh tears start in her waterline and she writhes uncomfortably back into Steve’s chest.

“Good!” Dr. Ruthman beams genuinely. She pokes Penelope’s palm with her fingertip. “Can you turn this side to the floor? Perfect, now to the ceiling?”

Penelope’s lip quivers as she tries. She can’t even get it halfway before her hand starts to bobble.

“That’s okay. Doing so good.”

“So good,” Steve echoes. He thumbs a little tear off her cheek.

Dr. Ruthman sheds her gloves and looks from Steve to you as she stands. “Your girl’s a trooper. I’ll go ahead and order an X-ray. A tech should be by to pick her up soon.” Her focus returns eagerly to Penelope. “And I’m coming back for that autograph, number four.”

Penelope doesn’t cry like you expect she will. She really is a trooper. Steve tells her so several more times and promises they’ll get two ice cream cones since she’s been so brave.

There’s not much to entertain yourself with, let alone a four-year-old. Steve keeps Penelope busy with Tic-Tac-Toe on the back of a diabetes brochure, then I Spy when she gets bored. But unfortunately, the majority of the room is white so that doesn’t last very long either.

Meanwhile, you flip over the only magazine on the side table and skim the all-caps headline about sex health. There’s no shot Steve can read it without his glasses from where he’s sitting, but still, you feel self-conscious for not putting it down. You’re both adults, and you’re close friends, yeah, but you don’t exactly discuss your sex lives with each other. The thought of Steve having partners you aren’t aware of crosses your mind. He’s entitled to his secrets, you suppose. And it's probably best for your own sake that he doesn’t tell you anyway.

You read an article praising abstinence for being the safest sex practice but feel weirdly worse about your own case. When Steve asks what you’re reading about, you lie, foot fungus. He takes you for a comedian and doesn’t press for details.

The x-ray technician pops in sooner than you expect. He escorts you three turns down the hall to a room packed with lots of expensive-looking machines. A wall divides it into two, the first section smaller with a long counter and enough computer monitors to track a space launch.

The tech stops you from following him and Steve into the second half. “Only one of you can come with her in the examination area,” he says as he jams a stopper under the door.

You nod and hang back in the doorway. Penelope whines about how dark the room is, and Steve tries, but she still refuses to be put down. The tech fits them both in heavy-looking aprons and wheels a table up to the chair they’re sharing.

Penelope peeks up at you with a deep frown that screams get me out of here! Her brows twist together like she’s trying very hard to telepathically forward her escape plan to your brain. It tears you apart, but the best you can do for her is two big you got this thumbs-up.

The technician removes the sling, taking Penelope’s arm and gently pushing it in a way it just does not want to go. The tears are immediate, like silver streamers unraveling down her cheeks, shimmering under the machine's lights. Steve watches the tech helplessly as he straightens out Penelope’s arm.

You backtrack out of the doorway, and the tech kicks the stopper out on his way in. The door slams, and Penelope’s hysterics muffle, though you can still see her struggling through the thick pane of glass.

The tech types and clicks away at the desk. You know there’s no use in rushing him, but the urge is there. It’s any other day for him, but probably the worst of Penelope’s whole life.

Eventually, he clicks his tongue, stands, and marches back through the door. He repositions Penelope’s arm– not without protest– and circles back to the desk. It’s a terribly long and painful deal of rinse and repeat. And Penelope doesn’t give poor Steve’s ears a break.

You count eight photos on the monitor by the end, all from different angles and proximity. You’re no doctor, but there’s a distinct line through the white of her bone in nearly all of them.

The tech pins the door back open and flicks the examination room lights on.

“All done,” Steve shushes into Penelope’s hair. “That’s it, no more. You’re all done.”

His knuckles have turned white where she’s squeezing them. Her whole body turns towards his, and she collapses with a big, open-mouthed sob.

The tech fixes her sling back on while you lean over Steve’s shoulder, your hand rooted gently on his spine. “You did so good, Pen. Always so brave.”

“So so brave,” Steve affirms. “‘M so proud. Think about that ice cream we’re gonna get.”

She couldn’t be less interested in praise or even ice cream at the moment. Steve tugs the apron up her back, you help thread her arms through the holes and pass it to the tech. Steve struggles to slip his off one-handed, so you guide one weighty end of it over his head, your fingertips skimming the fluffy ends of his hair.

With Penelope still glued to his front, the four of you trek back to her room. She cries the entire way but panicked tears ebb into sleepier ones. You realize how many hours past her bedtime it is.

“The doctor will be in with the results soon,” the technician explains on his way out.

Steve resumes his position on the hospital bed, scooting back to the headboard and crossing his legs over the sheets. Penelope slumps down in his arms, boneless with the heavy weight of defeat. Her hiccups peter out under Steve’s hand, her breaths turning thick and congested with sleep.

“Coffee?” you ask, not because you want any, but solely because you’re anxiety swells again and you'd love something to do.

Steve looks up with heavy-set eyes. He feels terrible, suddenly, looking at your own. “You don’t have to stay. I can– I’ll call you a cab.”

You hadn’t considered that to even be an option, and honestly, you still don’t. “I want to stay.”

He sighs but he decides he won’t fight you further because he really, really wants you to stay too.

“Large coffee, three cups of sugar?”

He cracks a smile for the first time in a while. “I’m not that insane,” he defends, carefully maneuvering his wallet out of the front pocket of his jeans.

You take it without argument this time. He might throw it at you if you avoid it any longer. And you’re not made of money either, the gesture is always appreciated.

The cafeteria is closed, which, maybe you should’ve guessed. But you do some exploring and eventually find a pot of coffee in some sort of lounge you aren’t totally sure if you’re allowed to be in. It’s for a good cause, you tell yourself as you steal a styrofoam cup. The coffee is lukewarm at best and questionable in color, but Steve takes enough sugar in his you expect he won’t know the difference.

There’s a pen lying there and a pail of extra sugar packets. You draw a smiley face on one and stick it inside the flap of his wallet for him to find later. And while it’s open, you can’t help but snoop. Cash and cards with his full name, a thick stack of pictures of Penelope, and a folded photo booth print of the three of you, your face plain as pavement in the clear pocket on the side.

You keep the other half tucked in the sun visor of your car but it hadn’t occurred to you that Steve would treasure his copy just the same. Your heart tumbles, your thumb roving across the plastic divider. You’ve held your version long enough to sear those images into your brain forever. But these two you haven't seen since the day they were taken. You look at them for a long while before heading back.

When you return, Penelope’s still snoozing, and Steve’s mid-conversation with her doctor.

She pivots when his eyes veer to yours. “Oh, Mom, you’re back! Perfect timing!”

Mentally, the caffeine heist is still underway. Her words don’t process until she’s well into her next sentence. She talks so damn fast that Steve didn’t have much of an opportunity to correct her either. Though maybe he wouldn’t have. He looked at you after she said it, oddly calm for something that cranked your pulse up a few notches.

The doctor clasps her hands together. “Okay, so, do we want the good news or the bad news first?”

Steve winces. “Bad?”

“Tee-ball is off limits for a couple months, give or take. But good news, it’s a clean break, should heal good as new in no time.”

As far as bad news goes, he was expecting a lot worse, but this will still devastate Penelope when he has to tell her. She hadn’t even made it through a week of practice, and he’s pretty sure he isn’t getting her registration fees back.

Dr. Ruthman explains lots of medical mumbo jumbo as you hand Steve his coffee. She leaves and you end up back in your chair, sleepy enough to think that maybe you should’ve gotten something with caffeine too. Your back aches against the sturdy armrest but you’re trying to pretend it’s a lot more comfortable than it is. You must not be doing a very good job, though, because Steve shuffles to one side of the hospital bed and pats the sheets.

Your gaze floats up to him. “I’m okay.”

“You look tired.”

You are tired, but you hoped it wasn’t that obvious.

Steve pats the sheets again when you don’t answer.

You push yourself onto your feet and trip over to the empty half of the bed. There’s an obvious lack of space between your bodies– this bed was clearly not built for two adults– but neither of you minds. It’s not the first time you’ve sat like this, and you’d bet it won’t be the last.

Like Penelope’s Barbies, you both sit upright with legs straight out across the sheets. Both of your guys’ knees are smudged brown with clay. You wonder if it’ll come out of your work pants and Steve’s nice jeans. Yours aren’t anything expensive, you can always buy more if it doesn’t.

You let the side of your shoe tip into his, just to see how they look beside each other. His sneakers are well-loved with lots of creases and a hole or two, not so far off from your own pair. You zone out pretty quickly thinking about shoes. Your eyes start to burn, but you refuse to let the exhaustion catch up.

“I stepped on your foot earlier.”

You blink the weight off of your lashes and turn your face toward Steve’s. “What?”

“I stepped on your foot. On the bleachers, when I was getting off. I just remembered.”

“When?”

“When she fell.”

“You did?” You struggle to talk through a big yawn. “I don’t– I don’t even remember.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.”

“I know, I just… felt bad.”

You sigh deeply and let your ear drop to his shoulder. There’s a gentle curve to your lips, a happiness bubbling inside and out. “Better call the nurse back so I can get it x-rayed.”

He huffs through his nose. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t be sorry, then.”

You can’t help but close your eyes. Steve’s a good pillow, though maybe that’s the delirium setting in.

He takes your hand to the tiny sliver of his thigh that Penelope isn’t using. His fingers bunch yours up, then unfurl them one by one. You’ve seen him fidget with Penelope’s hands countless times, though this is the first time the nervous habit’s been extended to you.

A little nap won’t be the end of the world, you decide.

You wake to voices, Steve’s and a less familiar one. You gather from the short conversation and Steve’s sudden sitting up that she must be the casting technician.

Steve slides off the bed onto his feet. Penelope’s still passed out on his chest, her open mouth coating his sleeve in drool. He hears you elbowing up off the sheets.

“You can stay. It won’t take long,” he says quietly.

You swipe the crust out of your eyes and shake your legs awake on the floor. “Mm-mm. I’ll go.”

You follow him and the casting tech to a room so small you could’ve mistaken it for a storage closet.

Penelope’s still in Steve’s arms when she rouses, but she’s in an entirely new room. There’s someone she doesn’t remember meeting, a girl with a boy’s haircut, wearing the same boxy clothes that everyone who works there has.

“Hey, sleepy girl,” Steve rubs her thigh, “gotta pick a color for your cast.”

Penelope scrunches her eyes real tight at Steve. It is not time to wake up.

The casting tech clears her throat, “We have pink, purple, red, blue, black…”

Steve sits Penelope upright on his lap as her head lolls to his shoulder. “Baby, look, see these pretty colors?”

“Pink,” she groans into his shirt, her lashes fanned across her cheeks.

“Pink?” the tech calls.

Steve nods and the woman begins to prep on the countertop. You stand beside the bed Steve’s perched on, your head heavy as a dumbbell.

“Don’t fall over," Steve says.

You grab his shoulder for balance. “‘M not.”

The technician rolls a side table up to Steve and pops the brake. She has him scoot forward and maneuver Penelope’s broken arm flat. His stomach knots itself in a guilty pretzel when her eyes open full of tears. Casts are all the rage when you’re that young, but they’re not so fun to put on and take off.

She’s so spent she barely puts up a fight. Steve holds her good hand more for his sake, sprinkling sorry kisses all across her head as the tech works.

Penelope’s arm is wiped, padded, and all plastered up in no time. The amount of minutes it takes to harden is the same amount it takes Penelope to calm back down. She’s awake, but zombie-like; moaning and groaning like she might really bite someone’s head off.

Back in her hospital room, she tests the weight of her cast, complains that it’s so itchy and too heavy. But the mention of signatures adds a little shot of excitement to her cup. You track down a Sharpie and are begged to sign it first. After, she insists you must draw Cinderella too. And now you're no artist, but you try your absolute best.

“I’m the only boy who’s gonna sign this, right?” Steve asks as he colors in a heart by DAD.

Penelope nods with her lip between her teeth so she doesn’t laugh. Every boy on the block is about to sign it, that’s for damn sure.

A nurse steps in with discharge paperwork and a speech about cast care and referrals and payment plans and it all goes in one ear and out the other. But finally, Penelope is free to go.

It takes ten minutes of wandering the parking lot to find the car because you’ve completely forgotten where you left it. Penelope treats it like a game of hide and seek and Steve genuinely doesn’t seem to mind, though he does tease you about your awful parking job when he sees it. You’re just glad it’s in an actual spot and not halfway to some impound lot.

Penelope fusses as Steve eases her into her car seat. He threads her casted arm carefully through the seatbelt strap, her new bear crushed to her chest with the other. She looks more asleep than awake the way she’s blinking at him.

It’s late enough to wonder if he’ll keep her home from school tomorrow. Or if maybe he’ll stay home from work himself. You could call off too, make a special day out of it.

Steve adjusts the rearview so he has a slice of Penelope when he checks it. She’s an absolute goner before the car’s even left the parking lot, her head swaying like a ragdoll with every turn.

The drive back to the field is peaceful. The hum of the engine pushes you dangerously close to a second nap. And Steve patting your thigh certainly doesn’t help.

When he parks you’re crestfallen with the realization that the night is coming to a close. It’s been the most stressful part of your week and yet undeniably your favorite. You hang out in the heat of the car while Steve goes to search for Penelope’s missing cleat. He searched all up under the car seats for it, but you’re almost positive she kicked it off on the field.

You watch Steve retrace his steps up to the dugout. Your mind, for whatever reason, jumps to earlier, smushed in that little twin bed, using his arm like a pillow. He was so gentle with your hands. He always is. And you were close enough to kiss him as you have been so many times in the last couple of months. You’ve had every opportunity to do it, but so has he. If it’s something he wanted to do, surely he would’ve done it by now. But it is nice to consider that maybe one of these days your delusions won’t be so delusional.

The passenger door clicks, and a swell of cold air hits your side. You’re stunned for a split second before Steve’s face slides into view. His eyes swing from Penelope’s over to yours. “Ready?”

His fingers are icicles, slipping between yours to pull you up. You stand toe to toe, more than happy to encroach on his body heat in the residual spring chill. There’s a streetlamp behind him, his face is shadowed but still clear, his head fringed in white like a halo.

“Couldn’t find ‘em,” he says, “but I did find your sunglasses.”

“Oh,” you pat the top of your head, “I didn’t even realize.”

He cleans the lenses with the hem of his shirt before folding them into your hand. “Sorry, I must’ve dropped ‘em.”

You shake your head. He could have snapped them in two and you still wouldn’t care. “Her cleat– one of the moms? Or her coach, maybe?”

“Yeah, probably. Her bag’s gone too.”

You hum. Your chest aches fiercely with the gauntlet of emotions you’ve bounced between all night. You aren’t sure what to say apart from, “Sorry.”

He wrinkles his nose, a laugh of disbelief shaking his shoulders. “Why on earth are you sorry?”

You squeeze your hands together, grasping for the right words. You're running on empty, though, and your thoughts just feel so heavy right now. “Today… it was all just so scary,” your voice goes paper-thin. “I just can’t imagine.”

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together. He’s quiet for a while, staring at you like you’ve said the wrong thing. And maybe you have, it’s so late you can’t tell up from down anymore. But his face screws itself tighter, he looks away and then quickly back with even more severity. And then his arms are pulling you roughly against his chest, squeezing you gently. “God, Y/N. I should be the sorry one, you– she’s not even your fucking kid and you– you don’t need to be sorry.”

“No,” you push off his chest until you can see his face again. He’s frowned enough times today to last him a lifetime. “I am. I care so much about her and it was all so awful. I just can’t even imagine how you must’ve felt.”

Steve’s eyes sting like fire ants have made a nest in his waterline. He’s using every last drop of energy he has not to break in half right now. The last thing he wants is for you to feel even more sorry for him.

He puts you back where you won’t see if he does cry, a big hand holding the side of your head to his chest. Your arms loop around his waist, hands latching onto his shirt like he’ll turn to dust and blow away.

“I don’t think I would’ve survived tonight without you,” he murmurs.

“You would’ve figured it out. Always have.”

“No, I–” he exhales hot air down the back of your neck, his chin anchored to the slope of your shoulder. “Honestly, yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life,” he admits.

“Yeah, it was scary. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a kid scream like that.”

“I’m gonna have nightmares, I think.”

He says it like a joke, but neither of you laughs. It feels too true to be funny.

“I thought it would get easier as she got older… but I– I still have no idea what I’m doing.”

Your lashes tickle his collar every time you blink. And your hand crawls up and over his shoulder, but a light squeeze does nothing for all the tension packed in there. “I don’t think anyone does, Steve,” you say.

A sigh whistles through his nose.

“But I do know you’re doing a good job. A really good job.” Your sincerity colors every bit of your tone with warmth. “I think it all the time.”

“Really? You don’t think I’m astronomically fucking this whole raising a decent human thing up?”

“Now I know you’re just fishing for compliments,” you pull back to flick his chest. The bud of a small smile appears on his face. “You know what I think.”

He catches your wrist before it drops, bringing his other hand up to heat yours in both of his. “You know, I know she’s not yours, but I’m really grateful that she has you in her life.”

“I’m just–”

“You’re here,” he cuts you off. “You’re not her mom, but I mean, you’re here. You’re always here for her– and for me.”

“Steve.”

“It’s so fucking selfish of me, but God, I just wish sometimes you were her mom, like her actual mom, even if we weren’t–” he looks away, his eyes somewhere else before he turns back, “she’s just so fucking lucky to have you is all.”

You swallow the giant rock in your throat. You hope he’s squeezing your hand tight enough not to notice how it’s shaking. “I wouldn't be as good at it as you think. You’d get sick of me.”

“Are you kidding? You’d make a great mom.”

You turn your face away. “Don’t play with me, Steve.”

“I’m not. I swear, I’m not.”

You don’t know if you believe him. He speaks with such conviction it’s hard not to. But after tonight, you do know that parenthood scares the hell out of you, so much more than it already had.

And every moment with Steve leaves your heart more exposed like it’s blistering itself raw under the weight of all these hidden feelings. You can’t kid yourself, you love Steve, maybe more than anyone you’ve ever loved in your life. And for a while, it seemed like hiding it was the best option, hoping it’d just go away seemed like it would work. But you’re still here, being tortured by every little stupidly kind thing that comes out of his mouth.

Maybe it’s the lingering adrenaline, but suddenly this moment feels like your opportunity. You’re both being vulnerable, clinging to each other like you’re years past friendship. You know Steve. He’s considerate and patient and empathetic, he would never end things completely over this.

Your lips part, then smush back together. It’s like you’ve swallowed a pint of glue, the words stuck swirling in the pit of your aching tummy.

“I–” You clear your throat, “I think… I’ve been, um–” Your eyes close so hard you see colors. You laugh strangely, much more of a breath than sound, shaking your head, then his hands off of yours. “It’s freezing out. I’m– I’m gonna go.”

He nods fiercely.

You don’t allow yourself to look at him, spinning on your heels before the words have left your mouth. “Night, Steve.”

“Goodnight,” he tells the back of your head.

The wind doesn’t help your stinging eyes. But you don’t wipe the wetness away until you reach your car on the other side of the parking lot. Inside you take a big desperate breath. You feel like you’ll be sick all over the steering wheel.

He probably thinks you're such an idiot stumbling over yourself and then just leaving like that. The whole thing was stupid. It was stupid and impulsive, not at all how you’ve dreamt about doing it. You couldn’t even do it. You should have just saved yourself the embarrassment and kept it to yourself like you have been.

You take your half of the photo booth pictures from the sun visor, your finger sliding across the torn ridge gently. You and Steve are friends! He’s said so himself dozens of times. And tonight, while it was absolutely awful in just about every way, it’s still a memory you’ll cherish because of Steve. You are so afraid to lose that.

Every time you think you’ve come to terms with the way things are he goes and does something that sends you right back to square one. Half of you is endlessly grateful for what you and Steve have. But the other half mourns the idea that this is all you’ll ever be.

On Saturday, you arrive at the softball field early this time, nerves chipping at the soft smile on your face. Things with Steve have been… off since the last time you were here. Not alarmingly so, but enough to make your stomach turn when the beamer pulls in beside you. Though he’s grinning at you through the window like you’re a pile of gold, you decide that maybe you’ve just been overthinking things.

Steve rolls Penelope’s window down with his. She’s loads happier than when you last saw her, sticking both hands out of the car to wave at you.

You're beaming instantly, stupidly so, as you turn your car off and step out. It’s relieving to see her smile again.

“Oh my goodness, look at you! Look at these fancy bows!” you fawn, pulling her door open for a full view of her uniform. She’s got knee-high socks over her pants, two big bows securing her braids, and streaks of sparkly face paint on her cheeks. “Are you so excited?”

“I have pom-poms!” She nearly smacks herself with the speed she brings them up to show you. “I’m just cheering today.”

“Did you practice your chants?”

She nods, still smiling but chin pointed down with an atypical bashfulness.

“Saving them for the game?” you nod back agreeably. Your eyes flick over to Steve’s, where he’s elbowed into the center console to watch. He’s observing with that familiar softness, but there’s something else attached to that look. Tension, maybe, whether a good or a bad kind, is yet to be determined.

You help Penelope with her seatbelt. With two hands, unbuckling is a breeze for this smarty-pants. But a bulky cast over one of them makes it quite a bit more challenging for her little fingers.

“You’ve got so many new signatures I see,” you point as she springs out of her seat.

“My whole entire class signed it! There was barely even room!”

“Wow,” you squint at her wrist, “someone even squeezed a smiley face in there!”

“Yeah, that was Shell. She's like my bestest friend in the world.”

“Oh, Shelly with the short hair?”

“No,” she squawks like you’re crazy to have even thought so, “It’s Michelle. Sometimes I call her Shell ‘cause it’s for short.”

“Ohh,” you chuckle, a tight hold on her arm as she jumps out onto the gravel. “Michelle, of course.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Silly me.”

Steve laughs from the back end of the car where he unloads all her gear from the trunk. He helps her arms through the hefty straps on her bag. It’s heavy with a bat, helmet, and glove she won’t need today, but she insisted on bringing, just in case someone forgets theirs.

For the next six weeks, Penelope is the team’s very own part-time cheerleader and part-time dugouts assistant. This was abysmal news at first, she cried for an hour when Steve broke the news. It’s more than half of the season she won’t get to play. But you’ve spun it like it’s a real special job– and it is. You don’t know anyone who can cheer you up faster than Pen can.

The three of you trek up to the field. Steve’s got a cooler full of juice boxes and a grocery bag of snacks for Penelope to hand out. You’ve teased him about being the team's best mom before, but this couldn’t be more on the nose. Still, it almost makes you want to cry, Penelope gets every drop of her generosity from him.

Several families convene around the stands, sending their girls into the dugout with good luck. Penelope greets a couple of her friends, both of whom gawk at her cast and argue over who will get to sign it first.

Steve reels her back over for a quick hug and a round of super embarrassing dad kisses. “My little superstar,” he calls her. “Gonna hear you chanting in the next field over, yeah?”

She agrees and smacks his hand with her good one.

You hold out your own with a, “Good luck, Pen!

She whams down on your palm so hard it burns, but you’re both beaming despite it, high off the excitement of the very first game of the season. Penelope is towed away by a gaggle of girls dying to ask all sorts of questions about her arm. Steve drops the cooler off in the dugout and meets you in the bleachers.

“Hello,” he says as he sits. "Fancy meeting you here." His eyes flit around every inch of your face, his smile beginning to mirror yours.

“Yeah, funny, I was hoping to see you."

“You got all dressed up for this.” You're in a plain tee and jeans, but the shirt is technically new.

“Teal’s a hard color to find. Three different stores it took me.”

There’s a pause, neither of you looks away, no one says a thing.

“Thank you for coming,” he eventually says. He’s so serious about it as if he doesn’t possibly thank you enough.

You bump your elbow to his and turn towards the game.

Penelope leads warm-up stretches in the outfield, shouting each countdown as loud as Coach does. There’s a little speck of pink in all that teal parting her from the rest of them. And maybe it’s cheesy, but it feels metaphoric. Penelope is truly one of a kind, your sun is a sky full of gloom. The kids’ stolen your heart for good, Steve, her little accomplice.

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

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nightpoemz · 2 months ago

Text

★☆*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡. . .｡.:*･' ૮ .◜◡◝ა '･*:.｡. . .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆★

bsf!jeno when camgirl!you ask him for help

pt. 2 of bsf!dreamies when camgirl!you ask them for help (lowkey requested, but i kinda wanted to try writing smth)

wordcount: ~2.1k

smut, consensual filming, dom-ish!jeno, groping, hair pulling, hickey, scratching, missionary and doggy, idk just fucking in general

an: uhh so i blacked out and wrote this… it took me 3h _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): so let's all be nice about any mistakes that i made. minors dni! ★

★☆

knock, knock.

you glanced at your phone- 8pm sharp. jeno was 30 minutes early. "a little overexcited, aren't we," you mumbled to yourself. you pushed yourself off the couch and walked to the door. before jeno could knock again, it swung open.

"you're early," you smiled and gave him a quick hug.

"wasn't sure if i needed to prepare anything besides condoms, so i showed up early just in case." jeno took off his shoes and stepped into your apartment.

he looked around and chuckled at the mess. "don't laugh, i was going to clean in a bit…" "when? five minutes before i was supposed to arrive?"

he clocked you. of course he knew- he was your best friend, after all.

"don't worry, the streaming room is pretty well-organized and clean, if you ask me."

he raised an eyebrow. "your streaming room?"

you pointed at your former guest room. "turned it into a streaming room. needed more space and privacy."

"so no more guests unless you're fucking them?"

"i haven't had any guests that slept over in ages. and you're the only one i've asked to fuck so far."

"so far?"

you smacked his shoulder and shook your head. with one swift movement, he grabbed your hand and waist, pulling you closer.

"don't worry, i'll make sure you won't need to ask anyone else to be your 'guest'."

you were speechless. had he always been this bold? you knew how attractive jeno was, but this was a completely different side of him. the tension was unbearable- dizzying even.

"uhm- how about i go change and get ready real quick, so i can explain what i had in mind for today."

jeno let go of you with a smirk and gave a small nod.

"make yourself comfortable. i've got drinks and snacks on the counter." you quickly shuffled to your bedroom and shut the door behind you.

"get a grip. it's just jeno… 'just jeno'- who am i kidding?"

was it excitement or regret creeping over you? you shook your head and gave yourself a couple of smacks to calm down. rummaging through your closet, you grabbed your favorite lingerie set and a silk nightgown- just enough to tease without exposing everything.

after a quick shower, you stepped out of the bathroom to find jeno lounging on your couch, scrolling on his phone. when he looked up, his mouth parted slightly, his eyes unsure where to land.

"what? never seen a woman before?"

"never seen such a beautiful woman before."

his words were smooth like butter, and you couldn't help but blush. he stood up and walked toward you to get a better look. the closer he came, the hotter the room felt- or was it just you?

his hands instinctively landed on your waist.

"so, what did you have in mind?" his eyes never left your body.

you put a finger under his chin, raising his gaze from your cleavage to your face.

"since i wasn’t sure how this would go, i thought we could film offline today. if anything turns out awkward, i can just cut it and use the rest as a bonus for my subscribers."

"sure, whatever works for you. mind if i take a quick shower too?"

"no, go ahead. fresh towels are on the shelf. i'll set up the camera in the meantime."

jeno nodded and released your waist again, but his touch lingered.

—————

you set up the camera on a tripod, facing the bed, then grabbed a couple of towels and waited patiently.

not long after, the door opened. jeno stood in the doorway- wet hair dripping, towel loose around his hips.

you gulped.

you'd seen him shirtless before, but this was different. your mouth watered like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. the water trailed slowly over his defined muscles, the towel barely hanging on for dear life.

"thought it was kinda pointless to get dressed if i was just going to undress again," he said, running his fingers through his hair.

you snapped out of your daze and nodded.

"just lay down while i turn on the camera."

you were more flustered than you'd like to admit.

jeno got comfortable on the bed and tossed the towel aside. you hit record. turning back around, your whole body screamed to jump his bones.

"i wasn't lying when i said it wasn't teeny tiny," he chuckled.

it was long and girthy. not even fully erect, and you already knew you couldn't go back after this.

"don't worry. i can handle it," you winked.

climbing onto the bed, you settled on his lap. jeno sat up, placing both hands on your hips.

"how do you wanna start, pretty girl?"

"a little makeout session wouldn't hurt," you said, placing a hand on his cheek.

without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed you. his grip on your hips tightened, making you wince.

you started slow and tender, but it wasn't enough. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulled him closer, and gave his bottom lip a soft bite, running a hand through his hair.

a low moan escaped his lips as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. his hands explored more, moving down to your thighs, giving them a squeeze before sliding under your nightgown.

the cold touch made you shiver but only turned you on more. your hips shifted.

"fuck," you whispered, slipping off your gown.

this was the first time he'd seen you so exposed. your lingerie barely covered anything, and he could already feel you dripping onto his shaft.

"touch me more," you pleaded, grabbing his hand.

"no need to tell me twice."

his hands cupped your boobs, slowly massaging them. jeno's hands were big and manly, but his touch was gentle. his thumbs brushed over your barely clothed nipples, making your breath hitch.

you couldn't wait.

you unclasped your bra and tossed it aside.

"someone’s impatient," he whispered, lips brushing your skin.

"just enjoy it. i won't be gentle for long."

"is that a warning or a promise?"

"however you want to take it."

from the sound of his voice, it was definitely a promise.

he kissed your neck, drawing moans from your lips.

"i'll give you a little souvenir," he said, sucking until a bruise formed on your skin.

your moans were music to his ears. he couldn't get enough, he wanted to hear it more.

he wanted to hear you moan his name more.

jeno moved you off his lap. now you had a full view of his fully erect dick- your stomach dropped.

"lay down," he said, voice low. you followed.

he grabbed a condom and rolled it on with ease.

"ready?" he hovered above you.

"yes, please," you nodded, never feeling more ready.

he aligned himself with your entrance and slowly slid in. the stretch made you grimace.

"don't worry, i'll go slow," he reassured you with a soft kiss.

inch by inch, he filled you completely.

"are you okay, baby?"

the way he made you feel safe; it was the hottest thing alive.

"y-yeah… just give me a couple seconds to adjust. then you can start moving."

he waited patiently until your breathing was calm enough for him to move. and as he looked at you, his heart skipped a beat.

"gosh, you're so tight," he groaned as he began moving faster.

he hit every spot you couldn't reach yourself. toys had nothing on jeno's dick.

"nngh- faster, please," you gasped. this is exactly what he wanted to hear.

he bit his lips as he held back a moan. you grabbed his face. "no- jeno, i-i want to hear you. d-don't hold back."

he chuckled. of course you wanted that and who was he to deny you?

he pressed his forehead to yours, picked up the pace, and when he finally moaned something in you snapped.

"jeno-" you choked out, twitching beneath him as you came.

he didn't stop. you didn't want him to. you wanted more, you needed more.

"more… jeno… more…"

his thrusts turned rougher. your nails dragged down his back, making him groan.

"kiss me," you begged.

one look into your pleading eyes and he lost it.

he kissed you like he was trying to ruin you and it matched every single thrust.

you moaned into his mouth.

"i'm gonna-"

before you could finish, he pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach.

"ass up," he ordered, giving you a firm spank.

once in position, he grabbed the camera off the tripod and slid back inside.

one hand held the camera above your ass; the other gripped your hip, making sure you took every inch.

the faster he moved, the louder you got. you tried to bury your face in a pillow, but jeno wasn't having it.

he tossed the camera back on the tripod, grabbed your hair, and yanked your face out of the pillow.

"don't muffle yourself. i want everyone to hear how i'm making you feel."

"je-" you couldn't even form full words at this point, without being interrupted by your moans.

he let go of your hair, gripping your hips with both hands, nails digging into your skin.

every thrust rougher than the last.

your eyes rolled back, almost seeing the pearly gates of heaven. your fists clenched the sheets until your knuckles turned white.

"this is what i wanna hear."

your moans were unstoppable now.

you'd lost count of how many times you came, while this man had endless stamina.

"ugh- i think i'm gonna cum," he groaned, throwing his head back.

his pace got sloppier. both your bodies tensed.

finally, he slowed down, riding out his orgasm.

he pulled out carefully and your body collapsed. jeno lay beside you, laughing softly.

"what's so funny?"

"i thought you said you'd be able to handle me." he leaned in, kissing your forehead.

you glared, flipping him off. if you weren't so exhausted, you'd have something smart to say.

your mind was hazy. your body throbbed.

meanwhile, jeno looked perfectly fine.

"alright, ready to stream now?"

"b-but… i just-" you mumbled.

he gently took your chin and made you face him.

"you'll be fine. they'll love seeing you like this."

☆★

masterlist

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 5 months ago

Text

PLAYING FAVOURITES. [PART TWO]

tangerine x fem!reader

wc. 2628 summary. continuing on from FAVOURITISM (this can be read as a standalone, but would recommend reading part 1 first) you and your boss's work relationship deviates from professional, each of your repressed feelings beginning to get in the way. a wordless admission entails, the act confirming the liking each of you have. boss x secretary. warnings. slightly suggestive, idiots in love (kinda) disclaimer. the images at the bottom are just a reference of how I picture the reader's vibe and style. they are not a reflection of how I write or see yn (colour and body type) it’s merely a way to show you what I envisioned <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Late mornings, you’d often find yourself in the staff room, watching over the bubbling kettle as you wait for it to finish boiling. And now, like many other points during the day, you’re leaning against the counter — hip resting against the worktop, waiting for the flick of the kettle’s switch.

You reach for the appliance and slowly pour the water into your boss's favourite fine china set, making the tea to his very specific liking. Following the steps that he had ingrained into you over the several months you’ve worked for him. You slot two custard creams onto the saucer, setting the biscuits beside the cup before heading towards his office.

You’re mindful as you walk across the office floor, eyes fixed in a heavy focus on the fragile crockery in your hands. Being ever so careful with something so dear to him. The tea sloshes slightly with each slow and calculated step, the click of your heels accompanying every delayed movement. You reach your boss’s door and give it a light couple taps, being aware how the motion may affect the stability of your hold.

“Yeah?” he calls out, voice preoccupied, like he was busy.

Entering his room quietly so as not to disturb him, you spot him at his desk, phone wedged between cheek and shoulder, hand on the mouse with his attention on the computer screen. His focus differs when he notices you in his door frame, a soft, courteous smile being sent your way.

Though the grin is short lived. A frustrated voice on the receiving end of his phone growing louder, more frustrated. The tone of the caller dissecting that small slither of calm you just gave him. Tangerine sighs, soothing over his moustache as he slumps back in his chair, humming along with the conversation as if to keep the call short with your company present.

“Mhm-hm, catch you in a bit,” he grumbles and places his phone down, irritation evident with the force. “Sorry, darl,” he apologies, turning his attention to you still in his door frame. “You can come in,” he gently reminds you with a chuckle, gesturing you inside.

“Call sounded important— didn’t want to get in the way,” you smile and shake your head. “Anyway, thought you could do with a tea break,” you look at the clock on his wall, speaking like he was an infant with regular feedings.

“You know me too well,” he nods you along, clearing a space between his papers.

He watches over you, noticing your obvious caution with something so fragile — your precious hold being careful with something he loves.

“Perhaps,” you smile to yourself, gaze focused on your footing, unaware of his looks. You reach his desk and set it in front of him, stepping aside to leave him be.

“I uhh— I don't suppose you have a few minutes,” he starts, twisting in his chair to keep you in his sight. “Computer’s playing up. Been a right nightmare,” he says, bringing the cup to his mouth to take a sip. “Top notch tea, that.”

You twist on your heels and nod with a smile, heading back to his desk. Standing at his side, your thigh presses into his arm, the contact of your touch noticeable to you both, obvious to you both, though neither one of you wants to shy away from it. You reach past him and for the mouse where his hand sits beside, brushing past him ever so slightly.

Though he doesn’t flinch or retract his hand, instead he keeps it there, letting it be an obstacle that you have no choice but to graze. Your gaze lowers to his hand, eyes diverting from his screen to look at the closeness of your hands, how they’re almost touching. His thumb fidgets subtly, as if he’s hesitant — eager to reach for your pinky finger.

His eyes, too, fall on the display of your hands in front, the difference in size filling his mind with things no boss should ever think about one of his employees. And as if he’s suddenly remembered his position of power, he regrettably slides his hand away, reaching for the tea so you should feel no such rejection for the act.

You’d admit that it stung, but that would mean admitting you had feelings for your boss, and you were far too smart to allow yourself for that to happen. So to dust yourself off and refocus, you have a look around on his computer, trying to locate the same issue he’s been having all week. Though today, it seems the issue is different to the prior ones.

You start to bend, initiating a new seated position on your knees, but he stops you, placing down his tea as he goes to stand.

“Have my seat,” he instructs, standing behind his chair as he slides it to you — offering it up.

“Am I allowed?”

“Course you are,” he dismisses your weary, polite question with a laugh. “Doing me a favour here, can’t have you sitting on the floor.”

“Imagine how bad that’ll look to the higher ups, huh?” you joke. “Letting your secretaries get on their knees while you just sit there.”

Tangerine picks up on the accidental innuendo almost instantly, a diversion of his eyes and a tinge of warmth in his cheeks making that all the more evident. It takes you a second to realise what you’ve said and your eyes widen at the connection, mouth opening slightly like you’re embarrassed.

“For helping with work,” you add hurriedly, shaking your head as you sit in the chair. “The computer, I mean.”

With your back now to him, you take a moment to collect yourself, head dropping slightly from the sheer humiliation you were feeling. You exhale quickly and turn back to look at him, sending him an apologetic look.

“I really didn’t mean that— I didn’t even realise what I was saying,” you continue with your apologies, fearing you’ve made the situation all the more uncomfortable.

Though it’s anything but. Instead he quite liked seeing you open up to him, joke and chat with him — the worry-wall of scrutiny slowly dissipating around you. And when he sees you sitting in front, eyes peering over your shoulder and up at him, he knew he was far deeper in the shit than he realised.

He clears his throat, trying to rid himself from the impure, lewd thoughts running rampant in his mind. He shakes his head singularly at you, hand hesitantly reaching for your shoulder, but instead, he backs out at the last second, finding himself pointing at the computer.

“Let’s get that sorted out, yeah?” he prompts, adjusting your focus to an actual issue. The direction like a distraction, wanting to shake the embarrassment from you without making a deal about it.

You nod and twist to look at the screen again, pushing your focus to the task assigned to you. But as you get to work, flicking through his computer, you notice the fix is not as simple as the others from this week — the complications advancing from the usual randomly —purposefully—misplaced and deleted files to something far more complex.

Your eyes narrow at the screen, and your back straightens in a slight lean forward, trying to understand it all.

“I have no idea what you’ve done,” you mutter in pure concentration, chin resting on knuckles with your other hand on the mouse. “This is such a mess,” you briefly look at him still behind you. “Like, such a mess. It’s gonna take a while.”

“I got time,” he tightens his features, stiffening his expression. Trying not to seem so joyous about an ordeal he should be irritated by. “Not a problem for you, is it?”

“Not at all.”

He picks up the biscuits from the small plate and casually offers you one, hand held out towards you. You skim his skin as you take it, thumb brushing his for a short, quick moment.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks, eager to keep you comfortable in his space.

“No, I’m good thanks,” you pause and take a bite of the treat changing your mind upon further thought. “Actually, yes please,” you start, speaking through a mouthful. “My glasses? Under my desk I have two bags. In the smaller one— I think it's on the right. Anyway, in there I have a pouch and the case is tucked in one of the pockets. And then my glasses are inside.”

He nods, a subtle smile finding itself spreading on his face.

“Shall I get you the world’s nuke codes while I’m at it?” he jokes, heading for the door.

You follow his movements, watching him over the top of the computer. “Nah, I don’t need them right now, but I could do with a drink though,” you laugh, making him halt for a brief moment. “My bottle is in the other bag— a big metal thing with charms. You’ll see it right away.”

He’s quick to return and you’re sure he’s forgotten the directions, the quick pace making you doubt him. But instead, he pulls out your bags from behind his back, features forced in a plain, casual expression.

“Thought it’d be easier to bring all your things,” he offers, making his way to your side, tucking your belongings next to you. “Get you set up in here for the day while you fix that mess,” he gestures to the computer and resumes his original position behind you.

With him unable to see your face, you smile. You smile wide. The thought of him seeming to enjoy and want your company makes those butterflies flutter a little wilder inside. That pit of want slowly growing deeper. The edges of it starting to crumble inwards.

Again, with the reminder of status and power, you dismiss the thoughts and twist in the chair, leaning over to search through your bag on the floor so you could resume work.

Completely unbeknownst to you, Tangerine’s height advantage gave him exactly that — an advantage. His depraved eyes trail down your back from behind, lowering to the slither of skin between flowy blouse and trousers, the tights he bought for you all those weeks ago visible over the top of the waistband. The hosiery a secret to you and you only, a way of maintaining your flamboyance without getting in trouble for it.

He squeezes his eyes shut, gaze unable to leave the sight without a forceful action. His hands drop from the crossed position over his chest to his front, hands acting as a shield between his legs.

He wasn’t sure what exactly got him so bothered about the sight, and he found himself struggling to find the reasoning why. Perhaps it was something about the contact, how something he touched so tightly is now, too, tightly touching you. Maybe it was the position or the unintentional, suggestive eyes you’d give him throughout all hours of the day. Either way, whatever it was, he was struggling.

And through his drifting mind, he’s unaware of you now facing him, hand waving sweetly to capture his attention.

“Sorry,” he clears his throat in his fist, lending you his focus.

“You good?” you ask, utterly oblivious to the effect you play on him. “I can do this some other time if you’d like?”

“No,” he shakes his head, the motion stern like it was reaffirming his decline. “I was just thinking about lunch,” he lies, checking the time on his watch. “Getting hungry,” a partial lie — only his hunger cannot be satiated with food. “I can get something for you too?”

“I brought something with me from home, but thank you,” you notice a hint of defeated rejection in his eyes, the dismissal of his offer seeming to please you more than it should. “But maybe I can sit in here while I eat?”

“That’ll be nice,” he nods, trying his best to remain neutral. “How’s it looking?” he questions and points to the screen, changing the subject built on a lie.

“Uhm, it’s coming along I think,” you too, lie, pretending the errors were still an issue, when in fact they were not. The problem fixed and sorted a couple minutes ago. “Might be another hour at least, maybe two. Just doing some tests,” you continue with your ruse, lying to keep yourself in his company.

“That’s alright,” he hums, watching you swirl back around in his chair, getting back to work.

It was as if you were truly unaware of your power: big brains, a heart so pure and eyes that could trick him to do anything. He would find someone with those qualities intimidating, but instead he found himself finding it endearing, exciting even.

And like he’s suddenly had enough of talking himself from his wants, he decides to indulge in them, just this once. He rests his hands either side of you from above, palms flat to the desk to tower over you from behind. Inners of his biceps skimming at your shoulders.

The position close, like a confinement you much rather enjoyed. You swallow thick, struggling to even your breathing.

“Maybe I do play favourites,” he admits, his voice a whisper behind your ear. “Little bit of partiality in the workplace.”

He moves a hand from its placement on the table and places it on the back of the chair, pushing it to make you swivel to face him.

It’s close, far closer than you’ve ever been to him before — the tips of your noses almost touching.

“I know you’ve thought about this too,” he prompts, tone gentle as he practically speaks against your lips.

All you can do is nod slowly, seeming to be frozen in place with no ability to speak. Quite like you were in a haze, stumped it had finally got to this point.

“How long you been thinking about it?” he teases, itching forward to graze your lips, only to pull away — wanting to hear your answer first.

You inhale raggedly. “Since I started,” you admit, getting closer to make up for the distance he made.

“So have I.”

The hand that was on the back of your chair reaches towards you, palm grazing the base of your throat until it's sitting on the side of it, lightly holding your neck. With him regaining control, he guides you inwards, pressing his lips to yours.

At first it’s precautionary, gentle even, the kiss soft and light as if to check measures. But when you each pull away, eyes flickering over the other quickly, it’s fast to be rekindled. The intensity growing as if all of the stolen glances and forbidden thoughts and accidental touches have finally caught up to you both. Upping the antics.

A knock at the door breaks the moment far shorter than either one of you would like, the hasty pace of the tapping indicating something urgent.

You pull away and he sighs, the exhale frustrated. Tangerine stands straight and adjusts himself, making his way to the door.

“What?” he says, voice stern, one of your colleagues stood in front of his door — an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Been a problem with dispatch, sir.”

“Right,” he nods and shuts the door in the face of his employee.

Tangerine heads towards you to collect his things, picking up his briefcase and coat from its placement. Your eyes never seem to break from their lusty fix on him, an indecent, fervent fixation as they follow him around the room.

“I won’t be long,” he assures, walking towards you. He leans over slightly, thumb and forefinger cupping your chin, angling your face to meet him. “Don’t you go anywhere, okay?” he instructs, punctuating his soft command with a rough response.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[ PART THREE ]

#lmdl: his favourite #his favourite #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine fluff #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader

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bbyseok · 4 months ago

Text

thinking about teen satosugu asking you to be their valentine...

to you, valentine’s day is just like any other day at jujutsu high.

except—you run into geto in the hallway, to which he hastily tries to hide what seems to be a heart-shaped box of chocolates behind his back.

“hi, suguru!” you greet, trying to hide a knowing smile from crossing your lips as he straightens his posture.

when he averts his gaze away from you, he clears his throat. “hey.. didn’t think i was going to run into you this early,” he says a bit awkwardly.

“are those for satoru?” you bluntly ask him, obviously referring to the chocolates he’s trying to conceal from your sight.

this time, you don’t fight the grin curling onto your mouth as, in a rare moment, suguru is stumbling over his words for some sort of explanation. “uhh. well, um, i- it’s for—”

you merely hum and pat him on the shoulder. “don’t worry, i won’t tell him.” you start to take your leave before geto can get any words in. “i’ll see you in class later!”

fast forward at the classroom, you then encounter gojo… who has an arm wrapped around a bouquet of flowers. in his hand is his flip phone, pressed against his ear. “what do you mean it’s not gonna work? it’s perfect!” he says to whoever’s on the other line.

he hasn’t seen you yet as he sets the arrangement down on one of the desks, and the white-haired boy appears to be a mix of giddy and proud.

your eyes glint with curiosity as you quietly enter the room, addressing him teasingly, “ooohh, flowers for suguru?” you tease.

satoru whirls around in surprise to stare at you, wide-eyed. “wh— i didn’t-”

you hear footsteps behind you, and a familiar sigh. “i told you it wasn’t gonna work, satoru,” geto announces, phone in hand. the black-haired sorcerer peers over you to give gojo a pointed look.

now you’re starting to get a little confused. if suguru knew about the flowers then…

you walk to stand between the two boys, squinting your eyes. “what’re.. what were you trying to do exactly?” you try asking.

a chuckle leaves the both of them. “trying to.. surprise you?” gojo clears up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

you blink at geto. “but i thought you said those chocolates were for satoru!” you say to him with a soft shake of your head.

geto has a slight smirk on his lips. “i didn’t say anything. you were the one who assumed.”

you then glance to satoru. “those flowers are for—” oh. oh. you fall quiet when you realize he had placed the bouquet on your desk.

“happy valentine’s day!!” satoru then decides to cheer, scooping up said bouquet back into his grasp to hold it out to you, while suguru does the same with the box of chocolates.

suguru is still wearing that sly smirk, amused. “it was supposed to be a surprise, like satoru said. but i just had to run into you first.”

you graciously accept their offerings, your heart racing in your chest. “i— thank you. you guys are so sweet.” the gifts feel light in your arms, but they mean the world to you.

gojo and geto shuffle a bit closer. “will you be our valentine?” satoru is the one to ask, blue eyes pleading.

and how can you deny that? you laugh, nodding. “of course. you’re so silly— what makes you think i’d say no?”

geto grins. “just making sure.”

you then chew on your lip lower in contemplation. you hadn’t exactly prepared any proper gifts for them in return. (though you’re sure you can share the chocolates with gojo happily.)

your eyes then light up and you laugh again. “hey, i got something for you two,” you tell them, your eyes gleaming with slight mischief.

gojo beams. “really?”

geto simply raises a brow. “yeah?”

“mhm, mhm. c’mere.” you gesture for them to lean in close to you as best as you can since your arms are still occupied with the flowers and chocolates.

when they do as instructed, you giggle— before placing a kiss on geto’s cheek, then gojo’s, your heart beating faster than it ever has before.

and when you pull back, the faces of the strongest sorcerers are as red as tomatoes.

mm, maybe valentine’s day isn’t just another day after all.

part of my teen satosugu series!

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto x reader #geto x you #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #my writing #rain’s writing

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potatoplace · 5 months ago

Text

Can't Help Falling In Love

The Afterthought: Chapter 6 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

chapter 5 | chapter 7 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Your gained independence has brought you more friendships, a companion, and, surprisingly, a new romance.

Warnings: shitty Feyre, very mild drinking, iiii honestly think that's it? I cannot think of anything else, let me know if I missed something pls

Words: ~11.8k

Author's Note: omg so I'm tired so there might be mistakes BUT everyone let me know what they think!!!!!!!!!! IM SO EXCITED TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK CAUSE OMG IVE BEEN SO EXCITED FOR THIS MOMENT. Also. Peep the fun lil cameo I made (I am sure you all will guess it easily lol it's p obvious imo. Also. I will share pictures if people ask 🤭) I hope you all like this chapter!! ps the title is from an Elvis song but I know it from Fools Rush In but that's what they dance to at the end

18+ only pls

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Mor returned just a few minutes after you finished getting dressed, in a soft, thick navy cotton nightgown, your feet clad in soft, fuzzy white slippers.

You had already set the table- another purchase from the secondhand furniture store that you had made yesterday, coming with four matching chairs. The scuffed walnut wood matched your bed frame, which had been a good enough reason for you to choose it.

And, that you'd been able to carry it home. Slowly, but you had, and you'd returned for the chairs promptly, each time apologizing to the seemingly annoyed shop owner who had said nothing each time, only stared at you over the top of his book.

You let Mor in after the first knock, giggling when you saw everything she was carrying. She had a small duffel bag, a bag filled with food, and another bag filled with... well, you weren't sure yet, but it was stuffed to the brim.

"Did you bring enough stuff, Mor?"

"Oh, hush you," Mor said, breezing past you to deposit the food on the stable, her other bags deposited next to your bed. "I brought pasta! There's a creamy one that has a seafood blend, and some good old spaghetti with meatballs. Plus-" Mor pulled another, smaller bag out. "Breadsticks!"

"Did you get anything healthy?" You asked, taking the breadstick that she handed to you and taking a bite.

"Nope," Mor said through her own bite. "I mean, unless you count tomatoes being a fruit. Which I totally do. So actually, yes."

You shook your head and laughed as you sat at the table, Mor following right after. "As long as there's tomatoes, then. What's all the other stuff?" You asked, pointing your breadstick at her other bags.

"Well, one is my clothes for tonight and in the morning, and the other is full of housewarming presents!"

You let out an exasperated sigh, but you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. "More housewarming presents? I don't know how much of this I can take."

"Oh, you will take them happily," Mor said sternly. "They're just some small things that I thought you might need, nothing big. Though I would love to help you find a couch tomorrow, if you're up for it?"

You looked at the bag, and back to Mor. "That depends on how much you got me, Mor."

Mor smiled brightly. "Ahh, so you can be convinced. Do you want to know what they are now, or food first?" You glanced down at your breadstick, and quirked a brow at Mor. "I mean the pasta, silly. So?"

"Uhh... Presents first, I suppose, as long as the food won't get cold."

"That should be no problem, if we keep it in the bag. I'll go change into my pajamas really quick, and then you can see what I got you!"

A few minutes later you were sat on your bed, Mor beside you, pulling your first present out as you held your eyes shut.

"Go ahead and open!" Mor said after placing something that felt like a book in your outstretched hands.

It was a book- and upon opening, you saw that it was filled with handwriting exercises, and beginners words. Meant for a child, yes, but...

"Mor, thank you," you said tearily, pulling your friend into your arms. "This is- oh, this is so amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Mor giggled beside you. "You're welcome, Y/N! I know that glass Nuala and Cerridwen gave you is helpful for understanding letters, but I also know you'd prefer to do it yourself. Now, close your eyes again!"

The two of you repeated the process over and over again, until you'd received every present Mor had picked out for you.

She had gifted you a beautiful quill set, with a selection of colored inks along with a larger inkwell filled with the standard black. A diary, in a delicate shade of pink, along with matching letter paper and envelopes, a small kit to do wax seals for when you decide to send letters. Mor had also picked out a few lovely bars of hand soap, along with two cute crystal dishes to hold them. And Mor had brought you two new blankets, one a dark blue, and the other in a dark purple.

"You can never have enough blankets, Y/N. Never," Mor said seriously as the two of you moved back to the dining table, each of you having a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

"I agree with you completely, Mor. And really, thank you for everything," you said sincerely, squeezing her hand.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N. I'm always happy to go shopping! Now- do you want some of both dishes? Cause... I do," Mor admitted with a grin as she pulled the to-go boxes out of the bag.

"I'd be happy to have both," you giggled, grabbing another breadstick from the bag, this one slightly cooler than before. "So- tell me what's been going on with the Hewn City? Unless you want to avoid work completely."

Mor sighed as she dished out some of both pastas for both of you, onto the pretty clay plates you had bought two days ago, with painted flowers decorating its surface. "Well, Keir has been a pain in my ass, using every available connection he has to try and stop the upcoming election. He's been holding these stupid little rallies at the nightly revels, trying to convince the citizens to stage a coup. Though why he thinks that would work when Rhys or Feyre alone would be able to shut it down, I don't know. Just... He's being a pain in my ass!"

"I'm sorry, Mor. Isn't there anything that Feyre or Rhys would be able to do? Or maybe... Maybe remove him from power, imprison him for attempting to overthrow their rule?" You suggested, then took a bite of the seafood pasta- absolutely delicious, the creamy sauce complimenting the scallops, shrimp, and shellfish well, the pasta tender.

"I've tried telling them that it may be the only way forward, but they don't seem to understand how bad it's gotten as of late. Azriel's been busy in Autumn or Illyria for the past few months, and Cassian's been monitoring Windhaven specifically as of late. And Feyre is pregnant, meaning Rhys is unlikely to send her to the Hewn City without him, which would leave only Amren in Velaris. So..." Mor took a dejected bite of a breadstick.

"So you're stuck there?"

"Pretty much," she sighed. "Though I made Rhys promise to give me at least one day off every week, so I'll be able to come back home, and I'll be able to see you!"

You smiled. "Good, I'm glad. I missed you a lot over this last month, Mor."

Mor's expression matched your own. "I missed you too, sweets. Now... Tell me how everything's been going with you?"

It was your turn to sigh after you swallowed your bite of spaghetti- also delicious, with the slightly spicy sauce and meatballs.

"Things have been... They're looking up now. Now that I've moved out, at least. And working has been really nice. Things around the River House... Besides Azriel, they've been really tough for me. Nesta and Elain... They make me so uncomfortable, and they hate me for no reason. At least, that's what it feels like. And Feyre doesn't seem to care, either..." You shoved another bite of food into your mouth, letting the flavor soothe your pain.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I really thought that Feyre would have tried to make them stop, especially after how rude they were dress shopping for Starfall," Mor said. "But I'm glad to here that things are looking up for you- And that Azriel has been sweet. And working at Sevenda's! You've done amazingly for yourself, love, all on your own. If..." Mor paused, considering her words. "If you decided to not have them in your life anymore, I wouldn't blame you. Feyre I would give another chance, but Nesta and Elain... They're taking their anger about their own situation out on you, I think. And that's unforgivable, seeing as they know how much it's hurt you."

Tears had welled in your eyes at her words, at how well she understood your feelings. "Thank you, Mor," you managed to choke out before the tears fell.

"Oh, sweets... Come here," Mor said, standing from her chair and pulling you up and into her arms, squeezing you tightly, a hand stroking your hair soothingly. "How about we do a face mask and eat chocolate? Does that sound good?" Mor asked after a while, pulling away from you a bit. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice quite yet.

"Let's do it, then."

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The next morning was lazy, with you and Mor sleeping in and laying in bed for an hour, talking about everything and nothing. You felt like you were sharing hushed secrets together, like you had so long ago with Feyre when the both of you laid awake at night, your other sisters sleeping the night away as the two of you dreamed of a life you wanted to live, not just an existence of scraping by.

Eventually, you were dragged from the cocoon of your bed by your bladder, and after you had washed your hands you jumped on the bed, right on Mor.

"It's time to get up," you sang as you laid on top of your friend, giggling when she half-heartedly tried to push you off of her. "You said you wanted to go couch shopping, right?"

"Yes, but not this early," Mor groaned beneath you.

"If you want any chance of paying for it, you've got to get up now!"

"Okay, okay! You've convinced me, you're impossible to give things to unless I've already bought them," Mor laughed, and this time you let her push you off of her- not that you doubted her ability to do it if she truly wanted to. The two of you made your way into the bathroom, going through the steps of washing and moisturizing your faces. "We're stopping for breakfast in a café, though, I'm dying to have a muffin and some coffee."

"That's fine by me Mor," you laughed. "You can change in here, I'll change in the main room."

"Okay, just let me know when you're dressed so I don't accidentally peek on you," Mor said after she had grabbed her bag and returned to the bathroom. That left you to quickly strip out of your nightgown, down to your underwear. You slipped on a simple peach brassiere and into a clean, black woolen dress, in a similarly modest fashion to the one you had worn yesterday.

"You can come out, Mor," you called out, and a moment later the bathroom door swung open.

"Let's get going, I'm starving," Mor complained as the two of you slipped on your boots and outerwear, you of course wearing all of the items Azriel had bought for you. "Oo, I like these," Mor said, stroking the cape with an ungloved hand. "Did you buy it recently?"

A blush spread over your cheeks against your will. "Oh, uhm. Azriel gave the set to me, for Solstice."

A smile spread across Mor's face. "Oh? Azriel bought it for you?" Mor asked.

Your cheeks heated further at her actual question. "It's not like that, he's just being nice..." You mumbled.

"And what if he wasn't?"

You blinked at Mor for a moment, dumbstruck by her suggestion before you laughed. "No, no. I don't... That's not a possibility, Mor."

Mor shook her head. "But you want it to be- and it is. Any male or female would be lucky to have you, Y/N," Mor said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Now. Let's go get breakfast."

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Three hours later, you and Mor were carrying a couch through the snow covered streets of Velaris, the legs dragging through the white powder. Its pink velvet fabric was a near match to the chair you had already bought, and had a low enough back to allow winged individuals to sit comfortably.

Not that you'd taken that too much into account, it was just a nice benefit for when Azriel came to visit.

Which he would be, tonight. The two of you had agreed to have dinner tonight, as your way of repaying him for your bed. It was the one night he would be in town this week, and since you had the day off it had seemed to work perfectly.

Mor was going out with some friends tonight at Rita's, an activity that you were fine not being involved in, and she had to return to the Hewn City early in the morning.

The two of you said goodbye in the late afternoon, a long hug and promises to coordinate time together and write to each other- you would even attempt to tell her about your week, if you were able.

You spent the time before Azriel turned up cleaning your apartment some, washing the dishes that you and Mor had used last night and putting away the gifts she had given you.

Then? You collapsed on the couch, a blanket spread over you as you enjoyed how soft the cushions were.

A shadow tangled in your hair moments before a knock landed on your door, and you shook your head at the silly little thing.

"Hello, Azriel," you said as you opened the door, face to face with the Shadowsinger, a round, covered dish in his hands. His shadows seemed antsier than usual, a few of them breaking away to swirl around your feet, a tiny smile creeping onto your lips.

His eyes tracked them, tightening for a moment before they met yours, hazel softening as he looked at you. "Good evening, Y/N."

Your smile grew. "Come in, you need to choose a recipe so that we can go shopping," you said brightly as you opened the door further, letting him into your apartment. "You didn't need to bring anything, you know."

"Thank you. I just brought dessert, and it was my pleasure. And I'd be happy to have anything you make, Y/N," Azriel said as he followed you into the kitchen, where you had two of your cookbooks set out on the counter. The ones that Nesta and Feyre had gifted you. He set the dish to the left of them, and you were tempted to peel back the foil covering it.

"None of that, you're going to choose a recipe that you want," you demanded, fully aware that you are being more assertive than you'd been with him... Well, ever.

But he seemed similar to you, in the way that you never liked to accept much of anything from others.

Azriel stared you down for a moment before sighing, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Okay. But you have to let me know if it's a recipe you wouldn't like," Azriel said firmly, waiting to open a cookbook until you had nodded your agreement. "Good."

He flicked through the pages until he settled on a dish you both thought sounded good- chicken and dumplings. "It was my favorite when I was younger," Azriel confessed as the two of you walked to the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, his shadows clearing your path as they had taken to doing over the past month.

"I can't imagine you younger, somehow," you giggled as you looked up at him, trying to imagine him as a gangly teenager. But the image never came, leaving you staring at the very masculine male next to you.

Azriel let out an amused snort. "That's fine by me, I was... I was awkward, back then. But, so were my brothers."

"You? Awkward?" You shook your head. "I don't buy it. You're too calm, all the time."

"That's now. Back then I was a nervous wreck," Azriel admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

"Well, if you're ever nervous now, you do an amazing job of hiding it," you said as you picked out the vegetables you would need, handing over your bank card to the stall owner for a moment, thanking them as you left. The vegetables were placed into the cloth bag you had brought with you, which Azriel plucked from your arms despite your protest.

"If you're paying for everything and cooking, the least you can let me do is carry the ingredients," he insisted. "Now, what else do we need?"

You looked down at your list, squinting at the poorly printed ingredients that you had written down before leaving. "Uh... Chicken, obviously."

"Right. There's a butcher shop just a few stalls down," Azriel said, leading you gently with a hand on the small of your back.

The intimacy of his touch made your breath stutter for a moment, before you reminded yourself that Azriel is your friend, nothing more.

Shopping flew by, easy, light conversation flowing between the two of you while you were in the outdoors.

Azriel carried everything for you, prying every item out of your hands after you had paid for it. But you didn't feel patronized by it, rather... You felt touched, that he wanted to carry the groceries back to your apartment, that he wanted to help out in some way. It was nice.

His helping hands attempted to extended into the kitchen, at which point you fixed him with your toughest stare, demanding that he stayed still.

"Just sit there and let me cook! Enjoy your wine!" You said to him as you dropped the dumplings into the pot. "This is me repaying you for my bed in the one way you would let me- so let me!"

Azriel sighed, but you could almost hear the smile he was wearing. "I cannot believe my shadows are siding with you."

"What?" You asked, turning away from the pot to stare at him, laughing at the sight you were met with. "Oh my- that's hilarious!" You giggled at seeing Azriel, covered in his own shadows as they held him to the chair, even lifting his glass of wine up for him.

"So you say, I find mutiny much less amusing," Azriel said, shaking his head with a smile on his face. "It smells amazing, Y/N."

Your smile grew, nose scrunching at his words. "Thank you, it should only be a few more minutes."

"I'm fine right here, no matter how long it takes."

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Azriel had left your apartment near eight in the evening last night, after he had insisted upon doing the dishes, of course. Dinner had been such a pleasant affair, with Azriel telling you about his work in Autumn and Illyria, and you talking about the small dramas of your fellow kitchen staff.

You could confidently say that you were friends now. Even better, you had gotten Azriel to agree to have dinner with you when he had a rare evening in town that wasn't taken up by court matters or inner circle dinners, though it hadn't been tough to convince the male. The next time you would see him would likely be on Saturday, though he had promised to send a note with one of his shadows if something came up.

Currently though, you were at work, nestled between Josi and Torma.

You'd woken up with an ominous feeling pooling deep in your stomach, one that you still hadn't shaken. But, you'd gotten yourself out of bed and to work; for that, you were proud.

Josi and Torma were going back and forth about where they should go for drinks that night.

"I think we should go to Rita's. Then we can dance!" Josi said excitedly, even doing a little jig, bumping her hip lightly into yours which drew a giggle from you. "See! Y/N thinks it's fun!"

"Dancing would be fun, that's true Josi. But I'm feeling more like sitting and talking a bit tonight, which is why Blue Bar would be a much better choice," Torma explained, giving Josi her best puppy dog eyes as she looked over your head.

Josi sighed. "What if Y/N comes dancing with us? Would you go to Rita's then?"

Your eyes widened at the suggestion. "I don't think-"

"Oh, please Y/N?" Torma begged, setting down her knife and putting her palms together. "Please please please? You haven't gone out with us yet!"

You scrunched your face at the idea. Drinking, dancing, and being near so many people... Was not your idea of a relaxing evening. "I'm not sure... I don't really drink," you said quietly.

"But you don't have to drink! You can just watch us be silly and bad at dancing," Josi enthused, setting down her own knife. "Come ooon, you know you want to see us make fools of ourselves!"

The thought of them stumbling around together on a dance floor did bring a smile to your face. "As long as you guys don't abandon me," you decided, your words resulting in enthusiastic high fives from your coworkers, only making you smile wider.

"Yes! Okay, we can either pick you up from your apartment at seven, or you can meet us at Rita's at the same time," Josi said.

"Uhh... Pick me up from my apartment, I think. Otherwise I might just stay home," you admitted sheepishly.

"Then we'll pick you up at seven o'clock sharp," Torma declared.

The rest of your shift passed quickly, with you leaving around five. You bid goodbye to your coworkers, promising them that you would be ready and enthusiastically awaiting their arrival in two hours.

You walked home, enjoying the slightly warmer weather that Velaris was having today. The sun was shining brightly, even as it began its descent below the horizon.

Still, even the lovely weather couldn't shake the feeling in your bones that something unexpected would happen today, good or bad.

And you were proven right when you arrived to your building, Feyre standing outside of the locked door, looking...

Angry.

Furious.

Your heart picked up in your chest, beating rapidly as you tried to assess why she would be angry... The only reason you could come up with was, well... Why you were standing outside of an apartment building.

"Hello, Feyre," you said, as neutrally as you could with your heart hammering in your chest.

"Y/N," Feyre said coldly, her hands pointing to the doorknob. "Let me in?"

Your brows scrunched together, but you unlocked the door, letting Feyre pass through before you. You led her upstairs, pausing before your door. Should you let her in...? You sighed and unlocked the door, allowing Feyre to enter your apartment. Your safe space.

You only hoped it continue to feel that way, after this visit.

"So... You moved out without telling me? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How worried I've been?!" Feyre growled at you once the door was shut behind you.

"Worried?" You asked with a mirthless chuckle. "You've been worried? I was gone for a week, Feyre! A week, and you couldn't be bothered to notice until Mor did!" You yelled at her, your own anger at your situation bubbling up. "Besides, it's not like I could leave the fucking city without your approval anyways, so what do you have to be worried about?! That I'm making my own life, with people who actually care about me?!" Feyre opened her mouth to respond, but you didn't give her the chance. "I felt like nothing but a burden, an annoyance in that house," you hissed. "And if you had actually cared about me, you would've noticed I moved out last Wednesday. And you would've noticed when I got a job. And you would have remembered that I cannot. Read." Tears filled your eyes as you brought up that little tidbit, the sting of it fresh whenever you thought of it. Water had begun pooling in Feyre's eyes, and you knew that if she spoke you would forgive her, even if you didn't want to. "Now get out, Feyre, unless you've decided that my apartment is now your property as well. Come back when you actually realize why I moved out," you said coldly as you opened the door, staring expectantly at her.

She did as you asked, passing through the doorway mere minutes after she entered. Feyre turned to you, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I do care for you, Y/N. But you've got to stop acting like living at the River House was torture."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, slamming the door in her face and locking it tightly.

Not that it would stop her, if she really wanted in...

You spent the rest of your time before your coworkers showed up curled in your bed, pillows piled around you and blanket pulled over your head. It was only when you peeked at the clock and saw it was ten to seven that you pulled yourself from your cocoon.

Hair brushed out and a small amount of eyeliner and pale pink rouge and lipstick applied, you quickly changed into a different dress. Your cozy black cotton dress was changed to a flowing, sapphire blue silk gown. The sleeves were loose, wider once they met your forearms, and the modest cut and floor length skirts left you feeling secure and covered. You felt pretty in it, one of the few nicer gowns you had taken from your closet in the River House.

You had just pulled on your boots and cloak when a knock fell on your door, Josi and Torma waiting outside.

"How did you get in the building?" You asked with a laugh as you locked up.

"Well, one of the other tenants had just walked in when we arrived, so we slipped inside!" Josi explained, locking arms with you as the three of you left the building.

"Ahh, that explains it."

"Yes. Now, let's get to Rita's! It's cold as balls out here," Torma groaned, taking your other arm and dragging the two of you along faster.

The air in Rita's was hot, a welcome reprieve from the winter chill outside. Josi went to order drinks for the three of you, while Torma led you over to a booth in the back of the bar.

The two of you had just settled in when Josi came back, four drinks in her hands. She set two in front of you, one was water, the other was pink and sparkling, smelling of strawberries and a hint of alcohol.

"I know you said you don't drink, but I thought I would get you something just in case! I had the bartender make it less strong for you. And if you don't have it, I'll drink it anyways," Josi giggled as she slid into the booth next to you, already sipping her own drink.

Normally you wouldn't have dared to touch alcohol, but your conversation with Feyre earlier... You could use a distraction. And, you were with your trusted coworkers.

You took a small sip of the drink, delighted at the way the liquid was fizzing in your mouth. It tasted as it smelled, primarily of strawberries with the slightest hint of alcohol- champagne, you thought.

"Thank you, Josi, it's delicious."

"I'm glad you like it! Oh- Torma, we have to dance to this one!" Josi squealed, setting her drink down and sliding out of the booth, pulling Torma along with her.

You watched them dance, sillier with each song as Josi had said they would, sipping your drink. You started feeling light, tipsy like you had at the one party you'd drank at, when you still lived in the human lands.

Maybe that was why you hadn't noticed him, until he was standing directly in front of you, wings tucked in behind him.

"Oh- hi, Azriel," you said quietly, a flush on your cheeks as you smiled at him.

"Hello, Y/N. I didn't expect to see you here," Azriel replied, sliding into the booth across from you. "You look like you're having a nice time."

You bobbed your head to the beat of the music. "I am. Josi and Torma convinced me to come out tonight. And I am glad they did, otherwise Feyre would have ruined my day," you giggled, the sting from your interaction with her not present with the alcohol running through your veins.

"You spoke with Feyre?" Azriel asked, a curious look on his face.

You sighed heavily and took another small sip of your drink. "Yeah, she was at my place when I got off work, and was mad that I moved out without saying anything. But really, it took her a week to notice!" You vented. "Not to mention she didn't even remember that I couldn't read... Nesta and Elain I understand since they hate me but..." you trailed off, a frown on your face.

One of Azriel's hands slid over your own, grasping it gently. "I'm sorry that you've been let down so thoroughly by your sisters, Y/N. I am happy to know that you're still living how you want, and making friends too."

You smiled dreamily at him. How was he so nice to you? "Thank you, Azriel. I'm glad that you're my friend, you're really nice."

Azriel smiled softly at you, his hazel eyes crinkling at the edges.

One of his shadows tangled itself in your hair, rubbing against your neck and drawing your eyes away from Azriel's. "Your shadows are so silly," you giggled, tickling the shadow with a finger.

"They seem to like you a lot," Azriel remarked, watching as more of his shadows nuzzled themselves against you. "By the way, I wanted to ask you if you're up for a surprise on Saturday, before we have dinner."

You blinked at him for a moment, your thoughts coming more slowly with what you'd drank. "Uhm... Is it a fun surprise? Or like... dragging me to a family dinner surprise?"

Azriel's lips pressed together, the corners of his mouth still tilting upwards. "A fun surprise, I promise. And if you don't like it, we can leave right away."

"Mm... Sure, I don't see why not," you said, trying to come up with what kind of surprise he would plan.

"Good," Azriel smiled. Josi and Torma had wandered back over to the table, fresh drinks for themselves in hand. "I'll let you spend time with your friends," he said, sliding out of the booth.

"Thank you for saying hi, Az," you said sweetly, smiling happily at him. "I'll see you on Saturday!"

Azriel nodded, a slight flush on his cheeks as he turned away, going back to whichever table he had been at.

"Oooh," Josi said from beside you, elbowing you gently in the side. "Someone has a crush on the Shadowsinger!"

You scrunched your face at her, but couldn't get the smile to slide off of your face. "No I don't," you whined.

"Oh yes you do," Torma joined in, poking your leg with a foot. "And I dare say he has one on you as well."

You blushed further at that idea, shaking your head. "No, no, we're just friends!" You insisted, but both of them gave you a knowing look.

"Uh-huh," Josi giggled from beside you. "Just let us know when you start dating, hmm?"

"It's not like that!" You giggled, gently slapping her on the arm. "It's not!"

Torma rolled her eyes playfully at you from across the booth. "Sure, Y/N. Now, do you want to dance with us?"

You looked out at the dance floor. You'd never been one for dancing, since you'd missed out on the years of lessons that Nesta and Elain had gotten. But...

You drained the rest of you drink, about a third of it, and scooted into Josi. "Let's go dance!"

🤍🤍💙🤍🤍

The next morning, you'd woken up with a slight hangover, which had been easily cured with a large glass of water, some dry toast, and a long bath.

Josi and Torma had grinned at you the whole day, talking about how they needed to take you out more often now.

You wouldn't say yes every time but... It had been nice spending time with them, and dancing had been more fun than you'd thought, with a bit of bubbly running through you.

The five days before you would see Azriel again- when you would know what surprise he had planned- passed by quickly at work, but dreadfully slow while you were alone at home.

You had taken to filling out the handwriting book that Mor had given you, your letters improving with every time you wrote them. And you felt you were nearing the point that you could attempt to read children's books, perhaps the book of fables that Rhysand had given to you for your birthday.

Feyre had yet to visit again, something you were grateful for. If she couldn't understand that being trapped and kept here like a forgotten pet, or worse, a chew toy for your sisters, was your problem? Then you didn't want to see her.

You were lonely while you weren't at work, but you could handle that. After all, you had time with Azriel after work today, and you and Mor were having another sleepover tomorrow night.

You had just started washing up to leave work when a shadow snuck into your hair, alerting you to Azriel's presence, likely in the dining room. You giggled at it, gently poking it with a wet finger before you dried off your hands. Sure enough, Azriel was stood in the dining room, talking with Sevenda in a hushed tone, both of them quieting when you walked through the curtain separating the kitchen from the front of house.

"Ah, Y/N! Someone came to pick you up," Sevenda said with a smile, winking at you when Azriel had his head turned.

You rolled your eyes at her, turning your attention to Azriel. "Come to take me to the surprise?"

"I am, in fact," Azriel nodded, extending a hand to you.

You took it without thinking, letting him lead you out of Sevenda's restaurant and into the snowscape of Velaris. His hands were soft, even with the scars that you knew covered them, and the calluses that you knew he should have, being a warrior and all.

His shadows were buzzing around the two of you excitedly, mirroring that of their master. Something about where you were going had Azriel as close to giddy as you could ever see him getting, a slight smile stuck to his face, his wings twitching every now and then.

Soon enough you came to a stop in front of a large building, various magical creatures painted onto the sign above the door.

Velaris... Animal... Shelter?

You blinked at the sign, confused. Surely you hadn't read that right.

"Come inside, I think you'll like it," Azriel said, gently tugging you into the building. Once inside, your ears were met with so many different sounds: meows, barks, bird trills, growls, hisses. There were a few rooms, all separated with glass walls and doors, filled to the brim with animals.

You were instantly drawn to the room housing felines- there were so. Many. Kittens!

"Oh my gods, can we go in?!" You asked Azriel, your face flushed from excitement and the cold as you met his hazel gaze.

"Of course we can, we just need to keep all of them inside the room." Azriel opened the door for you, letting you pass through first.

"Oh, they're so cute!" You squealed, approaching a pile of kittens, all conked out. You sat on the floor next to them, petting all of their fuzzy little heads and milk filled tummies, delighting in the squeaks they let out.

"This is an amazing surprise, Azriel," you told him once he sat down next to you, his wings drawing the attention of some of the active kittens.

"Being here isn't the only surprise," Azriel said. "If you'd like, you can take one home. I've already picked out some possible furniture you might like for the little one, if you decide to have one."

You gaped at him, completely shocked. "I can... I can take one home?" You asked, looking back at the kittens with new eyes. You could have a companion... Someone just for you.

"You can," Azriel said warmly, a smile on his lips when you looked back at him.

A grin spread across your face and your launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

His arms wrapped around you for a moment before you pulled away. "You're welcome, Y/N. I thought you might like to have a companion at home."

"Well you were right," you said giddily, turning back to the kittens. All of them were so adorable, so sweet while they were sleeping. But you would want one that was calmer while awake, matching your energy levels.

You and Azriel stayed in that room for two hours, playing with kittens and talking about what you'd both been up to over the past five days.

"The elections are heating up, and thankfully Rhys and Feyre sent me to the Hewn City to help protect the candidates going against the current leaders," Azriel told you as he let four kittens climb over him, even onto his shoulders and head. "Mor sends her love, by the way."

You smiled, both at the sight and the mention of your shared friend. "That's sweet of her, we get to have a night together tomorrow, which will be even more fun with my new little one," you said. "I still don't know which one I want, though."

"Take your time, you want to get one that you'll bond with well," Azriel suggested.

You looked around to room, trying to find any kittens that you hadn't interacted with yet. There, on one of the shelves... Mostly hidden behind a fluffy bed stuffed onto the shelf was a tiny kitten with glowing green eyes, her beautiful silvery coat shimmering even in the slight darkness of the shelf. You crawled over to her, extending a hand back to let her sniff. She hissed softly at you once, but let you run your fingers across her head, purring at the first touch.

Oh yes. This one.

She seemed slightly afraid of everything, hissing gently when you plucked her from her spot and cradled her in your arms. She was so tiny, and her fur was so soft and puffy, you wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be a total fluff ball. Her tummy fur was the palest pink color, absolutely adorable. And her silvery fur had streaks of light tan running through it, along with slightly darker streaks of grey.

She was perfect. And the way her eyes closed as you pet her was so comforting to watch, you knew that you had found your fur child that you wanted to take home.

"I want her," you said to Azriel, tilting her in your arms so he could see her better. "She's so cute, and she seems nervous, like me."

Azriel laughed softly. "She's very cute, Y/N. Do you know what you'd want to name her?"

You looked down at her, trying to think of something that would suit her. At the same time, she let out the tiniest little squeak, that sounded like a soft 'eek.'

"M'aiq. Cause she's mine, and she made a little eek noise," you said, nodding your head at the name.

"M'aiq... That's a cute name for a cute little Starfall kitten."

"Starfall kitten?" You asked, wondering if that's why her eyes glowed green.

"Yes, every year, in the two months after Starfall, about one in every litter is born with a Starfall spirit inside of them. Or, at least, that's the explanation I've heard for why their eyes glow," Azriel explained, beginning to place the kittens that had climbed onto him back on the ground.

"Awe... You're even more special, my little M'aiq," you said cheerily, nuzzling your nose against hers.

Azriel led you out of the glass room and to the counter, where a fae took M'aiq and put her into a small carrier. He then led you into the shelter's store, where they had plenty of furniture, toys, and anything else you would need in stock.

You picked out a tall, carpeted structure that had a few platforms that M'aiq could rest on, as well as four different beds meant for small felines. A magically cleaning litter box and several food and water dishes also came home with you, as well as many, many toys.

His shadows sent everything to your apartment besides M'aiq in her little crate, which Azriel picked up for you. You tried to pry it out of his hands, but instead he slipped his free hand into yours and began leading you back to your apartment. Along the way you stopped in the Palace of Bone and Salt, picking up the things you would need for a simple pot roast dinner, seeing as you would be distracted for the rest of the evening.

Once you were inside the apartment, you immediately snagged M'aiq's crate from Azriel and pulled her out of it and into your arms.

"You're so cute," you cooed to her, petting her tiny head slowly.

You felt Azriel's eyes on you before you saw them, glancing up and smiling warmly at him. He looked away, the slightest blush on his face.

He is, too.

You placed M'aiq into one of the many cat beds now decorating your apartment, this one placed at the foot of your bed. "Stay there, sweetie, while I make dinner," you told her, her nervous green eyes on you. "I'll make you something, too, don't you worry."

Azriel was smiling softly at you when you turned to the kitchen, the expression making his face even more beautiful than normal.

You'd never understood how a male could be pretty, until now. But now you knew why Feyre called Rhysand the most beautiful male she had ever seen, because you thought that might be true of the winged male in currently in your kitchen.

"Did you need help with dinner?" He asked as you approached the bag of food he had placed on the counter.

"Hmm... I suppose since this isn't me paying you back for anything, you can help this time," you decided, setting out two cutting boards and handing him a knife. "Cut the potatoes into halves then quarter the halves, slice the carrots half an inch thick, and the onions into eighths please."

Azriel nodded and began rinsing the potatoes and carrots, while you grabbed some chicken from your cold box, dicing it after you started a flame under a pan with a bit of oil in it.

You balanced cooking the chicken for M'aiq and braising the roast while Azriel cut all of the vegetables, finishing at the perfect time, right when you needed them all to be added to the pot.

Azriel took over seasoning the roast while you fed M'aiq for the first time, grinning from ear to ear as you watched her devour half of the chicken that you had cooked for her. You'd get the portions down in no time.

With the roast in the oven, you and Azriel relaxed on the couch for a while, M'aiq in your lap.

After a little bit, Azriel had his shadows bring him a few reports after he made sure you would be okay with it, quietly filling them out with the scratch of his quill on the paper.

You decided, since you had tipsily told him that you were illiterate at Rita's anyways, that you would work on your handwriting in the book Mor had given you again, fighting the blush that had overtaken your cheeks.

But he said nothing about what you were doing, only giving you one curious glance before returning to his own work.

He was thoughtful like that. He thought about what would make you uncomfortable.

Your heart thumped in your chest at the feelings you were developing, ones that you had been fighting so hard to keep at bay.

But you were failing.

You were failing because this sweet, caring, thoughtful male did nothing but make your life brighter, Shadowsinger or not.

Doing your best to keep your attention on your workbook, you passed the rest of the time until the roast was done in a comfortable silence, the scratching of quills, crackling of logs, and M'aiq's soft purrs the only sounds in your ears.

Azriel checked the roast for you, after you had complained about having to move M'aiq when she was so comfortable and sleeping... And then he brought a bowl over to you along with a napkin, eating his own on the couch as well.

You felt so comfortable near him, even sitting so close, unaccompanied by anyone else. Two and half years ago you would have balked at the idea, the impropriety of it. But Azriel had been nothing but gentlemanly toward you, even when he had flown you up to the House of Wind.

And really... You would never be the whore that Nesta claimed you to be, after all you had never even been kissed in your twenty years of life, let alone had relations with someone. Just the thought of that sent anxiety through you. No, you would not have sex with someone until you were married, as you had been raised to do. You even... You even found it romantic, to save yourself for your future spouse.

So, being alone in your apartment with Azriel? That was an impropriety you were willing to overlook.

Azriel left your apartment near eleven at night, having spent extra time with you while you helped M'aiq settle in to her new home.

When you shut the door behind him, your heart fluttering from his presence, and now absence.

You turned your attention down to the fluffy ball in your arms. "What do you say, M'aiq? Are you ready for bed?"

Her soft squeak was enough of an answer for you. You settled her on the bed, next to your pillow while you washed your face and dressed for bed.

You laid down next to her, covers pulled up to your shoulders, with a hand poking out so you could pet her as you went to bed.

You didn't feel quite so lonely, laying in the dark now.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

As soon as you exited work, you were assaulted by way of an aggressive hug from a bouncy blonde. Mor swung you around, giggling.

"I'm so excited to see you!" Mor yelled, squeezing you tightly.

"I'm excited to see you too, Mor!" You giggled after she set you on your feet again. "So, what's the schedule like for tomorrow?"

"Well," Mor started as the two of you began walking to your apartment. "I have to be back in the Hewn City by noon, and... I have a family dinner to go to tonight," Mor said with a sigh. "So I won't be with you for dinner, but I'm planning to book it out of there and have dessert with you!"

You nodded in understanding. "That's fine, Mor, but you should come to my apartment first! I have something to show you."

"Oh?" Mor asked, quirking a brow at you. "What is it?"

"If I told you now, it wouldn't have the same effect!" You insisted as you let her into your building, following her up the stairs. Your door swung open, and you heard the skitter of claws on wood. "Oops, I think the door spooked her."

"Her?" Mor asked, looking around before her eyes locked the far wall. "She's under the bed."

"Oh, M'aiq!" You called as you pulled off your boots before crawling next to the bed. "Come on out, sweetie, Mor is your friend," you said softly, rubbing your fingers together to draw her out. No luck, though, especially when Mor kneeled down to peer under the bed. M'aiq actually hissed at her, spitting and everything. You hated that she was distressed but... She was so cute.

"Awe, she's adorable!" Mor whispered. "And she's a Starfall kitten, oh that's so sweet. You know, they tend to bond strongly to their owners, some are even able to communicate with them. Not talking," Mor giggled when you gave her a wide eyed look. "More like... Their emotions can be shared with you, similar to daemati, but it's just a connection between them and their person. Maybe your little M'aiq will do the same."

You looked back to her, where she was now sitting, pressed tightly against the wall but no longer hissing. "That would be so cool," you whispered.

Four hours later and Mor was back in your apartment, lounging on your bed with you, M'aiq laying inbetween.

"So, besides the kitten, what else is new?" Mor asked you, popping a chocolate into her mouth a moment later.

"Well..." You blushed. "I... I like Azriel..."

Mor grinned at you. "I knew you would! And honestly, I don't see why he wouldn't like you. The two of you are so well suited for each other."

You shook your head. "I don't think so Mor, I'm... I'm human," you whispered, your eyes stinging.

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Mor asked seriously, tilting your chin back up so you would look at her. "So, you're human. Why does that matter?"

"Well, because... Because I won't be around for long, and it's cruel to shackle someone to me when I'll be old and grey in such a short time," you admitted, finally giving voice to your doubts.

"Who says you'll get old and grey?" Mor asked. "Maybe there's a way for you to not age, we just haven't found it yet. And besides, it's Azriel's choice if he decides to pursue you, he would know the possible outcomes. You deserve to be happy, Y/N," Mor said softly, her own eyes shining with tears. "I know that you're stuck here, and you would prefer to be in the human lands, but you still deserve to have happiness here, and if that means having a partner? Then that's what you should do, sweets."

You sniffled at her words, willing your tears to not fall as you stroked M'aiq. "Maybe... Maybe you're right... But I still don't think he likes me in that way," you said quietly.

"Well, I think what you think is wrong. I've never seen Azriel smile as much as he does when he's with you," Mor giggled, causing you to do the same. "And the two of you look so cute together!"

"Mor, stop," you laughed. "I don't want to get my hopes up..."

"Okay, okay. I'm just saying..."

You scrunched your nose at her. "Different topic. Tell me how things have been going with the election?"

"Well..."

🤍💙💘💙🤍

Friday night you and Azriel had planned to spend the evening together, but you were surprised to see him on Wednesday evening, after knocking on your apartment door.

"Hello, Azriel," you greeted. "What are you doing here?" Your eyes darted down, seeing his shadows swirling around his legs, a few darting out to brush against your legs. But more interesting was the box in his hand, pink with a matching ribbon tied in a cute little bow wrapped around it.

"I, uhm-" Azriel stammered for a moment before taking a breath. "I came here today because I want to ask you on a date, Y/N."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart stopping. "I- what?"

Azriel's mouth tilted up in the corners. "I want to take you out on a date. I want to spend time with you, have a chance to court you. I like you, Y/N. And I was thinking we could go out for dinner on Friday night, if you decide to say yes."

Your brain short circuited. He- he likes you?

"I- Is this a joke?" You asked in a small voice, your heart bracing for the answer you were dreading.

Azriel's eyes saddened for a moment, his hands twitching where they were holding the box. "No, Y/N, I would never joke about this. I like you, very, very much. And I would very much like it if you joined me for dinner Friday night at seven," Azriel said softly, his eyes locked on yours. They shone with nothing but the truth, soothing your worries and sending heat to your cheeks.

A small smile slid onto your lips. "I... I'd like that very much, as well."

Azriel's smile at your words set your heart ablaze, the fire of your feelings stoked by the knowledge that he shared them as well. "Good, good. This is for you," Azriel said, placing the box into your hands once you held them out, his fingers brushing against yours. Just that little touch sent flutters through you, your blush deepening. "It's Elain's recipe, the white chocolate raspberry cake that you love," he explained. "I thought, even if you did not share my feelings, that you might like something sweet anyways," Azriel admitted, rubbing a hand against the back of his head.

"Thank you, Azriel," you said softly, touched that he would still care for you, even if you'd rejected him. "I'll... I'll see you at seven on Friday?" You asked shyly, still in disbelief.

"I'll see you then, Y/N," Azriel said, raising one of your hands and pressing his lips to the back of it. "Sleep well, dear."

Your heart thumped in your chest, hard enough you thought it might beat out of your chest. "You too," you said quietly, watching as he smiled once more at you, before disappearing down the stairs.

You shut the door, leaning against it after you locked it.

Had that really just happened?

Your eyes drifted down to the box in your hands, proof that Azriel had visited, had brought you it, had... Had...

Oh gods, you had no idea of what to do for a first date!

You set the box on a kitchen counter, opening it to see an adorable, heart shaped cake, decorated with pretty pink swirls of icing. It made you giddy, knowing that the cake was a present from a suitor. From Azriel. You cut a slice for yourself and grabbed a fork, taking the plate over to the table.

The cake was as delicious as you remembered, and M'aiq jumped onto the chair next to you, watching as you ate.

"If only you could give dating advice, little cutie," you mused, having another bite. No, you'd have to go see Mor for help.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning, you knew that Mor was in town, visiting the River House to give a report on the upcoming elections to Rhys and Feyre- early, too, before you started your work day.

You bundled up early, your nerves getting the better of you. You needed her advice, and you needed it before Friday. Which meant this morning was your only option, even if it meant going to the River House...

You entered your former home, filled with anxiety. There was no way to tell how this would go, given your last encounter with Feyre, but you were determined to get what you needed, and that was a conversation with Mor.

Luckily for you, she, Feyre and Rhys were sat at the dining table, having breakfast. Mor was chugging coffee until she saw you, setting her cup down and rushing out of her chair.

"Oh, Y/N! I'm so happy to see you!"

"I am too, Mor, I was-" You looked at Rhys and Feyre. "I was hoping I could talk to you, if that's alright?" You asked nervously.

Mor glanced back at the two of them before nodding. "That's fine, sweets, what did you need?"

"Uhh... Can we go outside, to talk?" Mor nodded and followed you to the front door, slipping on her coat before leaving the warmth of the River House. You walked a little bit away before talking, you didn't want anyone besides Mor to know. "Okay, so... Remember how you said that Azriel might like me...?"

"Oh mother!" Mor exclaimed. "He asked you out, didn't he?!"

You blushed and nodded your head. "Yes, last night, and for tomorrow night. But I- I've never been on a date before," you confessed, wringing your mittened hands together. "I don't know what to do, I don't know what's expected. I've never- I've never even been kissed!"

Mor placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Oh, hon! Nothing will be expected except for you to give it an honest try, and to be yourself! And as for never being kissed, I could change that," Mor offered, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You swatted her arm, shaking your head at her. "You're very pretty, Mor, but I don't like you that way," you giggled. "But... But what if he... What if he doesn't understand that I'm... saving myself," you whispered, "For marriage?"

"Y/N, if Azriel is in any way demanding sex from you, then he doesn't deserve you. I also don't think Azriel is that kind of male, he seems like a true gentlemale, in my opinion."

Her words soothed the anxieties in your chest, calming you down. "I don't think he would either," you said shyly. "But I... I also don't know what to wear."

Mor's eyes lit up even more, and she clapped her hands together. "Oh, oh! We can go shopping when you get off work today! I'll make sure I can stay in town until eight tonight, okay? And I'll see if I can come over tomorrow evening before you leave and help you get ready, if you'd like?" Mor asked.

"Really, Mor? That would be lovely," you said, hugging your friend. She squeezed you back. "Thank you, I'll see you at five, yes?"

"Yes you will, sweets. Now, you get to work, and I'll get back to that meeting. See you later!" Mor said with a wave, turning around the way you came.

Your shift passed incredibly slowly, your mind drifting to every way that the date could go right- and also wrong. You had nearly driven yourself crazy by the time you had washed up and left the building, Mor waiting by the door with two steaming cups of tea in each hand.

"Let's get shopping, sweets!" Mor said brightly, handing a tea to you and leading you to a dress store in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. It was a different one than you had gone to for your Starfall dress, for which you were thankful.

Mor lead you through the store, showing you dress after dress in styles and colors that you loved. All the while, she gave you little tips of advice, most of them along the lines of "be yourself and know that he is just as if not more nervous than you are."

After trying on ten different dresses, you settled on a rose pink silk dress with a modest neckline and floor length skirts. The sleeves billowed out before coming in at your wrists, the silk laying across your body in a flattering fashion. You could safely say that your body had filled out over the past month, what with you eating a small lunch at work and having dinner most nights. Your curves were more pronounced, a bit closer to how you had been before being taken to Velaris.

Mor had also insisted on buying you heeled boots in a matching shade of pink, a gold heart buckle keeping the strap in place. They were cute enough that you didn't fight her on accepting them.

She walked you home, parting with a strong hug and a promise to come by a bit after you got off work tomorrow.

But for tonight? You had another slice of cake, then snuggled up with M'aiq under the covers, using her purrs to chase away your racing thoughts.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍

"You look gorgeous, Y/N!" Mor squealed as she stood back, having put the finishing touches on your makeup. "What do you think?"

You looked in the mirror, taking in the very light blush on your cheeks, the softly glittering pale pink eyeshadow on your lids, brown eyeliner complimenting your eyes, making them look even softer than normal.

"I agree! You do an amazing job every time, Mor," you praised, standing to hug your friend tightly. "Thank you so much for helping me get ready, today and yesterday."

"Oh, sweets, it's no trouble at all! In fact, it's been so long since my own first date that it's bringing back this memories, how fluttery your stomach gets when you see them..." Mor sighed happily. "Well, I should get going, otherwise Keir will riot."

"When are the elections over, again?" You asked as you walked her to the door.

"In two weeks, thank the mother," Mor groaned. "Then I get a nice, long vacation for three weeks."

"Just two more weeks, you can do it!" You encouraged, wishing there was something you could do to make it shorter.

"Yes, I know... And you had better tell me everything that happens tonight!"

You giggled at her words. "I will, Mor!"

"Everything!" Mor yelled as she went down the stairs.

You shut the door looking at the clock. Half past six. That was plenty of time for you to feed M'aiq her dinner and get dressed. And luckily for you, cooking something would keep your mind occupied enough to not panic about Azriel's impending arrival.

Your little child was fed and your dress pulled onto your body, pink boots slid onto your feet. All you had left to put on was your cloak, mittens and scarf, but that could wait until right before you left. Five minutes passed dreadfully slowly, and at 6:57 you pulled on your winter gear and descended the stairs after saying goodbye to M'aiq.

Waiting for you just outside the building door was Azriel, a bouquet of roses- red, lavender and white- in his hands.

"Hi, Azriel," you said, a blush instantly coming to your cheeks at the sight of him in a fine black shirt and pants, a change from his normal Illyrian leathers. The shirt clearly showcased his physique, something that you could appreciate. He had no knife belt on him tonight, his waist looked a bit barren without it.

"Good evening, Y/N." He pressed a kiss to the back of your mittened hand before pressing the bouquet into your hands. "I thought you might like some flowers," he said with a small smile, one that you easily returned.

"I love flowers, and these are absolutely beautiful," you said, raising them to your face to smell them. "And they smell lovely as well."

"I'm glad to hear it. Would you like to take them upstairs, or my shadows can, if you'd like?"

You bit your lip. If you went back upstairs... You might chicken out. "If your shadows could take them, that would be nice." In the next moment, the bouquet was out of your hands, whisked away by his shadows to the vase in your apartment. "So, where are we going for dinner?" You asked, locking your arm with his after he held it out, your hand holding onto his muscled forearm.

"It's an Illyrian restaurant, I helped the owner and his cousin leave the camps sixty or so years ago, and I've found that, except for your cooking, it's my favorite restaurant in all Velaris," Azriel explained as you strolled towards the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

"Really? That's so amazing, that you're part of the reason their dreams came true," you said, even more enamored with the male beside you. "You're going to have to recommend things to me, I wouldn't know where to start," you giggled.

Azriel smiled down at you. "How about we share a couple of dishes? That way you can try whichever ones catch your eye."

You met his eyes, a smile on your own lips. "That sounds perfect, Azriel."

His eyes sparkled as he opened a door for you, a hand on your lower back guiding you through, sending a renewed flush to your face.

You were seated a moment later, in a cozy booth near the back of the restaurant, two menus placed on the table. Azriel ordered a pot of tea for the two of you to share, which warmed your heart.

He already knew you so well.

"Now, what sounds good to you, dear?" Azriel asked, the pet name sending your heart into overdrive.

You looked down at the menu, but with your excitement and still somewhat illiterate eyes, you were lost. You bit your lip for a moment before deciding what to do. "What if you order your favorites, because I am overwhelmed by choice?" You asked, relieved when Azriel nodded his head.

"That would be their beef stew, made with Illyria native vegetables and their roasted Illyrian trout with roasted vegetables. Do those sound good?" Azriel asked. You nodded your head- both of those sounded fantastic, and you were excited to see what he enjoyed most.

When the server returned with your tea, Azriel ordered the food before returning his attention to you, the weight of it making your breath catch in your throat.

"So..." You started, entirely unsure of what to say.

"I'm glad you decided to come out with me," Azriel said, his eyes soft as they met yours.

"I am too," you said shyly. "I'm still... Shocked that you asked me to come out, though."

A soft frown slipped onto Azriel's face, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. "Really? I'd thought..." Azriel's own face heated a bit. "I thought that I was rather obvious with my affections. I might be the spymaster of this court, but I'm woefully inept at hiding my own feelings, at least... When it comes to you," He admitted, voice low and gentle.

"So... We both like each other... And thought we were bad at hiding it?" You giggled.

"I suppose so," Azriel chuckled. "But truly, I am very happy that you're here tonight, with me. Now, tell me- How is M'aiq settling in?"

Now that was a subject that you could go on and on about, with only having her for a week now.

You had covered how she was doing wonderfully at your place by the time your food arrived, with Azriel dishing your plate for you. The gesture made you smile, all the little ways he took care of you already.

The food was absolutely fantastic, flavor bursting along your tongue. Both of the dishes were spicy, but not so much that you couldn't handle it.

Conversation flowed between the two of you as you ate, just as it always did. You talked about your dreams for the future, the few that you did have at this point, your brain already working Azriel into them- not that you admitted that to Azriel, it was a bit early for those sentiments. Azriel told you a bit more about his upbringing, glossing over the parts of his life before he had befriended Rhysand and been taken in by his mother. You didn't pry, but you were a little curious to know every part of his story, everything that had shaped him into the male you cared for.

Soon enough you were stuffed full of warm, delicious food, the plates in front of you empty. More than that, you were filled with joy from Azriel's company, from how he clung to your every word.

He led you from the restaurant, his hand placed on your lower back once more, the warmth of it radiating through the fabric of your dress. You walked along the Sidra slowly, leaning your head against Azriel's arm, trusting him to keep you from falling.

You were almost halfway home when you heard the most beautiful music, coming from two musicians playing next to a bar, one with a violin and the other with a cello. You slowed your pace, Azriel's arm tightening around you as you did so. Listening for a moment, and gazing up at the brilliantly shining stars above you, you had an idea.

"Azriel, would you dance with me?" You asked him quietly, tilting your head to look at him.

His eyes met yours, a smile glowing within them as well as covering his lips. "I'd be honored, Y/N. So long as you call me Az."

You smiled brightly at him. "It's a deal, Az." You let him turn you in his arms, clasping your right hands together and placing a light hand on your waist. Your other hand came to rest on his shoulder, grasping it lightly.

The two of you swayed together in a small circle to the lovely music, the light of the stars shining down on you.

It was the date of your dreams, if you were being honest. Lovely conversation and food, and such a romantic partner, willing to dance in the snow with you because you asked.

So when you finally arrived at your apartment, you were a bit sad the date was ending. But more than anything, you were excited for everything that lay in the future for the two of you.

Azriel smiled down at you softly, his eyes warm despite the cold temperatures. His wings twitched behind him, just before he leaned in a bit.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked as one of his hands came to cup your cheek gently, so, incredibly gently.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. He leaned in further, allowing you to close the last, tiny gap between your lips.

And when you did, you knew that you would never be the same. His lips were so soft against yours, so gentle and sweet that it stole your breath away.

Your mouth followed for a moment when he pulled away, your eyes fluttering open- you hadn't even realized you'd closed them.

"If it's fine by you, I'd like to see you when you get off work tomorrow," Azriel suggested softly, gaze flicking between your lips and eyes.

"I'd like that," you whispered into the space between you, the tilt of his lips more than worth having to speak so soon after such a life changing kiss.

"It's a date," Azriel said with a smile. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Az," you breathed, unlocking the door of your building. He waited to leave until you were safely inside, the door locked behind you.

You just managed to get into your apartment before you collapsed against the door, overwhelmed by just how perfect the night had been. How perfect Az had been.

🤍💙💝💙🤍

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#can't help falling in love #the afterthought #acotar x archeron!reader #acotar x reader fluff #acotar x reader #archeron!reader #fluff #acotar fic #acotar #acotar fanfic #angst #azriel x archeron!reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #tato writes

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