#I will twist a twisted into the shape of a pretzel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

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 one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k

a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here

── .✦

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?”

“Fuck– sorry. One sec.”

He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him.

You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question.

The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up.

“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor.

The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble.

Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.”

She shrugs, “Need a snack.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead.

“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.”

“Candy?”

“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”

She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options.

Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.”

And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf.

You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.”

Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable.

You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.”

“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.”

Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast.

“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides.

“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees.

A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid.

Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”

She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.”

When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them.

“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.”

“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again.

It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?”

Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see.

Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare.

You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much.

“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory.

Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission.

“You want to?” He asks.

She nods, then adds, “Snack too?”

“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks.

“Fruit snacks or pretzels?”

Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out.

You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.

He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.”

Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily.

“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.

And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix.

Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back.

“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door.

She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”

You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met.

She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs.

“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?”

She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.

“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper.

She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.”

“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?”

“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.”

“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?”

She hums no and strains to tear off a piece.

“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork.

“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down.

She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.”

“Why only sometimes?”

She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve.

“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit.

Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?”

You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.”

“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.

“No? Why’s that?”

“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.”

“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?”

Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.

“Why not?”

“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.”

“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?”

“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.

You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?”

Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway.

You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.

“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?”

“I’m coloring my family.”

“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!”

“What? Why’s that silly?”

She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!”

“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?”

“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”

“What! Why does he think that?”

Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.”

“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”

She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!”

“It is! You can’t tell?”

She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head.

You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”

Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?”

“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.

The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe?

“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”

“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?”

She bobs her head animatedly.

“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.”

“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?”

“Well, does she live with you?”

Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”

“She sort of lives with you?”

“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do.

“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”

“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!”

Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age.

“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask.

“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling.

“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.”

“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green.

“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.

“White!”

“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?”

“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.”

You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?”

“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”

“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone.

“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.”

You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him.

Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope.

“Your dad is very right about that.”

She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”

“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!”

And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying.

The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior.

Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze.

Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.”

“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”

She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.”

Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.”

“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts.

“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.”

He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.”

She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?”

His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”

Penelope huffs.

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?”

She looks at you like you might object. “Here.”

If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child. “That okay?” He asks you.

“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure.

“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.”

You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”

Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously.

The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad.

She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open.

Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care.

A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.”

She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”

“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction.

Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.”

“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee.

“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you.

You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”

“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”

“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.

“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.

She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti.

“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple.

Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love.

“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them.

Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”

Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for helping me clean!”

Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?”

His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”

“A million? Surely not.”

“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise.

His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.”

You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”

A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.”

Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside.

“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful.

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”

“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap.

“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him.

“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.”

You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk.

“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light.

Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”

“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.”

“I can! I did at school!”

“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.”

Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door.

“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours.

“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.”

“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.”

Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him.

You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?”

“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell.

“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope.

“I’m gonna look for frogs.”

She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers.

“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.”

“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.

You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile.

“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”

“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!”

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.

Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.”

Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape.

He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.”

She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”

“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.

He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his.

“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.”

“Better help her look then.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness.

“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”

“Well, maybe next time.”

You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time.

You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer.

“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?”

“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”

“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.”

“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”

“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.”

“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features.

He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?”

“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side.

“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door.

You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!”

“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.”

“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds.

A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things #dad steve harrington #coworker steve harrington

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megalomaniacz · 19 days ago

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CAITLYN “KILLSHOT” KIRAMMAN 🏀 PT2

basketball caitlyn x cheerleader reader

pt 1

smut, top!cait x bottom!reader

“be my date to this party my friend is throwing?”

you couldn’t say no, not that you wanted to, but you really did owe her. plus, you had nothing to do this weekend but homework and sulking rewatching the same episodes of the same show while stuffing your face with popcorn, so you said yes.

she told you she’d pick you up at 9 and you were ready by 4:30. the anxiety of the night twisting your stomach into pretzel-like knots. you take a small breath as you leave your dorm and walk out to the front. it was 8:59 but it seemed like she’d been sitting there a while. you hurry to the car and get in her passenger’s seat, hands placed neatly in your lap.

“you excited?” she asks. eyes focused on the road ahead. you let out a small “yes” before she turns her music up and you both sit in silence on the way.

you show up to a house you’d never been to before. there were a couple parties you attended, but never one quite like this. the house was huge, it had the kind of staircase that was shaped like a spiral. there were free drinks everywhere, and the music was blowing from a huge set of speakers. you saw a group of people in the corner smoking weed, and even recognized your cheermates mingling in the kitchen.

caitlyn grabbed your hand and led you upstairs where it was a bit quieter. she opened the door to a room all the way down the hallway where two other people sat sharing a bottle. “hello everyone, let me introduce you to my new friend.”

“the cheer girl. i recognize you.” one of them says and it makes you wish you could melt into the floor. “be nice, vi, it wasn’t her fault.” caitlyn sits next to her, pawing for a drink. “whatever you say, cupcake.” vi responds, giving her the bottle. caitlyn then passes it to you, and you take a large drink, knowing this night will be long.

the night went on smoothly after a couple drinks. you’d left the room to go to the bathroom when you found yourself back downstairs dancing against another basketball player to an rnb song. you closed your eyes, feeling the music.

after thirty seconds you could feel someone pull you aside. the figure drags you to the bathroom before your vision clears and you realize it’s caitlyn. “what’s the matter kiramman?” you furrow your brows.

she seems angry, the type of angry people try their best to hide. you could see her face turning red and her knuckles turning white. she nearly talks between gritted teeth.

“why the fuck were you dancing with that witch?”

you take a very loud gulp. turning yourself around to face the mirror. her hands are at both of your sides so you can’t slip away, and you can feel the anxiety start to sober you up. “who was i dancing with? is there a problem with dancing?”

you can feel her growing angrier with you, her dress just above her knees. her heels making her tower over you. she turns you around and places a firm hand under your chin. “there’s a problem when you’re dancing with maddie and you came here as my date.”

suddenly you feel flush. your body growing weak under her gaze. that was caitlyn’s ex. how could you have not known? how embarrassing. you open your mouth to apologize, but instead, feel a push on your stomach. caitlyn steps back as you run over to the toilet and hack up a mixture of whatever you’d been snacking on to calm your nerves earlier today. she put a hand on the back of your head and began to shush you.

“i think it’s time for us to go.”

you couldn’t believe you were apologizing once again to caitlyn. how many mistakes were you gonna make to piss her off? she hushed you as she ushered you out of the house, sitting you in the passengers seat. five minutes into the ride you were fully sober, and realized you were not headed back to your dorm.

caitlyn pulled into the parking lot of her apartment, then opened the door to help you out of the car. you both silently walk up the stairs hand in hand until you reach her door. she unlocks it and you both walk in. all the lights are off except for a dim lamp in the living room and some leds in the hallway.

she slumps on the couch and you sit next to her. another apology falling from your lips.

“i’m so-“

“sorry? you’ve been incredibly sorry the last few days, but things don’t seem to change, huh? you keep embarrassing me.” caitlyn interrupts.

you feel your heart sink and your eyes begin to water. it was true, you just kept making mistakes. you were sure you’d be the topic of discussion tomorrow. caitlyn’s date dancing with her ex? how much messier can things get?

“i promise i’ll make it up to you.” you start as you notice her beginning to take her jewelry off. she unbuckles her belt and slips off her short black denim jacket. “oh yeah?” she asks, stretching her neck. you get closer to her, hands reaching out towards her face. “i’ll give you a massage. i’ll do your taxes. please…i’m so sorry.”

she leans in closer to you, a smirk on her face as she grabs yours and pulls you in for a kiss. you feel your heart beating faster, hands growing sweaty, as if the wind had been knocked out of you. her lips were so soft you melted into them. tasting hints of mint on her tongue.

when you pull away you catch a glint in her eyes. the way she’s looking at you now is far different than earlier. she bites her lip, pulling her hair out of her face. “you really wanna make it up to me?”

you nod your head, and she’s on top of you, straddling your waist as she kisses down your jaw to your neck leaving marks on your chest. you close your eyes, melting into her touch. the pleasure causing you to push your legs together. shallow breaths come out as she notices and begins to spread them apart with her knees.

“fuck.” you whine, feeling exposed. you were wearing an oversized shirt as a dress with nothing but tights underneath. she grabs at them, ripping a hole around your heat. when you open your mouth in defense of your tights, she shushes you. “i’ll buy you more.”

she then tugs your underwear to the side and latches her tongue onto your heat. mouth pushed into you as if you were running away. which you were, squirming under her stomach twisting pleasure. you could feel it in your thighs and your arms. the way her tongue twisted against you. her mouth sucking up your slick.

and as if that wasn’t enough, she inserted her middle finger, pulsing at your g spot. it causes you to cry out her name. “ca- caitlyn.” you whimper. she pulls away for a second to look up at you. beautiful blue eyes piercing through yours. as you open your mouth to say something else, she inserts another finger, cutting you off.

your back arches as you try to take it like a good girl. hands digging into her couch while you buck up into her mouth. her grip on you is tighter now. one hand fucking into you while the other wraps itself around your thigh pulling you in. you can’t help but cry out to her. feeling your climax approaching.

“fuck m’gonna.” you breath out. your hands tangle themselves in her hair, legs shaking as she has you seeing fucking stars.

you can feel the orgasm bubbling up when suddenly she pulls away from you, spitting on your cunt and sucking it back up before wiping her lips off with the back of her hand. she takes her fingers out, cleaning them with her tongue, and looks up at your poor pathetic face.

“now we’re even.”

#bunnie can speak? ☆#bun’s asks ꕤ #bun’s anons ˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐 #sapphic #lesbian #wlw post #wlw #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn smut #top!caitlyn #bottom!reader #arcane fanfic #cait x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman x you

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dollwrites · 2 years ago

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𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 — 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!housekeeper!reader, this is a dark fic, dub con, power imbalance, suggested age gap, rough sex, gagging, creampie / basically forced breeding, enji is a big meanie, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ dabi was supposed to be my first mha character but daddy won sorry. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

for once, during your shifts in the Todoroki household, you were breathing easy. you hum, quietly to yourself, as you scrub each dish, before rinsing the suds away to stack it in the draining rack. usually, you were already aching, with your face shoved in a couch cushion with your ass in the air, taking whatever Enji felt like you deserved that day. more often than not, you’d be crying by the time he finished, and tossed you into the floor like a discarded cumrag, smelling like him and shuddering. you told yourself you only kept coming back because you needed the money, but there were other jobs out there. nicer families to work for.

it was the fear that had a grip on you.

when Enji would bark your name, you would always freeze. he only ever acknowledged you when he needed someone to drain his balls anyways, so you knew what you would be doing for the next hour or so.

you were glad that ( it seemed like ) today would be easier on your body than normal. Enji hadn’t left his bedroom yet, and you were almost finished with the dishes. you had to mop the floors and tidy up the bedrooms, and then you could finally leave.

but the running water in the sink silences his usually too-heavy-to-miss footsteps, and you had no idea Enji was coming until you felt his warmth radiating against your back and your eyes widen. “M—Mister Todoroki, I didn’t hear you come i—“

“Stick your little ass out more,” he rasped, one massive hand pawing at your waist, thumb digging into your tummy to bend you into an arch, and you whine as you comply, gripping the platter tight in one hand and the sponge in the other, “the hell ‘m I paying you so goddamn much for, again? There’s cheaper housemaids, you know.”

“S��sir—“

his free hand hooks around your throat and guides your head back to rest the crown against his sternum, pretzeling you into an unnatural S shape and you cower below his massive form. the expanse of his chest seems miles long from this angle, his harsh features twisted into a wicked scowl. you squint, trying not to lock on to his furious eyes, and stared at his mouth instead. “P—please—“

Enji doesn’t even hear your pathetic, little plea, pushing his gargantuan body against yours, he pins you to the countertop, knocking the breath out of you.

“You’re a tight, little cocksleeve, so you’re worth just a little bit more than those old bags that clean twice as good as you do.” he snarls, hunching over to smear his open mouth over your forehead, and a wave of hot breath tickles your countenance, “but you’d better remember that and start acting like the pricey, set of fuckholes you are. If your back’s not arched, and that ass isn’t on display for me at all times going forward, I’m gonna start cutting your pay. You’ll take twice the cock, though. Am I clear?”

with your bottom lip trembling, you nod with wide eyes, holding the plate closer to your chest. you weren’t sure why you still gripped it, other than you simply needed something to hold on to, something to use as a shield, even if it was a useless one.

Enji quirked a brow, tilted his head of one side, and skewed his lips to bare his teeth. “My question requires a verbal response, whore.”

eyes big and nervous, you release the plate and sponge and allow them to slip back into the soapy water, splashing your top as they do so, but you try to wrap your smaller hands around his forearm when you feel his fingers wanting to tighten around your neck, threatening for you to submit to him or face the severe consequences. “Y—yes sir!” you stammer, holding on to the hardest muscle you’ve ever felt contract under your fingertips.

the hand on your waist careens downward and forces its way between your thighs, and you squirm when calloused fingertips, as rough as sandpaper, rub hard against your panties, “I thought I told you about this, too.” he hisses, coaxing a damp patch against his fingers as he kneads your sensitive sex through the lingerie. you whimper; Enji had made it beyond clear— panties were forbidden. that way, he could easily bend you over any piece of furniture in his home and fuck you without the irritation of having to strip you first. but the skirt he demanded you wear as part of your uniform was much too short, and when you scrubbed the floors on your hands and knees, if you weren’t wearing anything underneath, every inch of your most vulnerable section was exposed. you were embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, wriggling atop his hand. even though he’s much too rough with your softer, more fragile body, it reacts by pooling slick, attempting to ease the friction he’s causing. “T—the skirt is just so short, I—“

“How many times?” he barks, effectively shutting you up as he wraps his fist around the waistband, “How many times have I had to rip them off of you?”

a soft plea for mercy dies on your tongue. a lot. so many times that you were running out of undies. “T—too many…”

with one, brisk jerk, he’s shredded the fabric, pulling the wad of damp cotton from between your legs in his fist. your body’s jostled by the force, and you gasp, knocked off balance, but pinned too tight against the sink to fall.

“And you still wore them today?”

“I won’t wear them anymore,” you add in a desperate breath. “I— I promise I won’t, p— please don’t be angry with me, I’ll be goo—!“ you were tripping over your own words, terrified of what he had in mind for a punishment. his voice was husky and diabolically low, all of his muscles taut, and you were most afraid of being on the receiving end of his strength if he took the notion to strangle you; you were in a most compromising position. however, your promise to behave is cut off as he jams your own, tattered panties into your mouth, using his thick, long digits to shove the fabric all the way to the back of your throat, and your bargaining melts into a helpless gurgling. the tips of his fingers tease the gag reflex he knew was there, and your eyes well up with tears as you stare up at him, attempting ( and failing ) to push the lingerie out with your tongue. it was only after he pulled his fingers free that you bite down on the underwear, and taste yourself.

“I don’t have the time to punish you properly,” he growls, shoving you further over the sink. you’re swept off your feet, and they dangle a few inches from the floor, the very tips of your toes barely dragging against it, hands scrambling to find solidity, and planting your palms against the bottom of the sink, soapy water sloshing, soaking your shirt, overflowing into the floor. “I’ve got somewhere to be, but, I need a fuck first.” the way he said it made your stomach turn. he wasn’t asking. he wasn’t even trying to pretend that you had a say in what he did with your body. he reaches between your bodies to retrieve his cock, which you are not surprised is already solid and mighty ( you swore he was hard every time he got the chance to degrade you ), and without so much as a moment for you to suck in a breath and prepare yourself, he forces his way inside.

he was so fucking big.

you whimper, blinking back tears. had you not been gagged with your own panties, you would’ve screamed. no matter how many times he used you, your body never adjusted to just how thick he was. your walls have no choice but to stretch to their limit, kissing every angry vein, sealing around his base when he bottoms out. you swear, with the force he likes to drive himself into you, and his impossible size, he must not care if he bursts through your belly. it definitely felt like he might— there was a distinct pressure against your lower abdomen, and you knew that had you not been smushed against the countertop, the shape of his cock would bulge against your navel.

Enji groans, dropping his head back. “You’ve still got the tightest cunt I’ve ever conquered,” he may have meant it as a compliment, but you could do very little besides yowl through your gag and kick your feet as he pounds you, hard and fast, desperately trying to find something to hold on to that wasn’t water, “she never quite gets used to my cock, does she? Still too big for her?” you could hear the splashing as the dishwater rains down on the floor, and you knew that once he was done with you, you would still have to clean up the mess he was making.

nodding, you try to reach both hands down between your legs, instead. you couldn’t pull him out, you knew that, but you could try and soothe your poor, abused sex by cupping it with one hand, your other trying to push against his herculean thigh in hopes to slow him down.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your throat and grabbing both of your arms at the elbows, jerking your hands away from your own body. with a pitiful whine, you clench your fists as he wrenches your arms back, and uses the new leverage to toss you back and forth, meeting his merciless fucking, “the way you clench when you’re trying to handle my cock…” leaning with all of his weight against your back, he pants into the shell of your ear, “it only makes me want to fuck your useless, little brains out. Harder, and faster.” each word is emphasized as he does just that, pounding you so brutally that you see stars behind your eyelids, shaking you back and forth violently— to the point it made you lightheaded. you squeal and beg and choke on your gag, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, tears on your cheeks.

you didn’t want to admit it ( and couldn’t, even if you wanted to ), but the constant battering of his thick tip into a cluster of delicate nerves had driven you over the edge. it was relentless, the way he destroyed your body and your mind; each time his cock hit the bundle in you, your eyelids fluttered, and your brain turned to mush.

somewhere amidst the cruel and bestial assault, you’d dropped off. you fell apart, legs shaking and core pulsing, milking him more fervently, until you gave into the intensity of the orgasm and your eyes rolled back.

he saw this, and moaned in approval, “Don’t black out, slut. I’m about to flood your guts.” his cock was throbbing when he gave you his deepest, hardest thrusts. you yelp in protest when the head of his cock bumps your cervix, but you could do absolutely nothing to stop it, not with the mountainous man holding you down with every last ounce of his weight. you simply had to take the pressure, and rope after rope of warmth that he shoots into you. your toes curl when he pulls back to slam himself home one last time, and the last few spurts of his release dribble out of your quivering hole when he pulls out.

letting go of your arms and stepping back, he tucks himself back into his uniform as you collapse. first, into the sink, and then, when your feet hit the floor, your knees buckle and you slide into a trembling, messy heap in the floor. you can feel the puddle of soapy water under your bum, it’s soaked the rug, too. exhausted, panting, with your thighs vibrating and your sex clenching uncontrollably, you sag against the side of the cabinet door. you shy closer to it, trying to meld into the wooden panel when Enji steps closer, and grabs your chin to tilt it up. your panties still lodged in your mouth, you look up at him with glassy eyes, wincing at his very touch.

“You’re staying late tonight, after you’ve finished your cleaning duties I want you to wait for me to come home and ruin you again, on your knees by the door like a proper whore.” he says, in a matter-of-fact baritone. you nod slowly.

you were, once again, fucked into complete obedience.

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strnilolover · 26 days ago

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NNN - baker!matt - pregnancy cravings

Pregnancy had turned your cravings into tiny adventures — ones Matt never hesitated to take on. Every craving, no matter how specific or inconvenient, became a mission for him to make you happy. His dedication wasn’t just about food; it was about showing love in the sweetest way possible.

001 - Pretzel’s

It was just after midnight, and you were wide awake. You couldn’t get comfortable, shifting every minute until you finally gave up — staring at the ceiling. You tried to think of things to help you drift off for the night, matt’s sleeping figure next to you should’ve lulled you to sleep a while ago — but it didn’t.

But as you continued to look at the ceiling, a strong craving hit you like a lightning bolt — soft, warm pretzels. The kind sprinkled with coarse salt, dipped into cheese sauce, and melting in your mouth. You groaned, turning over in bed.

The action made Matt stirred beside you, his head turning to look at you as he blinked his eyes heavily. His sleepy voice breaking the silence after a moment. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” he said, his voice rough.

You looked at him the best you could through the darkness in the room. “I can’t stop thinking about pretzels,” you admitted, feeling silly.

He raised a brow, a teasing smile forming on his lips. “Pretzels, huh?”

You nodded sheepishly, hating the fact that you woke Matt up now because of yourself. “Yeah, but it’s late. Forget I said anything.”

Matt shook his head, “Not a chance.” He said, slowly sitting up, rubbing his face before slipping out of bed and pulling on a hoodie. “You’re getting pretzels.”

You sat up, watching him. The feeling of guilt starting to prick at your gut. “Matt, you don’t have to—”

He held up a hand, silencing you. “I’m not running out to some chain store. I’m making them for you, and they’re going to be better than anything you’d buy.” he said softly, turning to navigate through the room until he made his way out the door. You slipped out of bed yourself, slipping your slippers on as you followed behind.

You followed him to the kitchen, watching as he moved with sleepy but determined precision. He mixed flour, yeast, and water, kneading the dough with steady hands. After letting it rest, he shaped it into perfect twists, brushing them with butter and popping them into the over that was already heated.

The oven filled the kitchen with a warm, toasty aroma. Matt yawned but didn’t stop, whisking up a cheese sauce as the pretzels baked. When he finally pulled them out, their golden-brown color made your mouth water. He quickly sprinkled the coarse salt on top of them, then putting the cheese sauce into a bowl before plating it.

“Fresh and homemade,” he said, setting a plate in front of you. “What do you think?”

Quickly you dipped a piece into the cheese sauce and took a bite, moaning in delight. “These are amazing. You’re amazing.”

Matt chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Anything for my girls.”

002 - Pancake’s

It was the middle of the week, and the world was going about its day — but all you could think about were pancakes. Specifically, fluffy, golden pancakes topped with fresh berries and whipped cream. But you didn’t want just any pancakes; you wanted Matt’s pancakes.

When he came home from the bakery, you greeted him with an almost guilty expression. “Hey, babeee.” you sang, dragging out the pet name as you looked at him.

“What’s up?” he asked, setting his bag down and pulling you into a hug. His arms were strong and comforting, his clothes still smelling like the bakery which only triggered your craving even more.

Your face was pressed against his chest as you smiled. “I really want pancakes,” you blurted out against him, pulling back to tilt your head up.

Matt grinned. “Pancakes?” he teased, bringing his face down to press his lips against your temple in a soft kiss. When he pulled back, he smiled down at you. “I think i can do that baby.”

And soon enough, you followed him into the kitchen, watching as he tied on his favorite apron. He grabbed ingredients with practiced ease, pouring flour, sugar, and buttermilk into a mixing bowl. He whisked the batter until it was smooth and poured it onto a sizzling griddle.

You were always amazed at how easy it was for him to make such things in quick time — watching as Matt flipped the pancakes with precision. You sat there with your head in one of your hands, the other rubbing your swollen belly.

You loved watching him in his own environment, how happy he got even if it was to make the things you wanted. Soon enough, he plated a stack, layering them with berries and a generous swirl of whipped cream. Then, just because he knew you so well, he drizzled a little maple syrup over the top.

When he set the plate in front of you, your stomach practically growled. “These look better than a restaurant’s,” you said, digging in, groaning as the food hit your tastebuds.

“I love you so much.” you said, your words muffled by a bite of food. Matt chuckled, “I love you too baby..both of you.” he said, resting a hand against your stomach as you continued to eat.

003 - Cookie’s

You were curled up on the couch one evening, enjoying the show you had turned on the tv. Your hands instinctively rubbing small circles across your belly, gasping softly when you would feel the soft flutters and kicks against your hands.

When the craving hit: warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies — You could almost taste the melty chocolate and buttery dough, the thought consuming your mind. But, you wanted Matt’s homemade cookies.

Your head turned in the direction to where Matt was sitting, his nose buried in the pages of a book. “Matt baby?” you spoke, the sudden noise startling him slightly, making him look up from his book.

He gently set the book down with a knowing smile. “Yeah sweetheart?” he said, slowly getting up and making his way over to you, crouching in front of your sitting figure. “Can you make cookies?..but not any kind, chocolate chip ones?” you asked shyly — it was still hard to ask for things a little.

Matt nodded, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Of course i can baby, anything for you.” Without another word, he got up and headed to the kitchen.

You stayed in your spot on the couch, too warm and comfortable to move and the thought of ruining your comfort made you cringe. You could hear the sound of bowls and trays clinking, along with measuring cups and ingredients being poured into the bowls.

As the cookies started to bake, the smell filled the house, making your mouth water. “You should bottle that scent,” you teased as you spoke in the direction of the kitchen, loud enough for him to hear you. “I’d wear it as perfume.”

Matt’s laughter filtered into the living room, the sound of him pulling the tray out of the oven came right along with it. A few moments laster, he came back into the living room, holding a tray of breath golden brown cookies that looked delicious.

“Be careful baby, they’re still kind of hot.” he warned, and you acknowledged it, making sure to blow the cookie off before taking a bite out of it. The chocolate oozed, melting away in the warmth of your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you said, closing your eyes. “These are better than I imagined.”

“Good,” Matt said, leaning down to steal a bite from your cookie. “Because I made enough to last you through the week.”

004 - Mac and Cheese

The rain pattered softly against the windows, casting a cozy gray light over the living room. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, but no amount of cozy could compete with the craving that had been building for hours: mac and cheese. Not just any mac and cheese—Matt’s mac and cheese. The kind that was creamy, cheesy, and baked with that perfectly crispy breadcrumb topping. Just thinking about it made your stomach rumble.

Matt walked into the room, drying his hair with a towel from showering just moments ago. He noticed the way you were staring out the window, looking distracted.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asked, leaning against the arm of the couch.

You sighed, giving him a sheepish smile. “I want your baked mac and cheese.”

His face lit up, his grin soft and knowing. “Mac and cheese, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, shifting in your seat. “But only the baked one with the crunchy topping. You make it the best.”

“Well,” he said, pulling the blanket off your lap and giving your belly a quick rub, “you’re lucky I love you, because I wasn’t planning on cooking today. But how can I say no to my girls?”

You followed him into the kitchen, settling at the counter as he began pulling out ingredients. Watching Matt cook was always mesmerizing — he moved with such precision, each movement purposeful and confident. He tied on his apron and shot you a playful wink before getting to work.

First, he boiled a pot of water and tossed in the pasta, his favorite brand of elbow macaroni. While that cooked, he set up a saucepan to make the cheese sauce. You watched as he melted butter, whisked in flour to create a roux, and then gradually poured in milk, his wrist moving smoothly as the sauce thickened.

“This is where the magic happens,” he said, grinning as he reached for blocks of cheese. He grated a mix of sharp cheddar, mozzarella, and Parmesan, folding them into the sauce with care. The cheese melted into silky, golden perfection, and he dipped a spoon in for a taste.

“Want to try?” he asked, holding the spoon out to you.

You leaned forward, blowing on the sauce before tasting it. The richness of the cheese mixed with the creamy texture made your eyes close in satisfaction. “That’s amazing,” you murmured, licking your lips.

Matt chuckled. “Good. It’s about to get better.”

Once the pasta was drained, he tossed it into the cheese sauce, folding it together until every piece was coated. The kitchen filled with the mouthwatering smell of melted cheese as he poured the mixture into a baking dish. Then came your favorite part: the topping. Matt mixed breadcrumbs with a little melted butter and a pinch of Parmesan, sprinkling it evenly over the top.

“This is what makes it the best,” he said, smoothing out the topping with the back of a spoon.

Into the oven it went, and the wait felt like an eternity. The two of you stood in the kitchen, chatting about your day, but your eyes kept flicking to the oven, waiting for the top to turn golden and crispy.

Finally, the timer dinged, and Matt pulled the dish out with a flourish. The mac and cheese bubbled at the edges, the breadcrumbs perfectly golden. He set it on the counter, letting it cool for a moment before serving you a bowl.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he warned, sliding the bowl toward you.

You didn’t care about the heat. You dug your fork in, pulling up a cheesy, crispy bite and blowing on it quickly before popping it into your mouth. The combination of creamy pasta and crunchy topping was everything you’d dreamed of. You let out a satisfied groan, resting your hand on your belly. “Matt, this is ridiculous. How are you this good?”

He leaned against the counter, watching you with a smug grin. “Years of practice — and a little extra love just for you.”

You took another bite, savoring it before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

Matt laughed, reaching over to brush a kiss to your temple. “Good. Because I plan on spoiling you like this for the rest of our lives.”

That night, curled up on the couch with Matt beside you and a second helping of mac and cheese in your bowl, you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were. It wasn’t just about the food—it was about the love and care behind every bite. And with Matt, there was no shortage of that.

a/n : ik this is a little different but this was the only way i could see it in my head. also i was going to write a 5th one but then didn’t. but enjoy these!!

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metranart · 3 months ago

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I Can(’t) Fix You <3

ft. Yandere! Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto

I CAN fix you, keep thinking Satoru as he saw Geto doing the shot but missing the loop with the basketball.

I CAN fix you, mused Satoru when Geto missed the mark once again and let the maid be kidnapped.

I CAN fix you, pondered Gojo when Professor Yaga told him Geto had become a mass murderer.

I CAN fix you, internalized Gojo when Geto meet him in those streets of Tokyo just turned into a high ranked criminal.

I CAN fix you, planned Gojo when gave himself the task of finding Geto’s cult and find his way back to his arms.

I CAN fix you, schemed Gojo when he set that trap that finally brought Geto back to him.

I CAN fix you, promised Gojo to a tied up Geto, his wrist strapped to Satoru's headboard as he stared at him as if not even a day had passed since the last time they saw each other.

I CAN fix you, assured Gojo as he dipped the tip inside Geto’s tight ring of flesh, and he squirmed under his weight.

I CAN fix you, keep repeating Gojo as he fucked into Geto without the slightest restrain or care.

I CAN fix you, brooded to his best friend as he twisted him as a pretzel to bottom down on him better.

I CAN fix you, Gojo panted between every thrust until his own cum pushed him out of the raven-haired sorcerer.

I CAN fix you, he openly shared to a tied up Geto who merely laughed at his delusions with a shake of his head. “Noone can fix me, Satoru. But I urge you to keep trying.” It was all a joke to him, yet Satoru kept trying.

I CAN fix you, Satoru kept pressing, night after night, in the middle of the day, before twilight… at all hours, at all times.

I CAN fix you, he stressed into Geto’s hair, desperate and sobbing as he carved the shape his cock inside him, relentlessly pounding at the rhythm of a mass murderer's breathless laugh.

I CAN’T fix you, Satoru ended up whispering to the mirror, the reflection in there the only man he could actually never fix.

PATREON / TWITTER

#satosugu #gojo x geto #jjk smut #jjk drabbles #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #artists on tumblr #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk geto #geto suguru #jjk #fanfiction #fanfic #geto x gojo #satoru x suguru #suguru x satoru #yandere gojo #jjk yandere

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dollypopup · 6 months ago

Text

This fandom gets more bent out of shape and upset about that entrapment line than Penelope herself does

one day peeps who get soooo mad at Colin for very easily understandable statements will finally just admit that they don't like him instead of twisting into pretzels to justify why they're so angry at him. y'all don't like him, but Penelope does. she loves him and tries to understand him, she was upset that she hurt him and she extended empathy to him in light of such, which is why her only response to it is 'I didn't mean to trap you, Colin, I love you', and YOUR response is to write fic after fic foaming at the mouth blowing a singular statement out of proportion and using a meangirl Fanon Penelope as a mouthpiece for your own bitterness

Penelope Bridgerton loves Colin. And knows she's hurt him and wants to heal that hurt. She wouldn't vibe with a fanbase who demonizes him the way we have

#polin #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #if i see another stupid fic about 'oh she should call off the wedding!' i may scream #y'all don't understand this couple #it's all 'oh forgiveness and growth and having empathy and understanding!!!' when it comes to any other character #but colin says ONE thing that isn't perfect in his spiral of grief learning he'd been lied to and hurt by the woman he loves #and suddenly it's 'she should call it off!!!!!'#this fandom BEEN used Penelope as a sock puppet to voice their fury and immaturity about conflict #anyone who hurts her feelings (whether that's in response to her hurtful actions first or otherwise)? THROW THEM AWAY #like that's not how love works #that's not how relationships work #this fandom loooooves talking about healthy our couple is and then write them in a way where she's emotionally abusive to him #miss me with all that mess #penelope bridgerton is hissing at y'all

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mrsjellymunson · 5 months ago

Note

Hi kittie Hope you're well

Imagine going on a picnic date with eddie after the food he lays his head back on your thighs you softy begin to place flowers in his hair

A Crown For Your King

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

WC: ~950 || CW: None, other than mentions of food (no descriptions of eating), although this is extraordinarily fluffy so if you’re worried about dental caries perhaps take heed 😉 || A/N: Oh, this is such a lovely idea @celestialbat! I hope you like it 💗 Also, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to reshare this insanely beautiful and rather gloriously appropriate piece of art by @themultiverseofmars 😉😘

😘☀️🌸🌼🌺🌾🧺🍽🥪🍓🍰🫐🥨🍖🧀🥕🍅🥜🍏🍎🍇📸🐛

Eddie’s not usually one for cuteness and fluff - he’d normally take someone to The Hideout, or spend time in his van out by Lover’s Lake. Not because he doesn’t want to, more because he doesn’t know how, and can’t take the risk of embarrassing himself.

But with you, it’s different.

Before you, he reckons he wouldn’t’ve known how to be romantic if his life depended on it. But now, he’s finding he loves to do things to make you laugh, to make you blush, even just to make you smile, and he doesn’t even care if he makes himself look like an idiot.

So today, he’s packed up as much of a romantic picnic as he can manage. He’s borrowed a basket and cooler from Steve, along with some tips on what to pack, after he admitted he was just going to get Twinkies and chips from Melvald’s. Steve’s even let him raid his fridge for a few things.

He’s shaken out the blankets from the back of his van, and has brought a few throw pillows from the trailer, so you’ll have something comfortable to sit on. There’s camping plates and cutlery, usually reserved for Wayne’s fishing trips, so you don’t have to pick things out of packets, and he’s bought your favourite soda. He’s even folded kitchen paper into bird-like shapes, so they stand up on their own - fancy.

You think he’s just taking you to the local park, maybe collecting something from Benny’s on the way, but he surprises you, swinging the van along one of the exit roads to a ‘secret spot’ outside of town.

It’s a pretty meadow, down a quiet lane, filled with tall grass and wildflowers.

He takes your hand and helps you down from the cab with a polite ‘my dear’, and insists on carrying everything himself, even though you offer to help (and, as you suspected he might, he almost trips twice).

He chooses a patch of meadow that’s more grass than flowers, explaining he ‘doesn’t want to hurt them’, and lays a blanket out for you both before opening up the cooler.

You can’t believe he’s gone to all this effort. There’s cold meats and cheeses, small tomatoes, carrot batons, berries, nuts, apple slices and a few grapes. And because he can’t forego the snack food, there’s also pretzels, breadsticks and, yes, chips.

You think it’s wonderful. You think he’s wonderful. And the two of you spend an idyllic afternoon snacking and chatting and laughing and holding each other’s hands.

Once most of the food is gone, you help him to pack away the leftovers and encourage him to lie down, insisting he deserves a rest after all he’s done today.

He smiles softly at you, and says he will, but,

“Only if I can choose the best pillow in the state.”

Confused, you look around at the worn cushions he’s brought from the trailer, and he smirks as he drops down onto his elbows and wriggles himself backwards to place his messy mop into your lap. He twists his head back and forth a couple of times, settling, humming to himself, mumbling,

“Mmmm, definitely the best pillow in the state. No wait, the country!”

You chuckle down at him as he peeps up at you with those coffee brown eyes you love so much, and run your fingers through his bangs.

You enjoy the weight and warmth of him resting against you as you talk about everything and nothing, and Eddie begins to doze in the afternoon sun. He stirs a little as he feels you periodically lean to one side, but thinks nothing of it.

He feels you playing with his hair again, and thinks he might just be in paradise. Surely, there’s no reason why the two of you couldn’t stay like this forever?

But then something unfamiliar tickles his cheek, and he opens one eye to see you leaning over him, examining a bright yellow buttercup before you cock your head sideways and appraise him, squinting a little.

Placing it into his hair between a poppy and a daisy, he sees the tip of your tongue poke out as you adjust it before leaning back and admiring your handiwork.

He brings a hand up to his hairline, gently and carefully so as not to dislodge anything, and discovers he has quite an array of blooms adorning his waves.

You reach into your bag and pull out your Polaroid camera, wanting to capture his beautiful visage. Taking a couple of snaps, you place them face down on the blanket to develop as Eddie gleefully makes grabby hands, wanting to take a picture of his own. He hadn’t even realised you’d brought it, and he’s not missing this opportunity.

You won’t know until the picture develops, but the sun that’s now setting behind you is giving you a glorious halo that Eddie thinks makes you look like a heavenly being. He decides that if he can capture even a tenth of your ethereal beauty in a photo, he’ll keep it close to his heart forever.

❤️

Optional ending:

Just as you’re thinking this is definitely the best picnic, and possibly the best afternoon, of your life, one of the daisies bends a little, and something small drops from one of the petals.

It’s a tiny green caterpillar, and it tickles him as it squirms against Eddie’s temple.

Bats, rats, skulls and devils don’t bother this metal-loving freak, but real-life creepy crawlies? That’s a whole different story, and a massive nope.

He leaps up, thrashing wildly at the beautiful display you’d made, the colourful petals and bright green stalks flying everywhere and showering you both like confetti as his feet get tangled up in the blanket and he squeals,

“AAAAAHH!! Bug!! BUG!!”

😘☀️🌸🌼🌺🌾🧺🍽🥪🍓🍰🫐🥨🍖🧀🥕🍅🥜🍏🍎🍇📸🐛

Disclaimer: IDK what wildflowers grow in Indiana so I’ve gone with ones I do know 😜 Also, a couple of these things are based on my own experiences, but I will only divulge which if you ask very, very nicely… 😉

And, if you’d like to see a Steddie-fied version of this, because I just couldn’t help myself, stay tuned….

Tagging my general list, which is very much open: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @curlyjoequinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean

#TYSM #nice asks #kittie’s asks #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanart #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #picnic fic #eddie munson ficlet

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chasedeys · 1 month ago

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If Ja’marr managed to drag Joe out of Cincy and take an actual break - where do you think he would take him? 🤔

(Im depressed over the loss so I’ve been trying to think of happy scenarios for the pookies)

hiiiii as per usual this got long wkwkk and idk more delusional than usual and i kept being sad abt everything 😭😭 so:

they're on different states currently i'm pretty sure?? joe back in cincy terrorizing the bengals facility and himself there while ja'marr had his usual acupuncture rehab session back in nola and who knows if they're both still there. probably tbh. i fully support them being away from each other lollll take some time away from work after that shitshow and that unfortunately includes your best friend (who you are in love with etc) who is also your coworker!

i imagine ja'marr being on a social media cleanse (thank fuck i hope he doesn't tweet anything please for the love of god i need them all to shut up why do they do this) so he probably doesn't know that joe is at the stadium until somebody (his dad? sister?) mentions it to him and he's all 'of course he is. he's throwing with dan isn't he.' and he gives joe what a day or two to get it out of joe's system before flying his ass to cincy and nagging at the man to stop trying to twist himself up into a pretzel.

for those few days ja'marr does spend himself because he too needs it ja'marr drives all around nola, shoots the shit with some old high school friends, plays in his old hangouts arcades hooping idk does he hoop i think not, eats out with his family, does chores with his mom, eats his body's worth in nola cuisine that sports nutritionists would weep at, etc etc. (also i thought his son lives with his mom lol i thought she takes care of him when ja'marr's busy with the season apparently his bm does it??? but i imagine he'd spend some time with junior too he loves that baby like crazyyy)

ja'marr sends joe random pics of his days, a snap of his mom nagging at him because he keeps putting needless shit into the shopping cart, a random cat wearing a bell on the sidewalk, the setting sun, a cloud shaped like a football, some seafood boil, some old friends of theirs messing up his dining room table, etc etc. joe replies back in short sentences or just ok emojis. ja'marr doesn't take it to heart. several random times joe sends the world's most shittiest one liners for some reason and ja'marr hypes him up while simultaneously telling him he needs help.

would they go to miami and get joe on a boat 🤗 ja'marr probably tested the waters first lmao if joe would be susceptible to some forceful shenanigans outside of his comfort zone. maybe joe would be like sighing and going yeah sure whatever can't hurt at this point and mainly because he himself wants to put a smile on ja'marr's face. maybe it's like that gq magazine clothes saga/get me the fucking ball where joe realizes that ja'marr wants him on a boat with him via the media (talk to each other for the love of god why does ja'marr keep spilling shit to the media unknowingly making joe realize what he wants via said media 'i didn't know i do it through media' baby please. please.) imagining ja'marr trying to be sneaky getting joe on that fucking boat but joe knows exactly what he's doing because ja'marr can't lie for shit to him and joe just telling him to quit it he'll go on the boat with him ffs and trying to hide his smile when ja'marr starts lighting up in surprised joy (experiencing joy because you brought out joy in someone else!!! doing something outside your comfort zone to put a smile on someone's face!!!!)

maybe they'll miraculously show up for another bball game. pretty sure ja'marr only fucks with the lakers lmao so maybe they pop by for an at home la game (back to la....hmm.....or just their away games nvm. they play at suns again on the 27th lol), break bengalsblr for a second time with their 🤨🤨🤨 matching outfits and weirdly first date vibes. maybe joe will finally drag ja'marr to a ufc game for a change! (i don't actually know any ufc matches...google says the nearest is the 23rd and then dec 8th?? idk any of these people 😭)

doing some shopping?? finding more matching outfits specifically shoes bc apparently that's where they their fashion interests intersect?? god bless if ja'marr makes joe wear one of his chunky interesting boots.

museummm dateessss but specifically national history museums or those space science museums or dinosaurs museums or those creepy oddities museum do you think they'd fuck with that probably not tbh. maybe they switch things up do things that ja'marr wants (boats, bball games, etc) and what joe wants (museums, ufc matches, etc) that's so cute wow. but ja'marr waits patiently as joe nerds out on the fossils and gigantic ass 3d planet renditions and those augmented topography booths where they can move sand and it automatically changes the color projections??? ja'marr remembers joe talking abt this shit one time and does his due diligence researching where it actually is and takes the man there. joe looks on fondly as ja'marr gets into it himself because the science museum offers so many interactive shit even he gets excited for it when originally he just took them there for joe.

late night walks that seem supremely out of character tbh. post clubbing (?) but they find they cannot stand crowds that night for some reason so they walk out and just stroll the midnight away. hanging out on some bridge leaning over railings talking about some easy plays, some insane ones they've made and want to streamline, ja'marr shares some of his cute little bathroom mirror post it notes goals for the season, joe shares that he's considering switching up his throwing arm practices, joe says he wants to do some blocking and tackling exercises and ja'marr tells him to shut the fuck up....okay sure but don't actually try to do it in game unless he absolutely has to. drinking shitty corner store bought beers and making stupid little jokes about their mistakes they can finally make light of under the flickering street lights and shrouded moonlight and blood buzzing slightly from shit alcohol. i don't think they've ever actually been in the position where they won't make the playoffs together. last year joe was injured so it maybe doesn't count idk. playing so fucking well together yet not making it is…..befuddling. so maybe they'll spend some time talking about that and coming to terms on it too. (actual verbal communication...hmmm)

breaking into a random community outdoor basketball court and they didn't find any bballs to play with but there's a dilapidated little football (of course there is. sharing a little smile because of course there's a football in a basketball court for them. out of all the courts they could end up in.) for some reason so they throw and catch with little success joe throws for barely 3 yards but they make each other laugh because 'damn jb that's pathetic' 'well maybe you should run and catch it what are you doing just standing there' and then it turns into a little game of tag and joe straight up tries to tackle ja'marr except he's shit at tackling and ja'marr never goes down on first contact but he lets joe bring him down and they just end up caking their stupid expensive clothes with dust and dirt with lightly scratched elbows and shins, staring up at the night sky with barely any stars, the street lights irritating their peripheral vision, limbs slightly grazing each other's, finally quiet and settled, barely fidgeting like they've been doing these past few weeks.

they both send stupid little snaps (do they use snapchat??? or just instagram ig) to tee who replies back cursing at them for not inviting him. they pop by his place literally the minute he replies that because technically they're just waiting for an 'invite'.

little family get together where joe finally gets to eat the chase family seafood boil??!!?!?!? the chases comforting him too :( they should go to a pet kennel (??? what are these called omg im too tired to search 😭) and pet some dogs and cats for therapy tbh

before joe goes back to spend more time with his fam and ja'marr with his and whatever shit they want to do apart before back to the reality of practices and season games, they watch the la film together. nitpick on each other's game. apologize for their mistakes once and move on with improvements.

in all honesty if i was remotely aware what places to go to in america that would fit these two this'll be a longer list but well

but wait sorry if i can just yap a bit for the team as a whole ngl i think everyone being away from literally everybody in the team would be good for everyone as whole (yes even joemarr from each other and god why tf is joe in the facility ffs) like just keep to yourselves and stay the fuck off twt and ig jesus these dramatic ass men have they never heard of a 2nd acc or even a burner account. like stay with your family and recharge for at least 2 days idk 3 or a whole damn week actually then come back greet each other like you love them and let go of your baggage and start getting your shit together for real. the vibes are terrible it's so confusing you were THE team the past 3 years and the vibes changed to SHIT starting literally WEEK 1 that i believe is from the jamarr contract debacle suddenly playing game 1 and the entire thing finally got put to rest by ja'marr himself (as he should! the thing about joe and ja'marr is they fix their shit! they know they made mistakes and they actually fix it!! he knows the contract stumps his joy from playing so he left it behind and got his groove back literally scored 2 tuddys the next game). but i do hope they all learn how to navigate each other again and actually work together as a team and better their communication. it's kind of funny that they went on that bonding trip only to have the worst bench vibes that same game 😭. snapping at your teammates is normal tbh but letting that shit keep on festering without actually making an effort to fix it is just cancerous and on whatever miracle hail mary some of them still believe they can make the playoffs needs to start there. and maybe some audacious change in play calling lmao just try anything at this point.

ok bye hhh

#ask #joemarr #ja'marr chase #joe burrow #still sort of sad so there like little whimsy tbh sorry #truly ridiculous #idk this doesn't hit for me like they usually do :( maybe it's because im still sad sigh #this fuck it mentality im trying to grasp is not easy 😭#my writing #should i change that tag damn

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another-lost-mc · 2 years ago

Text

sharing snacks with thirteen & mephistopheles

content: sfw. gn!reader. fluff, developing relationships. solomon slander in thirteen's section. mephisto is a bit rude in his because it's him.

word count: 1.8k

THIRTEEN

It’s a typical day for you: sitting in the RAD cafeteria at lunch, nestled between two brothers who are bickering about a topic you have no real interest in.

You’re giving Beel your uneaten half-a-sandwich when you feel someone’s hand touch your shoulder gently.

“I have something unexpected to take care of in the human world,” Solomon says loud enough to hear him over the noise of Levi and Mammon arguing beside you. “Thirteen is expecting to see me in our next class together. Do you think you can let her know I won’t be able to make it?”

Solomon hardly asks you for favours, and you don’t mind the excuse to leave the rowdy demon brothers before you get caught in another food fight.

“Sure,” you say, returning his smile. You tuck away your leftover lunch - a bottle of water, an unopened bag of pretzels, and a double-chocolate muffin - into your school bag.

“I’ll bring you back a treat later,” he promises with a charming smile before strolling away. After he takes a few steps, he spins around suddenly and waves at you. “You’ll find her in the alchemy lab on the third floor!”

You want to make sure you aren’t late for class so it’s a brisk walk up the three flights of stone stairs that lead to the lab Solomon was referring to.

When you open the door and step into the corridor leading to the lab, it’s completely vacant.

You can hear Thirteen doing something so you approach the doorway quietly and peek your head inside.

Thirteen seems to be using some sort of levitation magic on herself, and she’s studying an elaborate set of wires and pulleys hanging above the doorway; there’s a small cage in her hands too, and inside is what can only be described as a bouncing ball of radioactive goo.

She glances down when she hears you and she cackles gleefully.

“Ah, careful there human - you don’t want this getting on your skin,” Thirteen warns you with a grin.

She’s tossing the cage up and down in her palm like it’s a toy, and you think you can hear the blob-creature in the cage growl menacingly each time she jostles it.

“Is that your—“ you pause, blinking when the blob gurgles unpleasantly and Thirteen hisses at it in response, “...pet?”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, you’re too cute! This isn’t a pet. It’s the Ooey-Gooey Sticky Wicket version 2.0 - fun-sized!”

She mumbles something under her breath about “that smug wizard and his stupid face” and it suddenly clicks for you why Solomon found an excuse not to come to class today.

“About that…” you trail off, watching her face grow thunderous when you explain that Solomon won’t be in his afternoon classes today.

She cancels the levitation spell she was using and lands on her feet with a heavy thud, pulling down the rest of her trap without care.

She opens a small bag and sets it on the floor. You watch in amazement when she turns around and picks up parts of her trap, throwing them over her shoulder and they seem to disappear into the bag without it changing size or shape.

“Of course he knew,” she mutters angrily, “that circus clown thinks he’s so clever,” she complains as she tosses more of her trap into the magical purse. “And he had the nerve to send you!”

You wince at the harsh tone she uses and she seems to realize her mistake. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says sheepishly, tossing the Ooey-Gooey-Whatsitcalled cage into her purse and zipping it shut. “I’d hate for you to get oozed by accident - humans are so delicate!” Her face twists into a frown. “Most of you are, anyway.”

She picks up the bag and slings it over her shoulder and you can’t help but ask, “Is that bag charmed? It’s like something from Mary Poppins.”

She tilts her head. “I don’t know what a ‘merry poppings’ is, but it’s a little invention of mine - handy for sorcerer trapping on the go!” She winks at you. “Like it? I can make you one.”

She walks past you, snapping the strap of your bag against your shoulder lightly as she skips down the hall towards the stairs.

You jog to catch up. “Isn’t this your next class?” you ask. You know lunch break is almost over and the bell’s going to ring any minute now.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, goody two-shoes, but I missed my lunch and if my trap is ruined, I might as well get something to eat first if I have nothing else to look forward to.” The pout in her voice is cute and you try not to smile.

You touch her arm to stop her, and her eyes widen when you rummage through your bag and offer her your muffin from earlier - you know she likes sweets and hope it cheers her up even a tiny bit.

She looks between you and the muffin before she smiles in a way that feels gentler and more genuine than her usual mischievous grins.

“The world would be a better place if more humans were like you,” she says before plopping a piece of the muffin top into her mouth.

MEPHISTOPHELES

When Mephisto approaches you for a favour after most of the other student council members left campus for the day, you know he must be desperate.

Despite your best attempts at staying out of his way and avoiding his ire, he still seems as unimpressed with you now as he did the first time you met him.

You’re not quite clear on the details, but apparently some mishap in the Newspaper Club office - something involving the Little Ds having a spat that led to an all-out brawl - means that the special edition of tomorrow’s newspaper has to be reprinted and finished.

There’s a special ceremony tomorrow and several distinguished invitees are going to be in attendance; the newspaper is supposed to be handed out to all students and guests to celebrate RAD’s recent achievements.

The face he makes when he realizes he has to ask you for help, lacking any other viable options, almost makes you want to refuse him out of spite - but you’ve been hard at work preparing for this too and it would be a waste to ruin it now.

Not to mention, what would Lucifer say if he found out something went wrong the day before this important event and you did nothing to help?

Mephisto escorts you to a temporary office space where he’s already set up a borrowed computer and printer.

You regret asking what happened to the ones in the Newspaper Club’s office; surely the damage wasn’t that bad, right?

“I don’t know how a food fight broke out, but they got Devil Sauce inside the Newspaper Club printer - INSIDE IT! How did they even–?” he continues ranting angrily about the Little Ds while you look over his current progress.

The newspapers are almost finished printing, so all that’s left is to fold them and insert them into envelopes.

You suggest the most obvious solution - “I’ll fold them if you want to take care of the envelopes?”

You asked giving him the choice of which task he would prefer, but instead he rolls his eyes, muttering “Obviously” under his breath when he sits down in front of the box of envelopes.

It’s boring and tedious work, but it’s not complicated - and you don’t mind doing this if it means helping RAD look its best in front of special guests.

Mephisto is quiet in his place across the table from you, and after the first few minutes working together he’s refrained from more pointed insults or sarcastic remarks about your intelligence, or your human heritage - or anything about you, really.

You haven’t eaten dinner yet - the hunger isn’t enough to bother you at this point - but you both startle when a rumble from your stomach breaks the silence.

Mephisto glances at the clock and raises an eyebrow at you like he’s surprised your body is capable of making such a racket - but when you expect him to insult you some more, he asks, “Have you not eaten anything?”

You shake your head and continue folding, explaining you would get something to eat once this was done.

It’s unclear what bothers him so much about your reply, but he stands up from his seat and leaves the office suddenly without a word.

You can’t even ask where he’s going with how quickly he left, and after gaping in surprise at the doorway he disappeared through, you brush it off and get back to work.

It’s nearly ten minutes later when you hear Mephisto return, and you don’t bother to look up from your folding.

You do look surprised when he puts a takeaway cup and paper bag on the table beside you, and you watch him sit down with a cup and bag of his own.

“What’s the matter?” he asks you defensively. “I thought you liked tea?”

“I do…” you say cautiously, wondering what’s going on. Is this a prank?

You must be looking at the cup like it's full of poison because he puffs up his chest in indignation. “Humans are so weak, I need you to be focused if we’re going to finish these at a respectable hour,” he says like it’s obvious, like there couldn’t be any other motivation to bring you a snack.

You take a sip from your tea cautiously - it’s a common Devildom blend, black and unsweetened. It’s not how you normally drink it, but it’s still warm and comforting.

After a few more sips, you peek into the paper bag. It looks like a Hellfire cheese sandwich, not too spicy, and you eat with quiet satisfaction.

Mephisto is eating his own food - the same thing he ordered for you by the looks of it - and he nearly chokes on his mouthful of food when you thank him.

He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at his mouth, but when he realizes your words are genuine - why wouldn’t they be? - he shrugs, saying that he’s only doing what he thinks Diavolo would want.

It’s not like he cares about your well-being, but the he knows the Prince does.

You finish your impromptu meal without anymore conversation, and it’s not long after that the job is complete and he’s shooing you from the office while he finishes up by himself.

He wants to ask you if you would like a ride home because he knows his chauffeur is waiting for him outside, but he doesn't.

He wants to ask what you take in your tea for future reference only, but he doesn’t.

All he offers is a stiff, “Thank you for your help” before he turns away from you and listens to you gather your belongings and leave, your footsteps fading into silence.