#they’re trading candies

[millipede-menace]

They’re trading candy~

[motthe]

Married+jayce viktor, visit relatives +she/her reader?

warnings: crazy aunt shenanigans, nsfw jokes

With a deep breath, you turned to your husbands and gave them one last glance over. You were quick to straighten Jayce’s tie—a matching candy red to Viktor’s turtleneck.

“Darling,” chuckled Jayce, knuckles coming up to nudge your chin and raise your eyes to his, “you’re preening again.”

“I know,” you muttered, swallowing. “I’m sorry, I’m just—”

“We can always turn around,” Viktor coerced. His hand at your back was a welcome touch. “We’ve not reached the door. There’s still time.”

“Hey,” Jayce intervened, “holidays are about socializing.”

Viktor pursed his lips as he leaned closer to your ear. “I’ll go for the ankles while you run, dove.”

You chuckled, smacking his chest softly in warning. Jayce just rolled his eyes and leaned over the both of you to knock, sending you into a panic.

“Okay, remember what I told you,” you whispered, looking between both of them. “My family is super accepting, but they’re a bit—“

“We met most of them at the wedding, we know,” Jayce laughed.

“You didn’t meet Great Aunt Lynda,” you squeaked. “She was traveling.”

“Great Aunt Lynda?” Your husbands questioned as the door opened.

“Oh, my sweet girl!” your mother cheered, stepping out into the cold to give you a tight hug. She smelled of freshly cooked gingerbread and flour. She was quick to pull you into the warmth of the house before waving the men in. “Viktor, Jayce! So great to see you both!” They had to lean down for her to kiss their cheeks, leaving you to smile to yourself as you rid yourself of your coat. “How have you all been? I saw the pictures from the honeymoon—just gorgeous!”

Viktor was quick to relieve Jayce of his button up jacket as he moved to you while he traded greetings with your mother.

“Is that my girl?”

“Dad!” you sang, barely able to turn in time before he tugged you into a wrestle of an embrace. He always knocked the breath out of you. “Good to see you,” you choked out.

“Viktor,” he nodded over your shoulder, “how are the gadgets?”

“Nothing has exploded this month,” he replied, pulling a chuckle from your old man before he moved away to shake his hand. “Jayce! How are ya, son?”

You wrapped your arm around Viktor’s, guiding him towards the living room once the jackets were put up.

“I am glad one of us loves to talk,” he mumbled.

“You always get pulled into a conversation with Uncle Jimmy,” you scoffed, smirking as he shrugged.

“He is a very interesting man.”

A zip of movement out of the corner of your eye had you stepping in front of Viktor as the twin toddlers ran full tilt at him. You managed to crouch just in time to take the brunt of it in the chest. There went your breath again.

“You goblins!” you wheezed, shaking them as they giggled. “No running in the house!”

“Rayne, Ron! Get your butts back to the playroom!” came their mother and your cousin. She apologized and said a quick hello before picking up the kids by their waist and carting them off. There was no real anger as their giggles echoed through the room along with more greetings from everyone else.

“Food will be done soon!” your mother announced before shuffling by you with another hug. Jayce was behind you when you turned, waving to everyone. Always the poster man.

“That them?!”

“Dear God,” you sighed, catching the pitchy voice above everyone else.

“Oh,” Viktor said.

“Is that…?” muttered Jayce.

Your great aunt came waddling up, the ugliest holiday sweater known to man on her pudgy form and a light up christmas tree hat.

“Lynda!” you said, stepping forward to hug her but she was quick to shake her hands at you.

“Oh, I know you plenty, lemme see these two hotties you bagged!”

Half the room groaned while the other laughed. Knowing better than to get between Lynda and her interests, you stepped to the side and sent an apologetic look to your husbands.

Viktor, wide eyed and lost, stayed put as Jayce, ever the social bug, stepped forward to introduce himself. Lynda wasted no time in grabbing his hands and pulling him down to her height.

“Strong, chiseled face,” she hummed, patting his cheek, “bet she loves to sit on that, heh.”

“Mother!” another cousin shrieked, clapping a hand over her young teen’s ears.

“Very nice, yes, now,” Lynda turned to Viktor, eyeing him up and down. “Cane. That’s kinky. Lemme hear the accent everyone goes gaga over.”

“I beg your pardon?” he questioned and you couldn’t keep from laughing at the shock on his face.

“Mm-hmm, yep, I see it, hon,” Lynda called to you, wagging a finger. “Knew you were spoiled, but this steals the cake. Two handsome men, God, reminds me of my twenties. Had a whole harem once—“

“Lynda, shut your trap. You know how many kids are running around this place?” came Uncle Jimmy. He shook his head as the woman grumbled and waved an arm at you and your partners. “You guys go and get comfy. Sorry about her.”

Viktor followed you to the couch, Jayce’s “whoa!” snapping the air. You both turned to see Lynda wagging her eyebrows up at him as he held a hand to his ass in affront.

“My God,” Viktor whispered, “you weren’t kidding.”

You hid the rest of your giggles in his chest as you cozied up on the couch.

It was going to be a long, interesting night with your relatives.

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

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

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

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

── .✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cinderella’s gone missing.” 

“Missing?” 

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s Penelope dealing with it?” 

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

You nod and hand him another sheet. 

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

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

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

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

“I know. You’re just– thanks.”

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

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

You grin, largely at the nickname. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself. 

“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”

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

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

“After work then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Penelope.” 

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

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

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

“All for you.” 

She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm. 

“Wanna help me look for your dad?” 

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

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

“Steve?” 

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course.” 

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

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

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

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

“Need help?”

“Yes please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy, are we going now?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.” 

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

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

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

“So maybe I should climb up to check?”

“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”

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

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

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

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

“No running away!” 

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

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

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

You coo. 

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

You hum in agreement. 

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

“Did you find something?” you ask. 

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

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

“I think he’s dead.”

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

“Hiding? Why?”

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

She squints, “For the whole winter?” 

“Yeah, think so.”

“How do they do that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” you smack his bicep. 

Penelope points, “That is not nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like hide and seek?”

“Yeah.” 

She considers your words carefully. “But why?”

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

She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?” 

You smile back. “Exactly.” 

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

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

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

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

“Can I go?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”

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

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

“Did you paint this?”

“Yes, at school.” 

“Wow. Did you write this too?” 

“Yep. My teacher helped me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze. 

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

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

“Absolutely. I hope you find her.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penelope,” Steve sighs.

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

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

“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was her! I know it was! I saw!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready to go home?” 

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

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

“Five more minutes,” she begs. 

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

She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cinderella,” she whimpers. 

“We’ll look again tomorrow.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Her miserable expression doesn’t falter. 

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

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

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

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I don’t care, Steve.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?” 

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

“You can pick three, missy,” he says. 

“Five?” 

“Four.” 

“Four and a half?”

“Three.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pleaseee!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better not be doing my dishes.” 

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

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

“What?” Steve smiles. 

You huff through your own. “Nothin’.” 

“Why are you laughing then?” 

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

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

“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” 

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

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

“Steve.” 

“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite. 

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

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

The trill of the phone interrupts. 

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

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

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

“Who was it?” you ask.

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

“Really?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna sleep in your room.”

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

She nods against his chin. 

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

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

“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll find her, Steve.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

“Promise you’ll get some rest too?” 

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

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

He shakes his head, “Come on.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call me when you get home?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She considers his invitation before striding into his touch. 

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

Cinderella chirps happily. 

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

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

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

“Here. Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A high-pitched scream severs the moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”

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

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

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

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

“You're very welcome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should head home,” you say. 

Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. 

“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!” 

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

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

“Good luck keeping her inside.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s no problem, Steve, really.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d love to, Steve.” 

He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

“See you then.”

“See ya.”

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

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

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

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

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯  plus ultra-rare following an interview flop, dynamight & yourself are out and about at the local mall when you're stopped by a young girl and her mother.

content // a little follow up to this. pro hero fame, paparazzi's talk about infidelity rumors (they're not true just mentioned cause you know how it goes), reader is a support tech, bakugo & reader are married, bakugo being sweet to kids, thoughts of having kids vaguely, more paparazzi nonsense, fluff.

wc // 1.7k

『 k.bakugo masterlist | caramel & champagne series 』

It was the first day the two of you have had off since the interview "incident" weeks ago - that's what Bakugo's agent called it, anyways. The press didn't make any negative remarks against the two of you specifically, but they started a horde of nasty rumors anytime Bakugo was on patrol with a pro hero of the opposite sex. Headlines about "Dynamight searching for a New Wife?" started circulating, so much so that the agency started handing out cease and desist letters to the tabloids like candy. It wasn't to hide any sort of truth, it was simply not true to start with. You're successfully able to make it to the mall without catching any attention from the swarms of media assholes at the entrances, waiting to create some fake scenario and generate false pretenses.

"God, these jackasses are everywhere," Bakugo grumbled while you crossed the threshold of the mall and into the food court. "They warned us in school about this shit, but fuck, s'annoyin' as hell."

"I know," you console, thumb rubbing over the back of his hand in your hold. "It won't be like this forever."

He sighs, keeping his head down as the two of you approach the department store you planned to shop at. While you're heading inside, a small child and her mother pass by you, the daughter spinning on her heel and doing a doubletake with sparkles in her eyes.

"Momma! I think that's Dynamight!" she squeals, barely above a whisper, but enough for you to hear her excitement. Her mother kneels down and pats her on the crown of her head.

"I think you're right! But we should leave them be, sweetie. I promise to take you to his next signing."

She pouts and fiddles with her fingers. “But they’re always sold out!”

She’s a little louder this time, now catching Bakugo’s attention. When he makes eye contact with her, the little girl escapes from her mother's side and skips over to him - she's barely taller than his waist, maybe six or seven years old.

"Dynamight!" she whispers, waving frantically with both hands and looking up at him. "I know you’re in secret right now, but I wanted to say hi!”

She turns to you and smiles, dimples adorably accenting her cheeks. “You’re very pretty, Miss Support lady! I saw you on TV!”

Bakugo’s heart swells when you squeeze his hand tighter in response to her kindness before letting go. Something about this little girl’s genuine joy makes him want to melt into a puddle. Usually, kids were annoying in his eyes and parents never knew how to wrangle them around heroes - not this little one, though. She had way more respect than most adults did whenever they’d spot him on his day off, begging for an autograph or photo.

“Heya squirt,” Bakugo greets while kneeling to her level. Her mother has scampered over in the meantime, profusely apologizing for her daughter’s outburst.

“It’s alright! She’s very sweet and he’s more than happy to talk to her,” you assure, standing with the mom to watch their interaction.

“Thanks for sayin’ hi. What’s your name?” He asks as he pulls down his face mask, tucking it under his chin and lifting the brim of his baseball hat.

“Mirai! But my friends call me Miri.”

“Nice’ta meet you, Miri. I’ve got somethin’ for ya if you give me a sec.”

Bakugo shoots a glance in your direction, nodding to your bag. “Peaches, got any cards with you?”

You waltz over to him and dig out a stack of Dynamight branded trading cards in protective sleeves from your purse, handing them over with the a permanent marker. Bakugo takes them and fans the selection out in front of Mirai.

“Pick whatever one y’want and I’ll sign it for ya. How’s that sound?”

Mirai gasps, stars twinkling in her eyes as her fingers wiggle in anticipation over the cards. “I like them all! You pick one for me, please!”

That little shimmer in her eyes reminded you of a smaller Bakugo, specifically a picture that Mitsuki had of him and Midoriya in her living room, the two of them holding up their All Might cards from when they were kids. Her expression was identical to his back then - priceless.

“This one’s a favorite of mine,” you chime in, pointing to the card on the far right. “That’s the Plus Ultra-Rare edition, too. Super cool!”

Bakugo hands you the others and keeps the one card, pulling it out of its protective sleeve and popping off the cap of the permanent marker with his teeth. He signs the card, “Miri, go beyond!” accompanied with his hero signature. He waves the card back and forth to dry the ink before returning it to the sleeve.

“There ya go,” Bakugo says, handing her the signed card. “Keep it safe, yeah?”

Mirai gingerly takes it from him, holding it close to her chest with a toothy grin. “I promise, Dynamight!”

Before he can protest, Mirai rushes into him and latches onto his neck, her small frame clinging to Bakugo in an attempt to give him a hug. Her mom stammers out more apologies, but he stops her with a raise of his hand, mouthing “S’okay” over Mirai’s shoulder.

“Thank you for keeping me and Momma safe,” Mirai mutters sweetly, tiny hands grabbing at the back of Bakugo’s shirt. “You’re the bestest hero in the world!”

He bites his cheek in response, trying his damndest not to let this child make him cry in public. That phrase has been uttered to him thousands of times, and no matter what, it still makes his heart skip a beat. He’s barely holding it together as he pats her back tenderly, closing his eyes to focus on swallowing the emotions flowing through him.

You’re staring at Bakugo with hearts in your pupils, swooning over how patient he’s being with this little girl. A sensation you've never felt before invades your lower abdomen - nerves? No, it was a foreign yearning, a burning desire to....you tuck that feeling away to unpack at another time.

"Okay honey, we should get going now," Mirai's mother insists, tapping her daughter on the shoulder to have her let go of Bakugo. "We've taken up more than enough of their time."

"Don't worry about it," Bakugo comments, standing back to normal height and patting Mirai on the head. "See ya later, Miri."

Mirai does a little dance to herself before grabbing her mother's hand, turning to whisper-yell, "Bye Dynamight!"

The two of them leave you be, walking back out into the main concourse of the mall. You turn to Bakugo and elbow him in the side with a smirk on your face.

"What's got you so smiley?" you tease. "You look like you're ready to cry, too."

"Shut the fuck up," he sniffs, re-adjusting his mask and baseball hat. "She was a cute kid, s'all it is."

"The cutest. Let's grab what we needed and head home."

You two carry on with your shopping trip, surprisingly uninterrupted. Things seems to be quiet...that is, until you're ready to leave and forget about the media mobs at the main entrance. The second you two step outside, you're swarmed with flashing lights and overwhelmed with various shouting men.

"Dynamight! Is it true you're looking for a new wife after the interview last week?"

"Are you two on a break?"

"Do you think having a pro hero as a husband is detrimental to your relationship?"

These fuckers are ruthless, and quiet frankly, stupid as hell - the two of you are literally holding hands as they ask their absurd questions.

Bakugo shakes his head before letting go of your hand and removing his face mask. The glare in his eyes hints that he's about to have an explosive reaction, but color yourself surprised when his voice comes out velvety smooth and genuine.

"Listen up, m'gonna say this once and then you're gonna leave us the hell alone," he speaks, looking each cameraman in the eye before continuing. "This is the only damn woman I want in my life and nothin' will change that. She's the only one I've got eyes for, no one else. Got it?"

A few of the paparazzi pause their insistent squawking and put their cameras down, nodding in agreement to his words.

"Great. You can all fuck off now an' find someone else to harass."

You don't know what comes over you, knowing full well what the consequences will be, but you find yourself reaching for Bakugo's jaw and pull him in for a hearty kiss. He lets out a surprised grunt before tugging you closer by the waist, catching on to what you're planning and letting you take the lead.

"Quick, get the shot!" you hear the crowd yell repetitively. Bakugo responds by flipping off the cameras, continuing your kiss for a couple more seconds before parting.

The next morning, both of your phones are full of notifications from various sources - deja vu, huh? You've got e-mails asking you two to make appearances on TV networks while Bakugo's agent and publicist are scolding him for being unprofessional in public, but in the same breath, praising him for turning the opinion of the public in his favor.

"Holy shit," you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Kats, look at this."

Bakugo peeks over your shoulder from his side of the bed, laying his head on yours while you scroll through the articles multiple people have sent to you overnight.

"Dynamight & his Wife are stronger than ever!," "Fans Overjoyed to know Dynamight & his Wife are sticking it out," and "Dynamight remains off market."

"What's that one?" he asks, reaching over you to click the article titled, "Precious Moments with Fans - Dynamight Edition." The page loads an article detailing the encounter with Mirai from afar, a few pictures of Bakugo holding out the trading cards and giving her a hug.

"When the fuck did they even take that?!" he laughs, sighing as he flopped back over to his side of the bed.

"I think it's cute. Think I should print it out and frame it for the living room?"

"Don't you fuckin' dare."

You roll over to face him, pinching his cheek.

"Yeah, the picture of you flipping off the camera is more fitting."

tags // @slayfics @maddietries @starieq @liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague @queenpiranhadon

[undreaming-fanfiction]

What I Wouldn't Do

This fanfiction is a Valentine's Day exchange gift for the lovely @henderdads. Cass, Eddie absolutely hates Valentine's Day, but for Steve? Well. He's willing to make an exception. Have an amazing Valentine's Day, you deserve it so much!!

Sometimes, it is difficult to reconcile several different truths in our lives. 

Eddie currently has this dilemma. 

Truth A: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson’s boyfriend, allegedly loves sappy romantic things, Valentine's Day included.

Truth B: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington's boyfriend, feels like if the world ever has to end, it should do so on February 14th, for this is the worst day of all days, the day of heart-shaped chocolate that tastes like crap, couples exchanging sweet words and bodily fluids, sometimes even semi-publicly, and don't even get him started about that horrible romantic music. 

After swearing on the Munson doctrine he won’t sell his soul to consumerism for anything and anyone but Steve, Eddie Munson decides to ignore Truth B. Steve Harrington deserves the best Valentine's day in the history of this idiotic holiday and Eddie has a hunch, a massive, Everest-sized hunch, that in all of his previous Valentine's days, Steve was always the one to do all the work. His beautiful and brave people-pleasing boyfriend. 

Then Eddie realizes another very uncomfortable truth. He has no idea how to celebrate Valentine’s Day. He spent the twenty one-ish years of his existence avoiding the holiday, so now he has to do some research. 

He starts small. When they walk together in the Hawkins center, careful not to touch or hold hands because Hawkins still remains a backward hellhole, he notes what Steve looks at. If his eyes linger on a certain flower for a few seconds, he makes a mental note. A mental note means in Eddie's case that he repeats the name of the flower ad nauseum, quickly excuses himself and scribbles it onto his forearm not to forget. He even buys a permanent marker for this. He can't forget anything, not when it's important for Steve.

When Steve asks about the scribbles, he claims it's for the next campaign. He even draws a sword and a shield next to the notes to avoid suspicion.

He asks many questions, most of them under the pretense of helping Gareth with his dates. "I swear, Steve, when he's lovestruck, he gets completely stupid. Not stupid stupid, Gareth's smart, but he can't hold rhythm and we need him to hold it, he's our drummer! So save this suffering aspiring rockstar and tell me, what do you think is the best type of chocolate? Milk chocolate? Okay, and is that like, universal? Did your previous dates like it? I see, a majority then! Sooo...are you a part of that majority?" 

Very smooth. 

See, Eddie doesn't give a flying demobat about chocolate types, he's more into hard candy. He doesn't like cut flowers, they die anyways because you cut them, how is that fair to that flower, huh? To die for being pretty? And of course, he hates the whole EXPECTATION of Valentine's Day. 

But the more he asks, the more he finds out, he doesn't see it as participating in the mindless machinery of lovestruck idiots. Instead, he sees the flush on Steve's cheeks when he talks about dark chocolate with dried raspberries and how his parents once brought it back from dad's trade conference, how it was love at first taste. He scratches out the idea for a bouquet of flowers when Steve mentions he’s always hated them because the flowers are so beautiful and vibrant, but they’re cut for an obligation in their prime. “It sounds stupid when I say it,” he chuckles, “but I want them to live until they’re ugly and withered, you know? They’re worth way more than their looks.”

Eddie could kiss him right there and then. And he does. 

He brings it all together, prepares all of Steve’s favorites with a silly twist because it’s Eddie, and Eddie lives for silly things. It really needs to be his favorites because Steve once admitted to him that most people with the exception of Robin and Dustin don’t really know what he likes, they just assume. And Steve is happy that people even thought about him, he thanks them and treasures those things that don’t mean anything to him. To Steve, being thought about is enough. 

Well, not to Eddie Munson. 

He asks Steve not to plan anything for their Valentine's Day. Or more precisely, he asks him to stay free and available and not worry his beautifully hairy head. He knows that if he didn't say this, Steve would have gone above and beyond for him, he would have likely taken Eddie to a concert with music so loud he’d get a migraine, but he’d suffer through it. So Eddie has to stop that from happening.

On the actual day, Eddie prepares everything. He sends Gareth ("You owe me so much for this. SO MUCH, MUNSON. I actually wanted to watch this tonight!") to rent Steve's favorite movie and goes himself to get access to the Hawkins High with…almost completely legal means, just a little bit of bribing here, some promises for a lengthy D&D campaign there, and of course lots and lots of nougat. 

He gathers everything in his van, waits for the kids and the janitor to get out and then starts setting the scene. 

There are two more incompatible truths that Eddie Munson grapples with: 

Truth A: Eddie Munson fucking HATES the Hawkins High. He wants it to burn down in flames, with only the theater room staying intact. 

Truth B: Steve Harrington sometimes wistfully mentions how he wishes he could have dated Eddie Munson in high school. How they’d share lunches, trade secret kisses in the hallways. He wishes himself and the world had been different. 

And so Eddie Munson grits his teeth, walks those cursed hallways he only managed to escape a few months back and counts on Robin Buckley to deliver his invitation with flair. “Extra points if you get him a trumpet solo, Buckley!” 

Robin apparently delivers because only half an hour after the expected invite, as he is smoking his fifth cigarette - don’t blame the guy, he’s nervous! He’s got a big date! - Steve arrives with a smile that’s equally excited and nervous. He keeps running his fingers through his hair and overall looks just biteable. 

Steve walks up to him and brushes his fingers against Eddie’s wrist, discreetly as they have established. It’s their own version of a kiss. “I thought you hated Valentine’s Day?” he asks and he looks so apologetic that Eddie promises to base all villains in his new campaign on all the people who ever made Steve feel he wanted too much. 

Eddie glances around, deems it safe and pulls Steve into an actual kiss. "It might be Valentine's day for you, Steve. For me, it's the "Steve Harrington Appreciation Day." He winks at Steve and relishes in the slight blush that has crept into his cheeks. “The name is already registered and all. No changes possible or accepted. Follow me, big boy.” 

Steve laughs when he sees a set cafeteria table with something that brings back so many memories. How did Eddie get two portions of school lunch?! The man has to be magical, he decides. They eat together, chat about their day, and then Eddie decides feeding each other is off the table because they’re giggling so much he almost stabbed Steve with the fork. 

They walk the hallways together, hand in hand, and Eddie sometimes turns around, sticks his tongue out at an imaginary girl and sneers “back off! He’s mine!”. 

Steve turns after Eddie and nods. “What he said,” he whispers and squeezes Eddie’s waist. 

Eddie then hands Steve a sports bag he stashed in the changing rooms and winks at him. “What are you waiting for, Harrington? We have some balls to toss! Baskets to score. That.” And before Steve has a chance to protest, he gets his own bag and starts changing into those awfully familiar PE shorts in all their green and white glory. 

Steve just watches him, mouth hanging open. “Now I get why I never saw you in these,” he mumbles as he also starts changing. “I would have realized I’m bi like, at that moment.” 

But Eddie just laughs and pulls his hair into a loose bun. “Oh, Steve. You have no idea what those shorts on you did to the little closeted me. The thoughts they gave me.”

“Lucky for you, baby,” says Steve and pulls Eddie to his feet, “this time you’re allowed - and strongly encouraged - to both watch AND touch.” Then he cocks his head to the side and adds: “Well. If you score at least one point.” 

Eddie tries. Fails. Tries again, even with Steve helping him. Eventually, they settle for a quick game of tic-tac-toe which Eddie wins and happily squeezes Steve’s butt. 

Their final destination is the only class they ever shared, history. All desks are empty, except for one - the middle one in the second row, where Steve used to sit. There’s dark chocolate with dried raspberries, Steve’s favorite, and a pot of flowers. Yellow, another favorite. 

“The lady in the flower shop said they should live, like, really long,” shrugs Eddie and moves the chair for Steve so he can sit down. “I forgot their name the second I got them, but Buckley knows and she was asked to deliver a booklet with how to care for them.” 

Steve drags him down to his level and kisses Eddie, deep and long. He’s either crying or laughing into the kiss, maybe both. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispers into Eddie’s cheek. “All of this…is right. It’s me. You remembered.” 

“Eh…kinda. Tried to.” Eddie gives up and lets himself be seated on Steve’s lap. “Actually, I had a small…cheat sheet. Let me show you.”

Steve watches as Eddie takes off his bracelet and watch and sets both on the desk. He gasps as he sees a coiling pattern around Eddie’s wrist, something that looks like a dotted or scratched tattoo all around, but that’s not it. Because then Eddie moves his wrist closer and he can read all the words on Eddie’s skin. 

DARK CHOCOLATE WITH RASPBERRIES

NO CUT FLOWERS! YELLOW IS GOOD

COFFEE WITH ONE DROP OF MILK

NO ICE IN DRINKS - TRIGGERS MIGRAINES

BELTS AND SHOELACES - GOOD GIFTS TO WEAR

FREDDIE MERCURY

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY

NO KETCHUP! 

STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM

These and so much more. All of Steve’s favorites, all what made him feel like himself, forever preserved in Eddie’s skin. 

He buries his head in Eddie’s shoulder and holds him so tight Eddie has trouble breathing, but then he decides that oxygen is overrated. “You’re so crazy,” sobs Steve into his shoulder. 

Eddie laughs again into the quiet of their former school. “I know.”

“And I love you so much.” 

He kisses Steve’s forehead. “I know. And I love you too. That’s why I had to do this, you know. Because even when I’m old and ugly, just like these flowers will be one day, when I’m senile and can hardly remember my own name, I will look at my hand and I’ll know all that is important.” 

Steve holds him even tighter if that’s possible, but maybe oxygen is needed just a little. Eddie gently kisses Steve’s head again and whispers: “We’re not done yet, love. Can you let me go so I can play us a movie? Something nice.” 

The arms crushing him loosen their hold and Steve briefly turns away to wipe at his eyes. “Sure. Sorry, I just…this is new for me. But good. So good.” 

“You deserve the good. All of it.” Eddie means it. And if seeing Steve appreciated as he should have been all of his life is redeemed by something as mundane as ignoring some truths about himself? Eddie is ready and willing. 

As he puts Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom into the VHS player, he realizes something terrifying - he’s actually LOOKING FORWARD TO THE NEXT VALENTINE’S DAY. 

Oh well. Time to adjust the Munson doctrine. After all, it might become a Munson-Harrington doctrine one day, so it deserves some revision.

[moodyvoid]

The league are all sitting around, dumping out their Halloween candy and sorting/trading with each other.

They’re all arguing over who got the most candy.

Toga hit up the same houses multiple times, transforming into a different person every time.

Twice had his doubles working overtime for candy, covering the most ground.

Despite their best efforts… Mr. Compress snaps a finger, decompressing a single marble, and a sea of candy falls out.

[pamwritessometimes]

Dig That Crazy Santa Claus

Russell Shaw x reader

A Tuesday's Gone Christmas drabble

Summary: Your daughter may have uncovered her dad's greatest secret ever.

Warnings: none

A/N: Surprise, haha! I couldn’t resist — I had to write a little drabble about their first Christmas together. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you!

Wordcount: 810

The house was dressed for the holidays in all its mismatched glory. The tree leaned a bit too far to the left, decked with candy canes and glittery, uneven ornaments. But it was perfect, because this was your first Christmas as a family of three, and you had gone all out: stockings hung by the fireplace, wreaths everywhere, and enough gingerbread to open your own shop. 

Yet, instead of the excited squeals you’d been expecting from a five-year-old, there was… silence.

Emma sat on the couch, arms crossed and lips pursed in a pout that could rival the Grinch.

“What’s wrong, bug?” Russell asked after noticing her little frown. His tone was light, but his brow was furrowed with concern. “You look like someone just canceled Christmas.”

“No one canceled anything” Emma mumbled, staring daggers at the floor.

You and Russell exchanged puzzled looks. Emma wasn’t usually subtle when upset. She was more of a dramatic-foot-stomping, full-volume protest kind of kid. This… this was new.

“Sweetheart” you tried, sitting down beside her and gently brushing her hair back. “Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell us. Did Misha eat your gingerbread man? Did Daddy burn the cinnamon rolls again?”

Russell shot you a playful glare but stayed focused on the scowling little girl. But Emma’s pout just deepened and gave you no reply.

“Okay, we’re going to need reinforcements” Russell muttered, plopping down on her other side. “Em, I’ll trade you a cookie for the truth… two cookies.”

Emma huffed but didn’t take the bait.

“Three cookies” Russell tried, wiggling his brows.

Nothing.

“Alright, we’re getting desperate here” he sighed. “I can give you four cookies, but that’s my final–’

She glared at him, her cheeks puffing with frustration. Finally, she burst out, cutting him off, “I saw Santa’s clothes!”

Both you and Russell blinked in unison.

“Santa’s clothes?” you repeated.

“In your room! Hanging with Daddy’s stuff!” Emma exclaimed, her voice quivering with the sheer weight of her discovery. “You’ve been lying to me! Santa’s not real!”

Russell’s eyes widened, and then, like a true master of improvisation, he leaned back with a dramatic gasp. “Emma Grace, do you know what you’ve just done?”

Uh-oh. He broke out the full name.

“What?” she asked, her pout faltering slightly.

“You’ve stumbled upon the biggest secret in the whole world.”

Her frown faltered, curiosity creeping into her expression.

“What secret?”

Russell leaned in close, lowering his voice like they were co-conspirators. “What I’m about to tell you is top-secret. You can’t tell anyone, not even your little school friends, ‘kay?”

Emma nodded solemnly, her earlier betrayal temporarily forgotten.

Russell leaned a bit closer, and whispered, “The truth is… I am Santa.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “No, you’re not!”

“Think about it” Russell said, tapping her temple. “Have you ever seen Santa and me in the same room?”

Emma squinted suspiciously. “...No.”

“And how do you think all those presents get here every year? Magic? Nah, it’s hard work, bug. I’ve got a sleigh parked in a top-secret location, and those reindeer? They’re on a strict carrot diet.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh at his earnest delivery.

“But… you don’t have white beard!” Emma challenged, crossing her arms.

“Ah” Russell said, stroking his dark stubbled chin. “That’s my disguise. Can’t have people recognizing me at the grocery store, can I? Imagine the chaos.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she was intrigued now, her earlier anger melting into suspicion laced with wonder.

“If you’re Santa…” she started. ”Why do you live here and not at the North Pole?”

“Budget cuts” he said solemnly, earning a stifled laugh from you. “And between us, your mom’s cookies? Way better than the elves’. They get jealous, but I don’t care.”

That finally got a giggle out of her. “You’re just making this up!”

“Am I?” he countered, raising a brow. “Now, you cannot tell anyone, not even your friends. If word gets out, it’ll blow my cover. Deal?”

Emma hesitated, then slowly extended her pinky. Russell hooked his pinky with hers, sealing the pact.

“So… you’re really Santa?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with childlike excitement now.

“The one and only.” Russell nodded gravely.

Later that evening, as she cuddled up between the two of you in front of the fireplace, a mug of hot cocoa in front of her on the coffee table, Emma glanced up at Russell.

“If you’re Santa, can I ride in your sleigh someday?”

He grinned, ruffling her hair. “Sorry, kid. Only bad ones stay up that late. And you don’t wanna get on the naughty list, do ya?”

She shook her head and snuggled closer to him.

As Emma drifted off to sleep, her head resting against Russell’s arm, you leaned over with a soft smile. “Santa, huh?”

Russell shrugged, looking entirely pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of many hats. And apparently, one big red suit.”

I hope you enjoyed this little holiday treat, haha! Wishing you all a wonderful day and the happiest of holidays, loves!

xx Pam

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never @roseblue373

[struwberrii]

haikyuu!! halloween headcanons 🕸 ｡𖦹°‧

here are some silly headcanons on how i think haikyuu characters would spend their halloween and what costumes they’d wear :3 (feel free 2 leave ur hcs in comments i love halloween + i wanna hear what u guys think lol 🎃)

pt. 1 here :3

characters: suna, akaashi, atsumu, kenma, tendou, iwaizumi

suna

probably doesn’t get too creative with his costumes, ends up going as like batman or spider man

brings you with him when he takes his little sister trick or treating so you guys can get free candy

doesn’t stay out too late because he gets bored and cold

you guys all sit at the dinner table trading candy while listening to music later on

the night would probably end with you and his friends hanging out at his house and ordering a pizza while watching ‘scary’ movies

(you’re all just poking fun at the movies for how predictable they are though)

akaashi

probably just shows up in a black t shirt and black jeans tbh

lets you do skeleton makeup on him though

you guys go to a festival and play a murder mystery

he keeps freaking everyone out by telling scary stories that are oddly realistic and descriptive, he sends bokuto home shaking in fear

doesn’t get a lot of candy but does eat the baked goods they offer and enjoys a caramel apple

he’s your groups designated photographer

atsumu

tries to match with osamu by dressing as eachother but samu says no then ends up being tsumu anyway

dresses as like patrick bateman or something and he TRIES not to break character character all night but he’s too unserious

chases samu with an axe at least twice that night

tries to talk vendors into giving him a little more than whatever they gave samu but gets rejected almost everytime

sometimes they purposely give him less food just because he asked 😭

tries to scare/prank people but he laughs to soon and blows his cover

somehow ends up with the most candy/trinkets and brags about it

kenma

kuroo literally had to drag him out the house and kenma did NOT come out without a fight (literally clawing at the walls bro did NOT want to be at that festival)

he was given animal ears as his costume but he’s rocking sweats

complains all night

eventually gets someone to give him a ride on their back while he plays his game

his mood drastically lightens when kuroo brings him a slice of apple pie

takes the ugliest pictures of his friends when they’re caught off guard and randomly sends it to their groupchat later on

tendou

tries to be scary but ends up going as chucky (yk that doll with the red hair)

literally chases his teammates around and scares them all night

pulls the best pranks like someone def ended up pissing their pants (it was probably goshiki)

also tells scary stories, while shirabu is picking at holes in the plot of his story 😭

forces ushijima to come out in costume too despite ushijima not being very interested in the holiday

he def goes crazy apple bobbing, he gets DOWN.

iwaizumi

doesn’t dress up but still goes out to a festival with his friends

probably wins you some huge stuffed animal but ends up carrying it around for you since it’s too big

i imagine it being like a giant homer simpson too 😭

oikawa tries scaring him but iwa ends up being the one chasing oikawa

tries a little bit of all the snacks they have to offer there

ends up spending most of the night watching other peoples kids and helping them get out of bounce houses

[lottiesboy]

take your baby to work day!!

pairing: cg!melissa schemmenti x fem!little!reader

summary: it’s a teacher’s work day, so melissa brings you to work with her.

tags: sfw, fluff, age regression, mama!melissa, reader regressed to 2-4 years old, melissa’s friends being nice to you :33

for @criblovr's fic trade :3

“ready to go, bambi?” melissa buckled your seatbelt. you nodded, smiling as you held your stuffie to your chest. “gonna go to mama job!”

“that’s right, baby girl!” she smiled back. the drive to the school wasn’t very long, melissa keeping you occupied with playing some of your favorite songs in the car.

it was a teacher’s work day at abbott, so there were no kids there, just teachers. and you were regressed, so melissa thought it was the perfect day to finally take you to work with her.

you were actually really shy about meeting melissa’s coworkers, but she reassured you that they’re gonna be super nice to you. you held onto melissa as she talked to barbara, hiding behind her.

“and who’s this?” barbara smiled. melissa rubbed your back. “don’t be shy, sweets. you know barb, right?” you nodded, waving politely. you’ve hung out with melissa’s co-workers when you were big, so you were a little nervous for them to see you little.

“hi, sweetheart. are you excited to hang out with your mama today? i bet you are.” barbara talked to you just how she talked to her students. she thought it was adorable how clingy you were towards melissa.

after melissa talked with barbara a little more, the two of you walked to her classroom. “mama class pretty.” she let you sit at her desk, smiling at you spinning around in her chair.

“i’m glad you like it, bambina. you wanna help mama with some work?” you nodded, melissa giving you some worksheets to sort for her students.

after you two were done, it was time for lunch. melissa grabbed your lunch bags off her desk and walked to the teacher’s lounge. the whole gang was there talking about god knows what.

“oh, hey melissa!” janine smiled. “and, hey little one.” janine waived at you and you shyly waived back. “you’re so shy, bambi. it’s okay. mama’s friends are nice, right?” you nodded, letting melissa unzip your lunch bags and pull out your food.

“eat your sandwich, baby girl.” she encouraged. your little self began to warm up melissa’s friends, you and janine talking up a storm.

“looks like my little chatterbox found someone to get along with.” melissa smiled. “wait, where’s ava? isn’t she supposed to be here?” jacob turned around, confused.

“apparently, she took today off because this is a teacher’s work day, not a principal’s work day.” gregory sipped his coffee while others groaned and some laughed.

after you finished your food, you tugged on melissa’s sleeve. “what’s up, baby girl?”

“candy, mama.” you pointed at the vending machine. seeing that ate all your food like a big girl, she gave you a couple dollars and let you walk up to the machine.

you put the dollars in all by yourself but you had some trouble picking what you wanted. melissa looked back, seeing how adorably deep into thought you were.

you pressed the button for your candy bar, tapping your feet as you waited for it to fall down the slot, but it got stuck. you whined, tearing up because you didn’t get your special treat.

melissa went to comfort you, but gregory swooped in before you started crying. “hold on. it’s okay.” he reassured you before shaking the machine a little. he shook the machine with all his might until your candy bar finally dropped down.

you squealed and grabbed your treat happily, your tears forgotten. “what do you say to gregory, bambi?” melissa smiled. “thank you.” you smiled shyly, gregory smiling back and giving you a pat on the head.

you sat in melissa’s lap now, eating your candy and kicking your feet a little. you had gotten the chocolate all over your face and hands, making melissa clean your face with a baby wipe. barbara watched the entire scene play out in front of her, thinking it was the most precious thing.

soon, it was time to go home and time for your nap. you sleepily waved goodbye to everyone, whining for melissa to pick you up. “you had fun today, sleepy girl?” she rubbed your back, feeling you nod against her shoulder. when she got to her car, she put you in and strapped your seatbelt.

“oh my goodness,,, mama’s got the sleepiest little girl in the world in her car, huh?” melissa watched as you cuddled your stuffie and your little eyes fluttered shut, falling asleep as soon as melissa left the parking lot.

[fuyusdreaming]

it’s halloween and all i can think about is final timeline mikey being super antsy the whole week leading up and no one (except takemitchy) can quite figure out why he’s acting so off and then halloween day comes and he gets super anxious to be around baji and the whole day he’s being oddly clingy to him. and poor, sweet baji is so confused cause mikey doesn’t typically act like that and takemitchy keeps looking at him like he’s gonna cry and when the night is over and they’re all trading candy and whatnot, he finally asks what’s wrong and takemitchy just gives him that look again and says

“we’re just really glad you’re here”

[ac0smicdanc3r]

Its nearly halfway through the movie when…

Steve: Oh, oh, I forgot- *reaching back into the bag of snacks that he had brought for movie night, retrieving two Ring Pops and handing them to Eddie and Robin* One for you… and one for you.

Robin: What are these??

Steve: They’re rings, but the diamond is actually candy, so you can eat it.

Eddie, already tearing open the packet: Steve, that’s very sweet, but we’re not eight.

Steve: *rolls his eyes and goes back to watching the movie*

Eddie: *immediately turning to Robin* What do you got?

Robin: Grape. Yours?

Eddie: Red.

Robin: Trade you?

Eddie: Yes!

[cheriden]

「 txt in kindergarten 」 。。。

𐙚 SOOBIN

• Passes by his friends’ houses to collect them, walking together to school • Pouts whenever someone else takes something he’s set his eyes on but doesn’t say anything about it. He tells himself it’s fine, as long as they're happy • Only brings essentials to school, but overpacks on situational things he might need like band-aids and bug lotion/patches — “What if I get bitten by a THOUSAND mosquitoes today?!” • Loves to play with house toys, such as kitchenware with fancy wooden stoves. A bit stressed when someone comes along and plays beside him.  • At the playground he tries to conquer the seesaw. Unfortunately he is afraid the person on the other end might not let him down or catapult him into the air, so he just sits on it with nobody on the other side. • Lunchbox has every food group, sometimes even gets dessert when he’s behaved enough. Eats the longest because he may have to force himself to eat whatever he doesn’t like. • Favorite time of the day is nap time! Everyone is quiet and he gets to sleep, no complaints here

𐙚 YEONJUN

• In charge of looking both ways when crossing the road, grips hard when holding hands. • Overpacks toys and stationary, but still capable of forgetting something mildly important.  • Loves to play with building blocks and matching games/puzzles. • At the playground he’s at the top of the slide, ruling over his minions and most likely hogging it. • Likes to trade lunches with other kids, particular about the quality to quantity ratio. Expert at haggling. — “I’m taking more from you because my dish is harder to prepare and has more ingredients! Maybe if you give me a piece of your sides, I’ll consider it.” • Favorite time of the day is recess! Likes mingling with other kids, there is no set agenda so he could talk about or do anything

𐙚 BEOMGYU

• Strays and wanders away from the walking group, sometimes gets lost. • Things are heavily personalized, same unsure handwriting that says "beomgyu" on every item he owns, and as much as possible they’re all the same color or have the same character.  • Erasers are the gel fruit ones that get lost (or eaten) • Loves to play with very select plushies, may throw a tantrum if he doesn’t have it with him • At the playground he can be found in sandboxes, making castles and pretending to be a monster. • Steps on other kids’ work in the process. Sometimes it’s an accident, most times it's intentional — “I didn’t destroy your castle because it’s better than mine, which is a lie. I destroyed it because I’m godzilla.” • Brags about all of the snacks and candies his parents gave him (or what he takes from the cupboard) • Favorite time of the day is arts class! A subject where he can be as loud and messy as he wants for the sake of whatever project he’s making that day.

𐙚 TAEHYUN

• Has a map in his bag in case they forget the route • Loves to talk about his surroundings, eyes glistening when others ask follow up questions • Always asks questions in class, he’s so attentive !! • Complete stationery set, including a cool pencil case with a built in sharpener. Will let others borrow but will ask why they need it, asking every other second if he can have it back because he’s afraid they’ll lose it or keep it • Loves to play with interactive books, pop-ups and especially ones where you can feel the texture of things. • At the playground he loves being on the swing sets, telling other children to wait their turn or when 5 minutes have passed to let others have a chance on the swing. — “Your time was up two minutes ago! Why am I still here? I’m the reason you get turns in the first place!” • Always eats whatever his parents have prepared for him, boasts about being healthy and outliving everyone else. • Favorite time of the day is math class! Since math class is technically indirect and simple arithmetics, such as adding apples, sometimes it’s easy to cheat (count on his fingers)

𐙚 HUENINGKAI

• Stops to look at all the fauna and flora, squealing and telling those around him. My little arthropod lover! • Extensive art set that gets everyone's attention, other kids love to borrow from him and he can be kind of a pushover. Unfortunately, they end up losing them. • Loves to play with anything colorful that makes sound, such as a rainbow xylophone • At the playground he loves the roundabout, but he’s too shy to get on. He patiently waits for someone to invite him to ride, so instead he pushes the others around. • Tries to eat his lunch quickly in case someone might ask him to share. He will, but he will sulk a lot. It was prepared for him! • Favorite time of the day is music class! Generally this is a time where everyone just makes noise, but most eyes are on him when he learns a new toy instrument. He doesn’t like the attention, but it’s not so bad either. — “This? Oh, I guess it’s just easy for me. wait, sorry! I didn't mean to brag.... When I want to hear a sound, my hands move on my own to do it! Teach you? Um I’m not really good at that… But sure!”

i saw that pic of them in the unifs and imagined little tubatu crossing the street hand in hand :(

thank you for reading! feedback, reblogs and tags appreciated♡

[were-wolverine]

one year for halloween the batkids and superkids convince bruce and clark to switch cities for the night

it actually works really well, because lex luthor is obviously not expecting batman, and the only weapons he have are kryptonite-based

i also think all the gotham criminals/rogues would be terrified of superman because he has superpowers and they’re not used to dealing with that at all (aside from duke, but him and clark have very different abilities)

the kids get the night off because 1. bruce can easily handle metropolis and 2. clark is literally indestructible

they take damian and jon trick or treating (to live vicariously through them). cass forces tim to go with her because neither of them did it as kids, and they drag kon along.

dick and jason dress up but only to chaperone and later they buy a giant bag of candy for themselves. duke and steph go around handing out candy as signal & spoiler.

at midnight they all go to the manor to watch halloween movies and trade candy

costumes

dick: a pirate

jason: a zombie

tim: dipper pines

cass: mabel pines

kon: a greaser

damian: batman

jon: superman

(this is kid!jon ofc)

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 37

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: We see Imogen working at her job behind the counter of Faramore’s General Store. An elderly lady is attempting to describe what she wants without actually using any descriptive nouns. Frustrated, Imogen taps into her thoughts to get an idea of what she’s describing and finishes her sentences for her. A variety of things are on display: tools, bolts of fabric, barrels of apples and pickles, jars of candy, hanging horse tack, coils of rope, canned goods, lanterns. All during this conversation a family of several runny-nosed children is putting their hands all over everything, which makes Imogen wince.

Elderly Customer: Now, I need two yards of the red, you know, with the checks . . .

Imogen: Flannel?

Elderly Customer: And half a pound of the little round . . .

Imogen: Peppermints?

Elderly Customer: Yes, and three tins of the one . . . with the blue label . . .

Imogen: . . . Pomade?

Elderly Customer: No need to be so impatient, missy. I’m getting to it.

Panel 2: Next up is the mother of the several germy children, who slams down her shopping list. One of the children, last seen wiping their nose on the back of their hand, puts their hands into a jar of candy, which makes Imogen wince harder.

Karen: About time. I need two bottles of Zenotha’s Throat Elixir, a five-pound bag of rice, a braid of garlic, a jar of turmeric powder, a pound of coffee beans, and a dozen handkerchiefs.

Imogen: I’m afraid we’re out of throat elixir, ma’am, but I could place an order for you. What kind of handkerchiefs--

Karen: What do you mean, you’re out?? Why don’t you go on and check in the back?

Imogen: Sure, ma’am. Just a minute.

Panel 3: In the back. Laudna is there, taking inventory in a notebook.

Imogen: Hey, Laudna?

Laudna: Hmm?

Imogen: We got any more of that Zenotha’s Throat Elixir?

Laudna: Oh, no. We’ve been out of that for days.

Imogen: {sigh} That’s what I thought. Gonna get eaten alive out there.

Panel 4: Laudna absently pats a few sacks of dry beans on a shelf.

Imogen: You likin’ your new job?

Laudna: Oh, yes! Though it does get a bit lonely back here.

Imogen: Heh. Wanna trade? It is definitely not lonely out there.

Laudna: I think I could make a good shop girl! What do you think, Pâté?

Pâté: Got a face for customer service, you ‘ave.

Imogen: {sigh} I miss workin’ with the horses. They’re much easier to please. Panel 5: She goes back out, empty-handed, and starts compiling the rest of the order. The mother of the several germy children gets right up in her face as she yells at her across the counter.

Imogen: I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s out of stock. I can place an order for you and it’ll be here in about two weeks. In the meantime, would you like some lozenges, or --

Karen: Two weeks?? I can’t wait that long! My kids need it now!

Her Thoughts: worthless lazy girl I bet she didn’t even look what am I going to do now nowhere else has it useless useless useless

Imogen: I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s been in real high demand lately.

Karen: Hurry up! I can’t wait all day if I have to go huntin’ all over town for the things y’all don’t have here.

[katzkinder]

Servamp headcanons, ice cream edition! Because my grandma got an ice cream maker and we’re all super eager to try it out but then she broke her back (she’s fine, don’t worry)

Mahiru: plain old vanilla. Misono introduced him to vanilla BEAN ice cream though and he’s feeling a little guilty about wanting to splurge a bit for the more expensive, creamier stuff… Kuro is an enabler and his encouragement is the only reason he’s still managing to resist. Just do it Mahi!

Kuro: Cookies and Cream is his favorite, but he’s also partial to cookie dough, or crumbled chocolate mint cookies as topping. He likes both the taste and the texture

Misono: chocolate lol. He’s predictable. His absolute favorite though are those ultra decadent brownie batter type of chocolate ice creams. Yknow the ones. Chocolate pieces, brownie bits, hot fudge swirl… He gets sick off the stuff easily though, so even though he loves it, self control is everything

Lily: vanilla bean with strawberry topping and cheese cake bites! He loves fresh strawberries in his desserts, and often he and Misono will trade bites if they’re getting flavor fatigue. Also very rich but the strawberry helps cuts through the sweetness

Tetsu: a Basic Boi who loves GariGariKun the most. Prefers popsicles over dairy treats. Yeah technically this isn’t ice cream but like. It’s the taste of summer and after bath refreshments. I’m not taking that from him

Hugh: vanilla with hot fudge sauce (and/or blood). He still prefers his chocolate parfaits, or better yet for this scenario, a milkshake

Licht: yknow those ultra sweet cotton candy flavors? If it’s ice cream by itself, he loves that. But if it’s a float, it’s gotta be vanilla in melon soda. If you take him to marble slab or similar place that lets you mix in a bunch of toppings, he will make a beeline for the gummy bears. Gets disappointed every time that they turn hard and unpleasant to eat, even though he already knows the outcome

Lawless: he has two favorites. Coffee bean (distinct from just plain coffee flavor) and moose tracks. I’m not sure what that’s called in other places? Basically it’s vanilla with peanut butter cups and fudge. Only goes for this when he’s depressed, if I’m honest. Otherwise it’s too sweet.

Mikuni: haagen daz amaretto almond crunch and their hojicha latte flavor. Forever sad that the former was limited edition and doesn’t make seasonal returns. It was absolutely perfect for his and jeje’s terrible Netflix movie nights (with the occasional appearance by johannes so they could make fun of the bad science together)

Jeje: since Mikuni only buys haagen daz (spoiled pretentious shit) he’s grateful they a rich pumpkin flavor that becomes available during autumn. He also really likes horchata milkshakes for the comforting taste of cinnamon.

Iduna: Tried butter pecan once and was hooked. The crunchiness of the pecans is her favorite part. It’s her go to for when Haagen Daz Creamy Vanilla Pudding flavor isn’t in season. Back home, though, it’s got to be the rather… Unique. Salty licorice flavor. She gave some to shuuhei one time just to watch him gag. She knows what she’s doing to that poor boy.

Freya: the simple freshness of strawberry ice cream is her guilty pleasure. She been thinking of making her own with an old hand churner. It would be fun, right? And it’s not like it would be difficult to get the ingredients she needs.

Nicco: Pistachio gelato, though he also enjoys the tartness and slight bitter aftertaste of limoncello flavor. He likes taking Ildio with him whenever there’s a new flavor he wants to try but isn’t sure he’ll like. Even if he doesn’t care for it, his servamp probably will. Does that make him mean?

Ildio: No preference as of yet. He’s still figuring this whole… Tasting your food thing out

Tsubaki: as expected, he loves matcha and red bean flavors. REALLY excited some of the Hagen daz hanamochi series is becoming a permanent flavor

Sakuya: rocky road. Sweet, crunchy, and a little bitter on the back end from the chocolate. Refuses to admit it but he also enjoys the hanamochi series. He’s stubborn. Whenever he wins a free popsicle he gives the stick to Mahiru, so inevitably when they hang out, that’s what he buys if they stop at the konbini, just for the chance to maybe earn some good boy points with his best friend and crush. And he thinks he’s subtle—

Reblog with your own headcanons! I love seeing what people add to my posts :3

[whumpcereal]

behavior modification, a valentine special

hi! long time, no see. i was home sick from work today and marathoning valentine movies, so here's some sentimental jack and joe for you. part of behavior modification (masterlist here), takes place sometime in the first year after jack's rescue, during his lawsuit against WRU for his freedom.

content warnings for: trauma responses, references to past noncon, tooth-rotting fluff

future snippet, sealed with a kiss

“Is this for your special someone?” 

The clerk’s smile is impossibly large; if she smiles any wider, Joe is convinced her face will crack. He understands. She’s probably asked this question at least seventy-five million times in the last week, and it’s a pointless one. Valentine cards are a perfunctory part of being in a relationship. Even if you don’t think your someone is all that special, you still buy them a card because that’s what the day demands. It’s part of the reason Joe never really cared about Valentine’s Day before. The forced displays of affection, the candy pink sheen of it all–it never seemed to reflect the kind of love Joe knew to be true. 

But this year, it’s different. This year, the clerk’s question isn’t so pointless. Joe looks down at the red envelope in his hand, and he cannot hide his own smile. “Yes, it is. Someone very special.” 

“Well, I’m sure she’ll love it!” the clerk sing-songs back. With a pop of her gum, she grabs the card and scans it. 

Joe doesn’t correct her. At least, not overtly. “I hope he does,” he says softly, but the clerk doesn’t look up. 

They never really celebrated Valentine’s Day before. Sure, Joe liked to rage against the consumer machine, but it was really Jack’s doing. Jack was indifferent, or, at least, he pretended to be. The truth was gift-giving occasions always made him a little uncomfortable. In Jack’s mind, gifts were offered only as part of a fucked-up trade; something he might want for something he certainly didn’t want to give. Joe had learned that the hard way. 

They had been seeing each other maybe a month at the time, but Jack was already spending most of his nights at Joe’s place, even if they hadn’t quite consummated their relationship yet. Joe didn’t know at the time that Jack had basically been squatting in the library study carrels and showering at the fitness center, but even if he had, he was more than happy to have Jack with him as much as possible. 

It had been a hard week. Jack was marking exams as well as taking his own, and Joe had been preparing for a conference; neither of them had come up for air in days. But when the grades were submitted and the presentation finalized, Joe thought they should celebrate. He thought he’d surprise Jack, and he brought home an expensive bottle of champagne and flowers. 

Jack had paled when Joe handed him the roses. “What are these for?” he’d asked. 

“For you, silly. For getting through this bear of a week.” Because I love you, Joe had thought but not said. It was too early. But he kissed Jack’s cheek, because that was something he was allowed to do. It made his body feel electric.

But when he pulled away, Jack was still staring at the roses. “Thank you.” He didn’t sound particularly thankful. 

“Are you okay?” 

A vacant nod. “Yeah. They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Jack set the roses down and turned toward the pantry. “Let me just get dinner started, and then–” 

“You don’t have to make dinner tonight, Jack.” It was before Jack was his Jackie. Before Joe knew what he knows now. “I thought we could kick back and relax. Celebrate.” 

“Of course,” Jack said softly, his chin dipping into the hollow of his throat. “Of course we’ll celebrate. I’ll take care of you.” 

Joe knows that tone of voice now. The faraway note that lets him know Jack is falling back into old habits, a tone that, these days, precipitates a whispered sir. But he didn’t know then.

He didn’t see the way that Jack gnawed on his lip for a split second before he launched himself bodily at Joe, their hips crashing together, Jack’s hands in Joe’s hair. Joe fumbled to set the champagne on the counter behind him, to wrap his hands around Jack’s waist, but Jack’s fingers were already plucking open Joe’s shirt buttons, his mouth close behind. Jack was on his knees so quickly that Joe wasn’t sure what was happening. 

“Jack–ohmygod, Jack.” 

It was everything Joe wanted, but he didn’t know yet that it wasn’t what Jack wanted. Not until he’d looked down and seen tears squeezing from Jack’s pruned eyelids. 

“Jack?” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t, I just–I know you deserve it. I know what you want. I’ll try again. I’m sorry.” 

It was then that Joe realized. The flowers. The champagne. Jack assumed they were all part of a transaction. 

Jack told him everything that night. About Bill and the others. And Joe learned. He never surprised Jack that way again. Even after Jack came home from WRU–no, especially then–Joe tried to avoid surprises. For Jack, tokens of affection were part and parcel of an economy where he was the commodity. Joe doesn’t want him to feel that way, not ever again. 

But a card. A card is different. 

Joe knows about WRU’s training protocol now. Jack is lucky. Those bastards may have burrowed their poison into his brain, but he still has his words; he can still read. It was one of the only things that gave him comfort when he came home. Books were some of the only things he didn’t ask to touch. Joe understands. Words matter more than things. 

The clerk pops her gum again. “You want a bag and a gold seal?” 

“No, that’s all right.” Joe manages to stop short of telling her that he’s going to seal this one with a kiss. 

“Well, have a happy Valentine’s day, sir.” 

“I will. Thank you.” 

The card is in its envelope when Joe lets himself into the apartment, and Jack is in the kitchen. The apartment is fragrant with a warm, red wine smell. Joe tiptoes to stand in the cheap stucco archway. He watches the way Jack’s basketball short-clad hips move softly to the old fashioned jazz that’s coming from the speaker on the counter. His body is shyer somehow, more tentative in its movements, but still lithe and beautiful. Jack is still Jack, even after everything he’s been through. 

Joe lets out a low whistle, and Jack turns, a pasta server in his hand and a shy smile on his lips. Joe’s knees practically buckle. 

“You’re home,” Jack says. 

“I’m home, baby.” Joe moves into the kitchen, and when Jack offers his lips, Joe takes them, resting a soft hand on Jack’s hip. “What are you making?” 

“Red wine pasta with toasted walnuts and arugula,” Jack says easily. He kisses Joe’s jawline. 

“I know what one of those things is.” 

Jack laughs. “My gourmand.” 

“Or something!” 

“How was your day, Joey?” Jack disengages slowly and goes to pour Joe a glass of wine. 

It’s a difficult question some days. Jack’s days are so different from Joe’s. He isn’t allowed to leave the apartment without supervision until the litigation with WRU is over. Until it’s done, Jack is still technically Joe’s property. But only technically. Joe reminds himself of that every day. 

“It was alright. I missed you.” But it’s easier now. Now, Joe has far fewer opportunities to miss his Jackie. 

Jack smiles, sneaking a sip from the glass before he hands it to Joe. “I missed you too.” 

Joe raises his glass and leans back against the cheap countertop. “I would’ve been home earlier, but I had to make a special stop.” 

Jack is back at the stove. He upends the wine bottle into a sauce pan, and a cloud of rich steam rises in its wake. “Why’s that?” 

“I wanted to get you a card for Valentine’s Day.” Joe says it gently, so that it will not be a surprise. 

Jack freezes, his hand hovering over the sauce pan for just a second, but then his shoulders relax. He peeks at Joe. “You? Mr. ‘Conversation-Hearts-Are-Nuggets-of-Corporate-Greed’?” 

Joe smothers his own smile. Jack remembers. “Yes, me.” He pulls the card from his pocket. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jackie.” 

Jack puts a lid over the pan and turns around. “I didn’t get you anything.” 

“You’re all the gift I need,” Joe whispers, because it is true. Every one of the days he spends with Jack is a gift. He knew that even before, but every nerve in his body is certain of it now. 

Jack tries to roll his eyes, but Joe can see that his words have landed. “Well, thank you,” Jack says softly. His fingertips whisper against Joe’s when he reaches for the card. 

“Open it up, baby.” 

Jack complies, carefully opening the red envelope that Joe absolutely kissed without a hint of irony after he licked the seal and pressed it closed. The card itself isn’t so special; just the standard hearts and flowers schlock that all the stores sell this time of year. But Joe’s written his own message inside. He watches Jack’s eyes move like a typewriter carriage over his uneven scrawl. 

Jackie, 

I know we don’t usually do this, but I feel like I haven’t told you enough how grateful I am that you are home. Nothing felt right without you, and I know now that it never could. You are my home. You are stronger than any foundation, and I will never stop thanking God that you choose to be with me, even after everything you’ve been through. And it is your choice. You have every choice. You deserve that. 

I choose you, every day. I always will. 

Love, 

Joe 

When Jack looks up again, his blue eyes are glassy with tears. “Joey–” 

“I didn’t mean to–” 

Jack shakes his head. He folds the card carefully and stares down at it. “You didn’t. Joe?” 

Joe takes a hesitant step forward. “What is it, baby?” 

“I choose this. I do.” 

Jack reaches for him then, and Joe pulls Jack into his chest. “I know you do. And even if you didn’t or if–if someday, you don’t, I’ll always be grateful for this. Right now.” 

Jack lets Joe hold him, and Joe knows exactly what this moment is worth. He wraps his arms so tightly around Jack that, if he didn’t know exactly how strong Jack is, he might crush him. But no one can crush Jack, and Joe knows how to hold him. Joe knows how to give him room and keep him close all at once. Joe knows how to let him choose. 

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy1, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @termsnconditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme, @sunnie, @sadboysanonymous, @panic-whump