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lunarmoves · 4 months

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lunch today was a burrito you'd snagged from el chips with your employee pass. it wasn't anything much, just a tortilla with some beans slapped inside and cheese for extra flavor. rather sad, now that you thought about it, but at least the sauces you'd added made it taste better.

you often took your lunch break in the daycare, nestled comfortably in the chair behind the unused security desk. so that's where you were, taking advantage of naptime to eat your food in a quiet, peaceful place. it was dark, but the lighting from the windows behind you was enough to allow you to see. that and the small lamp positioned in a little corner of the desk.

you took another bite out of your burrito, mindful of the crinkling aluminum, then paused halfway through chewing. "you've been staring at me for the last ten minutes."

moon's face plate clicked to the side, his squatted position atop the desk before you making him loom rather ominously over your much smaller form. "messy," was his short response, though it only made you roll your eyes.

"i'm not messy and you know it," you replied and took a sip of your drink to wash down some of the beans stuck between your teeth. "you've never stared at me on my other lunch breaks like this. something up?"

he was quiet for a moment, light from his eyes painting your vision in watercolor ruby. then he looked away, turning his gaze to all the snoozing toddlers resting on the playmats. "...keeping you company."

you raised an eyebrow as an indication for him to elaborate. since when did he care? when moon didn't hear anything from you, he huffed—a strange sound, coming from a robot—and mumbled something just loud enough for you to hear. "humans eat food with each other all the time."

you blinked at him—the resolute way he was avoiding your gaze—and mulled over his words in your head. there was a tendency for humans to put meaning into shared meals—into spending time eating with each other as an act of friendship, camaraderie, or love. your gaze softened and you took another bite of your burrito to spare him from the embarrassment that came with being vulnerable.

"that we do," you said gently, then nothing else. a quiet settled easily between the two of you and eventually moon went back to watching you eat your food. very, very intensely.

you cracked after about five minutes, more amused than anything. "okay, what is it? there's something else on your mind, isn't there?"

"no," he immediately replied, then at the expectant look you gave him, he deflated. he tapped the metal of his fingers against the top of the desk—a sound that seemed to echo throughout the daycare. "....yes."

you waited as he seemed to ruminate upon his words, before eventually—at your gentle, inquisitive hum—he relented. "gustation is not one of our utilities," he started unsurely, tentatively. you tilted your head at him, curious at what he was getting at. moon hesitated for only a split second, then pressed on with what he'd been previously contemplating. "your burrito. what does it taste like?"

oh! you weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. "well..." you started slowly. "it tastes like... beans. and cheese. kind of spicy, too." when moon gave you a flat look, you held up your hands in a shrug. "sorry, you caught me off guard."

"we know what burritos are made of," moon told you indignantly, and you knew if he could, he'd roll his eyes at you. "we just do not know what it tastes like. try again."

you snorted and took a bit more time to think, taking a bite to chew more carefully and parse out the flavors. "it's savory," you eventually settled on saying. "a bit salty, but the blandness of the tortilla balances it out. spicy, like i said before, because of the hot sauce." you thoughtfully rubbed at your chin with your free hand.

when moon made a sound that was like clicking one's tongue against their teeth, you realized that was not quite what he was looking for either. "yes," he grumbled, "but what is that like?"

hm. this was getting more convoluted by the minute, but you were not opposed to taking time to try to explain flavors to him. you set down your half-eaten burrito and wiped your fingers on a spare napkin you had lying around. then you leveled him with a pondering look. he looked back, patiently waiting with his fingers tip-tip-tapping away.

you decided to start with the easiest one. "spiciness," you began, mind racing with what to say, "is like... holding something hot. like... when you overheat and your fans kick into overdrive to cool yourself down. it hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt."

he took in your words—digesting them slowly—then nodded. you continued. "umami is like… sitting at a hearth. uh, maybe like when you have a kid sleeping on your lap after a long day.” shit, this was hard. you stared up at the ceiling decorated in all its glowing stars as you contemplated your next words. moon only waited quietly and for that you were thankful.

“saltiness is like— like a steely tang. distantly reminiscent of the ocean.” you tapped a finger over your lips. he probably hadn’t ever seen the ocean, huh? “it’s like the color white. it can be used to bring out other colors, but too much and it just ruins everything.”

you hadn’t mentioned the other three tastes in describing your burrito, but you might as well for his sake. “sourness is like a zap of electricity. very sharp! kind of like…” you trailed off and gestured at moon to come closer. he was limited due to his protocols restricting him from passing beyond the desk, but he could at least lean forward enough that you could reach up to his face. he gave you a curious look, and you almost felt bad when you gave him a flick on the forehead. a small twang echoed from the contact of your nails on metal. “like that.”

“ow,” moon said in a deadpanned voice as he leaned away from you. one of his hands lifted to cover his forehead, and you chuckled before continuing your little lesson.

“sweetness is easy. it’s like a kiss on the cheek or a hug from someone you really like,” you said with a small smile. moon’s face plate tilted to the right at that, his gaze locked onto your face. tap-tap-tap went his fingers. “and last, but certainly not least, bitterness is like… hm… like”—you pulled a face, scrunching up your nose and sticking your tongue out—“like that. unpleasant. a battery that has melted apart.”

you picked back up your burrito and took a bite from it, letting moon stew in your words in the meantime. it looked like he was in a completely different world and you wondered what was going on inside that flat head of his. you swallowed down your bite and added “i’m sure there are better ways to describe them, but that’s all i’ve got for now.” you shrugged.

there was a quiet, quiet moment where moon just stared down at you. a tension seemed to line his shoulders and back, expressed only via the fidgeting of his hands. you raised an eyebrow, only slightly concerned. “…something on your mind?” you asked gently. and just when you thought he wasn’t going to say anything for the rest of your lunch break, he seemed to deflate and reached out a hand towards your face.

“thank you,” he mumbled, the smooth metal of his thumb swiping over the plushness of your bottom lip. it was cold. you had to suppress a shiver. your breath got caught up in your lungs, a burning sensation crawling its way up your neck as you watched him carefully. he leaned back and regarded the smudge of hot sauce on his thumb. you had to resist the sudden, vicious urge to lick at your lips.

the entire daycare seemed to hold its breath.

“what we wouldn’t give,” moon eventually said lowly, something indecipherable tinging his voice, “to share a meal with you.” an ache nestled itself in your chest.

and then he sighed—longing and wistful. the sound getting swallowed up by the vastness of the daycare.

#ough ough agh agh #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #moon x reader #fnaf moon x reader #dca x y/n #dca x self insert #dca x you #fnaf dca x reader #fnaf dca x you #moon x y/n #moon x self insert #moondrop x reader #moondrop x you #moondrop x y/n #moondrop x self insert #i will NEVER get over how many fcking tags they have #fnaf moon x y/n #shay scribbles daydreams

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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 2 days

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I asked a few of my favorite hazbin writers this and only one answered and it was ok but I felt like it could have been expanded on so here's my take

Vox, Val, Alastor, and Lucifer react to your love language being baking/cooking

Vox

(Starting with him because he's the one thaf inspired this).

Vox came from the 50s and even though I firmly believe he is past all the ingrained gender roles and homophobia I think he still has some internalized misogyny. He wants to be viewed as the man in the relationship, the breadwinner, the provider. He can cook for himself but it's pretty basic food (except steak. Like every other man since the invention of the grill how to bbq has been hardwired into his brain. If his partner also grills ya'll fight over whose turn to cook out it is)

(Unrelated but as a lesbian who loves to grill, and is the designated grill bro, butch lesbians or cookout lesbians are some of Vox's favorite type of gays to chill with)

I firmly believe that's why even though he's a sub, it's so hard and would take time and trust to get him to let you top and enjoy it. He's so worried people will find out and judge him, that you'll judge him. His ego can be very fragile.

Especially if we go with the Vox used to be a cult leader theory. His power, image, and success are linked to his ability to appear in control. To appear to have all the answers and take responsibility. It's going to take a lot of time and patience to unravel all that and help him seperate his personal and professional image.

That being said, a partner who uses acts of service as a love language is perfect for him. He's a busy man, so he tends to be a gift giver type. The gifts are always well thought out and expensive. He wants it to be something you need, want, can get a lot of enjoyment from, and be worth the money spent, so he puts time and effort into them. Unless he's just showing off by giving you his card and telling you to go nuts.

So you taking time to make his coffee for him the way he likes, ordering lunch from his favorite places and having it sent to his office so he remembers to eat, or just texting him reminders to drink water or eat/take breaks throughout the day makes him giddy.

If you're his assistant or something, (and I believe Vox absolutely would have his partner working for him/with him), then it's even better when you take on extra work to try and help him. Organizing his schedule, sorting emails/mail, and proofreading things. Any small act you do for him, because you want to and care about him, makes his heart rate pick up.

It'll really make him overheat, glitching slightly, literal heart eyes, if he comes home after a shitty day and you're cooking for him.

His internal monologue is absolutely raving about what a good housewife you are for him, a hard working husband.

Bonus points if you cleaned too! Either way, he adores you even more now, letting you fret and coo at him, removing his jacket and tie, pouring him a drink and telling him dinner will be ready soon and you made his favorite. He's so tempted to bend you over the counter right now, but that would ruin dinner. After you guys eat though, he's having you for dessert. Man's gonna make sure you know how much he appreciates this by turning your knees to jello, good luck walking tomorrow, doll.

If you bake treats and bring them to VoxTek he's gonna brag so much. Literally the embodiment of John Mulaney's, "That's my wife!" If you bring them just for him, he's defending his treats like they're the last ones in Hell. He has literally hit Val with a fly swatter for even asking if he could have one.

(Unrelated but like, chubby vox maybe? You're cooking is too good)

Valentino

Val wishes he could cook better. He's some kind of latino, so I feel like the fact he can't cook very well is a sore spot culturally. He can make the salsa and chips and like, help with stuff, he knows how to wrap tortillas and tomales (I picture him as like Mexican or Puerto Rican but that's just cuz the town I grew up had a large Puerto Rican group).

It doesn't help that his eyesight is even more shit in Hell. He can't see what he's doing hald the time. It ruins his art hobby too. He's overall just more easily frustrated with his bad eyesight.

I don't imagine you guys dating per se. Maybe you're his sugar baby, maybe you're someone he hired to help him do stuff like clean and organize and you just sorta start doing other things to help him. (Again I'm not saying it excuses jackshit, but as someone who worked with bipolar people and people with mood disorder I kinda see the fan theory in him, either way I think all the Vees could be sort of trained to be better people, but especially Val. We already saw Vox do it.)

After all, he's usually in a much better mood if you do and that means less outbursts. The first few times you cook him something he teases you about being his housewife, tries to make it sexual. It's not really something he clocks as being an act of love because I don't think you'd realize it yourself at first. I think the more you got to see him when he wasn't stressed, lashing out, being abusive, you'd start catching feelings. ("I can fix him", delulu asses)

He loves to be in the kitchen when you cook once it starts becoming a regular thing. He can't see clearly what you're doing but the way you move around the kitchen and get what you need, even if you're an ADHD mess and do steps out of order or at random, he can tell you know what you're doing. He likes to smell the food too while it's cooking.

He will ask you to try and make some spicier/more traditional foods he grew up with, but he doesn’t remember all of the ingredients, and it just gets him more frustrated he can't tell you. If you look them up and surprise him with it it'll probably be the most genuine, human response you get from him.

He's shocked, silent, standing frozen in the penthouse as familiar smells waft around him. You present him a plate nervously, practically shaking hoping it's good enough. The first bite nearly puts him in tears. No one's done anything this nice for him? Why would you? Lowkey thinks you want something from him. It's gonna make him paranoid for a while so don't expect a verbal compliment but he eats it all.

Eventually though, one day when you're in the kitchen cooking, humming softly and swaying your hips, one set of his arms will wrap around your waist, the other reaching around you help with the salsa, or wrap a tamale, and he'll prop his chin on your head and mumble out thanks. Some praise, maybe. Would definitely tell you stories about eating these foods growing up.

It's the first step towards having an actual relationship with him.

Alastor

This man almost always insists on cooking. He isn't much of a sweet tooth either. You tell him one night you want to try cooking for him. Tell him you understand it's an activity he enjoys and relaxes too, (especially if you know it's something that reminds him of his mother), but you want to do something for him and this is one way you show you care.

It's gonna remind him of his Mama so much that if you didn't know why he loved cooking so much before you do now. He compromises. You pick the meal and gather the ingredients and do most of the cooking and he helps prep and does dishes.

He playfully critiques you the entire time about adding some spice too it or a little southern flair. Just smack him with the wooden spoon, gently. It's gonna make him laugh because his Mama used to do that when he wouldn't keep out of the sweets, or tried to add stuff to her cooking.

Once you start it becomes habit to help each other in the kitchen every night, trading off who cooks and who preps and does dishes.

If you do find baked goods he likes that aren't too sweet and send them to him as snacks, especially to Overlord meetings, he's so fucking obnoxious about his sweet little doe (doesn't matter if you are one or not) and how they spoil him. Especially rubs it in Vox's face (not him whining to his partner so they send him with treats too so he can also brag).

Only shares with Charlie, Rosie, Niffty, and sometimes Zestiel. If he's feeling generous, Husk can have a bite.

Low-key also has a thing for his partner behaving domestically even if he isn't exactly invested in traditional marriage.

Favorite activity though is dancing with you in the kitchen to jazz while dinner cooks, holding you close, in his room usually, so he can hear the sounds of the bayou. If he closes his eyes he can pretend this is how his life went and that his Mama is in the corner or sitting in her chair, watching him, happy to see him find someone.

He will literally kiss Vox willingly before admitting that last part though.

Lucifer

It's not that he can't cook, it's just....it's easier to just snap his fingers and make food appear. He's been in a depressed slump for decades man, he's lived off of the 'want food, no cook, only eat' mindset.

When you come into his life it's a complete overhaul. Despite what issues you have yourself you can recognize someone in worse state than you and immediately categorize and prioritize. First thing first, get this man's duck collection/obsession organized, thinned out, and under control.

Second, help him work through his issues with Lillith and Charlie. Encourage therapy, be a mediator between him and Charlie (and trust me she appreciates it. She knows her dad struggles, didn't know how bad, and still feels awkward). Help him socialize more, rebuild his connection with the other sins.

Get this man a work schedule!

Then it's on to personal habits. You help him get out of bed, you're both probably a little helpless in the sleeping on time category though. Help him get a routine again to keep out of his funk. Then you start cooking for him. It just happens naturally. You enjoy cooking, you enjoy showing people you love how much you care by providing good meals.

At first he's gonna resist and tell you he can handle that, you already do so much for him. He can cook or better yet he can just make it appear and you laugh and tell him it tastes better when it's made with love. He brushes it off as a joke too, you're both just being silly and obviously you said that to get him to quit fussing. Except, unholy hell does it actually taste so much better.

Lucifer hadn’t realized how bland and unsatisfying just materializing the food was. Maybe that's because he was so depressed and uninterested in what he ate, maybe not. Either way, your cooking is so much fucking better. He actually looks forward to eating now. If he gets caught up in work or has a bad day, you make sure to always bring him something, leaving it as an offering of sorts. It almost always works and entices him to eat at least once.

You cook, he does dishes, and he will not budge on that rule. He wants to be a fair man. He occasionally boots you out to do dessert, though. Apple pie is his bitch and you've never tasted one as good as his. He also makes good pancakes and some absolutely orgasmic angel's food cake.

Ironicall, devil's food cake is one of your go to recipes. Sometimes you both make a cake and take it to events just to watch people get confused as fuck when it's revealed the literal Devil did not make the devil's food cake.

Everyime you're in the kitchen together it's a disaster, you're both to silly and chaotic. You were making noodles one time and he threw flour at you so you smacked him with the noodle you were holding, leaving a line of flour and a speck of dough against his cheek. From there it escalates. It happens every time. Making cakes together, you're smashing frosting on each other. Making cookies, you're fighting each other to stop eating cookie dough.

Once, after you get fed up with him stealing her spatula to lick the chocolate off of, hovering above you with his wings, you pout and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to please give it back. He swoops down in front of you, booping your nose to smear chocolate on it and leaning in to kiss you, letting you have a taste of the chocolate batter you were mixing for brownies. While his tongue is in your mouth, drunk off the taste of you and chocolate you smash an egg over his head and let out a triumphant cheer, snatching back your spatula.

He's so stunned his wings disappear and he drops the last few inches to the ground while you cackle. His heart is pounding, his ears are ringing, and his chest feels like it's gonna explode. His eyes are literal sparkles. He hasn't felt this much joy, wonder, and love since Charlie was born. It feels like witnessing creation all over again, of the breathlessness he felt when he first saw Lillith.

You're laughter stops when you realize he's just staring at you awestruck and you smile, asking if he's ok.

"For once...yeah..Yes. I'm ok." He responds, genuinely. You kiss his cheek and resume baking. He watches you from the counter now, dreamily, thinking about how he's gonna marry you someday.

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #vox x reader #valentino x reader #lucifer x reader #alastor x reader

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roralty · 2 years

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ihatet his

#vent #mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm #i get such bad days and i hate them and today was a bad day and i had no energy and no motivation and i feel so bad all the time and #and i barely ate all day and the only thing i hate to eat today way tortilla chips and salsa because i lied about having dinner and breakfa #breakfast #and my friend was over until four and she knew something was wrong but i couldnt just SAY that and now im alone with my thoughts #and now im feeling really suicidal #tldr im having a shit day and want to kms

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roosterforme · 8 months

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Batting Practice Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It was your wedding day, and Bradley realized he was getting everything he wanted... not just a perfect wife, but a perfect family of three. After exchanging vows and promises, you and Everett take him home, because there's something important you want to ask him.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

"I can't believe you're getting married tomorrow," Molly said from the spot where she was lounging in the middle of your bed eating tortilla chips dipped in marshmallow fluff. "I remember when you married Danny. God, you looked fucking miserable that day."

"I was miserable that day. Young and stupid, too. Thanks for reminding me." You tried to take the bag of chips away as you said, "I hate crumbs in my bed. Can't you at least sit on the floor or something?"

She whined and reached for the bag. "It's not for me! It's for the baby. Now be a nice auntie and let me have my little snack."

You weren't sure of all the details of what had gone down. All you knew was Molly and Bob were still together, and she was keeping the baby. Apparently there had been some pleading on his end. Molly said he begged her not to leave him, and then he promptly told her about a million times how much the idea of having a child with her thrilled him. And slowly but surely, over the past few weeks, she seemed to become attached to the idea of being a mom.

"Fine," you sighed, handing her the chips. "Have your snack. But just remember, I'm not doing it for you."

"The baby thanks you," she said, rubbing her tiny bump as she shoved four chips into her mouth. "I wonder what the guys are up to," she said after she was done chewing.

"Watching the Phillies game. Or at least that's what Bradley texted me a few minutes ago."

"Give me your phone! You're not supposed to be talking to him! Bob was supposed to hide Bradley's phone under our bathroom sink. My god, I can't trust him to do anything right," she said with a soft smile on her face. She yanked your phone away and tucked it behind her back. "Now try on your dress one more time. Your tits look so good in it."

"I need you to zip it. Go wash your hands."

She rolled her eyes so hard, it was like she was fifteen years old again, and then she went into your bathroom like she was told. "What's it like living with Bradley?" she asked, moving his stuff around on the counter. "Does he like belch all the time and scratch himself?"

You started laughing as you tried to pull your dress on. "No! He's perfect. It feels like he's always been here. He takes care of almost everything for Ev, and he's actually quite tidy." You skipped over all the parts where you and he had been making love all over the house just because you could, but you did add, "I love having him with us."

Molly turned around and smirked as she came to zip your dress. "If I ever marry Bob, which I might not!" she said, cutting off your excited look. "If I do though, it'll be in the middle of a wildflower meadow just after sunset. And I'll make my own bouquet with the flowers beforehand. Oh, and I'll have to make sure Bob takes his allergy pills. But it'll be so dreamy."

You were gaping at her in the mirror as she zipped the dress. "Really?" you asked, flabbergasted. "That's literally nothing like what I thought you were going to say."

Molly sighed and made her way back to the bag of chips. "It's these fucking hormones. Fuck! I want to get married in the middle of some flowers now! What the hell?" She was wiping at her eyes as she told you, "Pull your dress down a little bit. I'm telling you, Bradley won't even be able to focus on the ceremony with your boobs looking like that."

"The ceremony is only going to be like ten minutes long. If that," you reminded her. But damn, she was right. This dress fit you very well. "Thanks for having an emotional breakdown in the middle of the dress shop and kind of forcing me to buy this dress after I sat on the floor with it on."

She smiled at you as she dipped a chip into the fluff. "That's literally what I'm here for."

-------------------------

The following morning, Bradley pulled up to Petco Park with Bob and Everett in the Bronco just as the sun started to warm everything up for the day. He was getting married in an hour and a half. He felt jittery, but he wasn't nervous. He felt warm, but he wasn't uncomfortable. He felt like everything was the way he never knew, until very recently, that he wanted it to be.

"Ready, kiddo?" he asked Everett as he opened the back door. Everett scrambled into his arms and wrapped him in a hug around the neck.

"Yep!" he replied, and then the three of them were making their way into the Players Only Entrance where a security guard was waiting for them. "This is so cool," Everett whispered. The ballpark was basically deserted since the game didn't start until three o'clock, and they only passed a few other staff members as they entered the Padres locker room.

"Remember that fun tour we went on?" Bradley asked Everett as Bob held the door for them. He kissed his stepson on the cheek before setting him down on one of the benches.

Everett muttered, "Yeah," as he looked all around the room in awe. "But we went in the visiting team locker room."

Bradley laughed and looked around as well. "We sure did, because we wanted to see all the Phillies gear."

"Can we all go to Philadelphia?" Everett asked.

"Well, Philadelphia made it to the short list of vacation spots when I talked to your mom. We'll work on her. We already got a Phillies room out of her."

Everett was smiling nonstop as the three of them changed into their baseball jerseys in the same room where the Padres players would be putting on their uniforms in a few hours for their game against the Rockies. Bradley checked himself out in the mirror. They all matched, more or less, in their white jerseys with gold stitching and letters. Molly had been in charge of ordering them from a small boutique shop. Everett's said GRAND SLAM on the back. Bob's just said BOB. And Bradley's said GROOM; he was a little surprised his didn't come back saying TURD-IN-LAW to be honest.

When the security guard poked his head inside and said, "You can go out onto the field now," Bradley's heart started pounding. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he put his Phillies cap on backwards. Then he put Everett's on him backwards and picked him up again.

"I love you, Ev," he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. Bradley was in some ways more emotional about becoming Everett's stepdad than he was about marrying you. Because it was like a bonus. A little extra responsibility he never planned for. Falling in love with you was one thing, but this was something else entirely. Every time he looked at his kid, he saw innocent trust returned to him, and all Bradley wanted to do was make him feel safe and loved.

"I love you, Dad," he replied, like it was already the most natural thing in the world. And Bradley supposed it was. Because the two of them seemed to be cut from the same cloth. And Bradley was more than happy to step into the role of a father for this child.

When Bradley turned to Bob, he asked, "You have the rings?"

"In my pocket," he promised, and then the three of them were on their way. They walked quietly through the tunnel and out onto the turf. Everything smelled fresh, like grass and damp earth. Everett's head was on a swivel, looking all around, just like when they took the ballpark tour months ago.

They were being waved over to home plate by John, their tour guide from that very special day. "It's nice to see you again," he said, shaking hands with Bradley. "I've just been informed that your bride is on her way up from the other locker room."

"Thanks," Bradley muttered, anxious to see you and be with you. He held onto Everett a little tighter as they waited, and he laughed softly. Somehow you managed to pull off this wedding, and the fact that Jake was the one who helped you do it was almost too funny.

"Hi, Mommy!" Everett called, waving his hand as Bradley whirled around to find you walking out onto the infield. A strangled noise escaped him as you made your way closer with a soft smile on your lips. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. It was the only word to describe the day and how he felt and how you looked with Molly holding the bunched up bottom of your wedding dress.

"Kitten," he whispered, feeling short of breath as you joined him on home plate. Your dress was simple but beautiful, and Bradley wasn't ashamed to admit that he couldn't stop glancing at your tits. But it was the smile on your face that had him grinning, too.

When you leaned in to kiss Everett's cheek, Bradley took your chin in his palm and tried to kiss you. "Stop it!" Molly screeched as she finished straightening out your wedding dress. Bradley froze as she added, "You're not supposed to kiss her until John says it's time! Have you never been to a wedding before?"

"I'm so happy I'm gaining not only a wife and son today, but also such a lovely sister-in-law," he told her in response.

Molly smiled sweetly at him. "You should be delighted."

"Can we get married now?" you asked with a laugh, and Bradley set Everett gently down next to home plate.

"It's the only reason I'm here," he promised, taking your hands in his. "To marry my beautiful Kitten and live happily ever after."

You smiled at him as he pulled you a little closer. Everett was practically standing between the two of you, so excited for what was to come, and Bob and Molly stood next to John.

"Ready?" When everyone nodded, John said a few words about how he was pleased that he could perform this short ceremony today after being the one who gave them the tour of Petco Park. He told them that they made him smile so many times that day as they interacted with each other. And then he asked if you and Bradley wanted to say anything to each other.

"I'll go first," you said, ducking your head for a beat before you looked Bradley in the eyes. "The first day we met...the first day of tee ball...I took one look at you interacting with Everett, and I thought maybe there was a small chance that it wouldn't have to be just the two of us forever." You let go of Bradley's left hand and smiled at Everett as you ran your fingers along his cheek. "Not that there was anything wrong with the two of us, Ev. You know that, right?"

Everett nodded and told you, "I know."

"We were so close to perfect. But Bradley makes us even better," you said, looking up to meet his eyes again. You studied him for a beat, and Bradley watched your eyes fill with tears. "It's hard to explain how you make me feel so confident, when at the same time, you make me feel like you'll be strong when I can't."

"Kitten," he whispered, wiping your tears as they fell.

"I love you, Coach," you said with a soft laugh through your watery eyes that had him smiling and shaking his head. "You belong with us."

"I really do," he agreed.

"Your turn," you whispered, and with a nod, Bradley knelt down in the dirt next to home plate, his jeans getting messy in the process.

"Hey, kiddo," he whispered to Everett, loud enough that you could still hear him.

"Hi, Dad," he replied, and Bradley wrapped him up in his arms as he started to cry.

"Thanks for letting me marry your mom," Bradley told him, his voice a little rough as he kissed Everett's forehead. "And thanks for letting me be your dad. I'm going to make some promises to you, okay?"

"Okay," Everett said with a little shrug that made Bradley chuckle.

He wiped at his tears as he said, "I promise to play baseball with you in the park all the time. At least until your mom gets annoyed. And I promise we'll watch the Phillies together in Philadelphia, because it's the only way to see the Phanatic up close."

"Yes!" Everett said, clapping his hands.

"And I promise to help you with your homework and make you pancakes and collect baseball cards together. And we can do anything else you decide you want to do, okay? Because I love you, kiddo."

Everett hugged him again, and when Bradley stood and looked at you, he was crying in earnest. "Kitten, I love your son just as much as I love you."

"I know it," you whispered, crying as well.

He took a deep breath and laughed. "Are you ready for your promises, Kitten?" When you nodded he took your hands in his again. "In front of Ev, Molly and Bob, and this immaculate turf at Petco Park, I promise I love you more than baseball."

You started laughing through your tears, and Bradley turned to see Molly wiping her own tears on Bob's jersey.

"That's a lot of love," you told him, squeezing his hands.

He nodded, pulling both of your hands so they were around his waist. "I promise I love you more than the Phillies. And I always will." He let his forehead come to rest against yours and said, "And if you'll let me be strong for you sometimes when you need it, then that's an honor, Kitten. Because you're the strongest person I know. But I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." Your eyes closed as Bradley's lips brushed your forehead and his hands slipped around your waist. "John, I'm ready to kiss my wife."

"By all means," he replied, "go right ahead."

Your hands were around Bradley's neck, nudging his backward cap and pulling him closer, and then he was kissing you while your little cheering section of four people went wild.

"I love you," he promised against your lips, but you pulled him in for more with a smile. He brushed your nose with his and kissed you one last time. Then Bob was holding out one ring on each palm, and you let Bradley slip yours on before you took his left hand in yours. His ring looked perfect after you slid it into place. And then Everett was reaching for him, and Bradley scooped him up while you hugged your sister and kissed Bob's cheek.

"You're really my dad now," Everett said, letting his head come to rest on Bradley's shoulder.

Bradley held him close. "I think I already kind of was."

--------------------------

The fact that your wedding reception consisted of ballpark food and cheap beer in one of the Padres' suites had you and Bradley smiling nonstop. The two of you had taken wedding photos while the park was still empty, and most of the shots were of the three of you.

"Could I interest you in some nachos, Kitten?" Bradley asked, stealing a chip as he handed you a tray.

"Thanks, Coach," you said, kissing his cheek. "You know, I don't think we give Bob enough credit."

"What do you mean?" he asked, dipping another chip into the cheese and eating it.

"Well, we only met because he got you to coach the team with him in the first place. And he kind of let you bully me into being the Team Mom."

Bradley shook his head. "That seems like ages, not just just five months. You'd wear your little black skirt to practices and prance across the grass in your high heels. Fuck, you're so sexy." You giggled as he kissed you behind your ear. "And your tits look amazing in your dress."

"You can thank Molly for making me buy this one."

Bradley glanced toward where Molly and Bob were making out in the corner. His hands were all over the barely noticeable swell of her pregnant belly, and she was raking her fingers through his hair. "Nah, Bob's busy thanking her himself at the moment."

As more guests showed up just before the game started, you watched Nat squirt some ketchup onto a hotdog for Everett. And then you watched Bradley hold a napkin up while he ate it, just like he always did. The two of them were so shockingly similar, it was jarring at times when you remembered that Danny was Everett's biological father.

"Talk about an upgrade," you whispered, taking a sip of beer before you went to greet Maverick. You barely watched the game, too busy chatting with your friends and kissing Bradley nonstop. But the Padres won which made Bradley and Everett happy, so it made you happy, too.

And then by six o'clock, you had an exhausted seven year old son on your hands. He was crashing from all the snacks and the excitement of the day. "Time to head home," Bradley said, picking Everett up and kissing your lips. "And then we can send Ev off with my delightful sister-in-law."

You looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean? Ev's going to their condo for the night?"

"Two nights. I'm taking you to Palm Springs," he told you with a smirk. "We're having a real honeymoon now, and then I was thinking over winter break, we could take a family trip to Disney World?"

You threw yourself at him, and he collected you in his other arm. "That sounds perfect." You'd never been to Palm Springs or Disney World, but suddenly you wanted to go everywhere with him.

"You said Philadelphia," Everett whined in Bradley's grasp.

Bradley kissed his forehead. "That'll be in the spring, silly. Gotta go when the Phanatic is active in his natural habitat."

Your heart pounded as you walked out across the parking lot to the Bronco. Because it turned out Molly had been keeping two secrets today: one for Bradley and one for you and Ev. You didn't expect to be this nervous, but here you were, barely able to get your seatbelt buckled around your dress.

Bradley was sweet and gentle, taking the buckle from your shaking hands. "Are you okay, Kitten?" he asked, the dying sunlight turning his eyes a deep amber.

"Yes. Just can't wait to get home. Ev and I have a special wedding gift for you."

"Well, I can't wait either."

You bit your lip and looked out the window as you muttered, "Hope you like it."

Because Molly was the one driving her car, she and Bob got back to your house first. She was unlocking the front door so Bradley could carry Everett inside while he yawned. "We'll be out on the back deck," Molly said, taking Bob by the hand. "Let us know when Ev is all ready for his sleepover."

Now Bradley was the one who looked confused as they closed the back door behind them, leaving the three of you alone in the living room. "Ev's bag is already packed," Bradley said. "He can go with them anytime."

"That's true." You felt too hot in your wedding dress now, thinking you might need to take a minute to yourself. But then Everett was climbing out of Bradley's arms and reaching for the box you'd stashed under the couch.

"Can we give it to him?" he asked, looking up at you for permission with wide, innocent eyes.

"Yeah," you whispered, running your hand over your chest, trying to calm the pounding of your heart. Your eye caught on the baseball covered in hearts that Bradley had used to propose to you where it sat on your mantle. He belonged here with both of you, and you wanted Everett to have every opportunity to live his best life. "We can give it to him."

Then Everett thrust the wrapped box into Bradley's hands, and you realized you were both staring at him. You reached for your son, pulling him closer to you as Bradley shook the box a little bit. "This is for me?"

"Yes," you and Everett said in unison, but now you felt like you were going to be sick as he started to rip into the silver paper. And then he was opening the box.

A smile lit Bradley's face as he set the box aside and held up a Phillies jersey, examining the front of it. "I love it," he said, nodding his head. "But it looks a little small for me, doesn't it?"

You pressed your lips together as you squeezed Everett's shoulder. "Look at the back," you told him, your voice a little shaky.

Bradley turned it around and read it. "Bradshaw. But it's a child's size." When he met your eyes, you could barely see through your tears, and you even sensed that Everett was anxious now.

"It's not for you, Coach," you informed him softly. Then you looked down at your son for a beat as you said, "It's for Ev. This is just our way of asking you if you'd like to be Everett's father. If you'd like to adopt him."

You watched Bradley's lips part, but no words came out. He was looking between the two of you in awe as tears seemed to fill his eyes. Then he read the back of the jersey again as he sobbed. "Come here," he whispered, kneeling down in front of Everett and tucking the jersey under his arm. "Is that what you want, kiddo?"

Everett wrapped his arms around Bradley's neck and said, "Yes."

Then Bradley looked up at you with tears in his eyes. "You'd let me?"

"Yes!" you said, now crying as well. "It's what we want."

He buried his face in Everett's neck and squeezed him. "Yes, I want to adopt you, Ev," he managed. As he stood with Everett in his arms, he kissed you and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

"We can do it soon," you told him, hugging him a little awkwardly as he held Everett. "I'll have my lawyer change my petition from child support to adoption. We can get new papers served. No more Danny. We don't need the money anyway. Not like we need you, Coach."

Bradley leaned down and kissed you. "First thing when we get back from Palm Springs, Kitten. Let's get this ball rolling. You won't have to worry about custody or Danny anymore. You won't even have to think about it. And I'll get my bonus," he told Everett with a grin. "A son to go along with my wife."

-------------------------------

Married! Adopting Ev! Happiness! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 30

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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theta-walti · 15 days

Text

Graceful Mishaps

Summary: R is a bit clumsy. Some small moments when the r is clumsy and Jessie taking care of her

Warnings: Fluff, fluff and more fluff!

A/N: Jessie is still in Chelsea for this fic! i had fun, thank you for the idea for my debut fic!

Word count: 1153

everyone on the team knows that your clumsy, you won't admit it but it's true, every little move can cause you to stumble. Just like this morning, when you were getting ready you tripped over the clothes that you had carelessly tossed aside moments before, or the coffee that you accidentally knocked over when your making breakfast yesterday, or the lastest accident in the changing rooms where you tied your shoelaces together and it lead to a comical trip when you attempt to run, that lead to the argument between you and jessie just moments later.

"l'm not that clumsy!" you said, trying to defend yourself

"Yes you are! you just triped because of your shoelaces!" Jessie aruged back as she crossed her arms

"That was an accident!"

"exactly!" Jessie yelled back

"tell me then! when am l that clumsy?"

Jessie thought for a while then she spoke with a little smirk on the edage of her lips

"do you remember grocery shopping last week?"

Hearing the question a memory flooded back into your mind

You and Jessie were at the shops, picking up things for the upcoming week. Jessie was holding your hand tightly, and you were trying your hardest not to wonder off, She had a firm grip, and you had a hard time keeping up with her, but you think that she was purposefully walking fast to keep you on your toes.

"Jessie, how much longer are we going to be here? I'm hungry and l want to go home." you said as we turned into the snack aisle.

"Don't be dramatic, you ate before we came here. We're almost done. I just need to get some chips and then we can go." She replied as her eyes scaned the crisps shelf debating on which one she should get.

"But I'm hungry now! And we have chips at home, can't we just go pay for everything and go?" you pouted.

She let go of your hand and walked a few feet in front of you. you saw her pick up a bag of tortilla chips and walk back, then she throw it in the the trolly, which is right in front of you. you went to take a step forward to take Jessie's hand again when you tripped over one of the wheels of the trolly. You fell to the ground, landing right on your face and Jessie bursted out laughing.

"I knew those shoes weren't a good idea, they make you too clumsy." She teased.

"Not my fault. The trolly was in my way." you retorted with a scowl, getting up off the ground and dusted the non-existent dust off.

"Maybe we should just get some bandages. We both know it's inevitable that you'll hurt yourself before the night is over." Jessie said with a smirk on her face.

You looked at her, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. When you decided that she was just being sarcastic, you shot her a playful glare.

"Just because you're right doesn't mean that you have to say it." you responded, crossing you arms.

She laughed, wrapping her arm around your waist and pulling you into her.

"I think we can find some band-aids at home." She teased again." Come on, let's go get the rest of the stuff and get out of here." She suggested, and you nodded.

"That's fine with me. The faster we leave, the faster I get food." You agreed and Jessie chuckled.

"Oh that was one time!" Your tried to argue back.

"One time? What about the kitchen plates?" The smirk on Jessie's face went wider as she spoke.

You blushed as another memory flooded into your mind

It was a nice evening, you and Jessie were preparing dinner together. Jessie had taken charge of chopping vegetables while you were in charge of setting the table, However, as you reached for the plates in the cabinet, your hand slipped, and you ended up dropping a stack of plates, causing them to crash onto the counter with a loud clatter.

"Oh shit, " you muttered, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you immediately bent down to pick up the pieces.

Jessie rushed over immediately when she heard the loud crash, concern and worry filled on her face. "Are you okay?" she asked, kneeling down beside you to help clean up the mess.

You nodded, feeling flustered by your clumsiness. "Yeah, just a little accident," you replied sheepishly.

As you continued to clean up, Jessie couldn't help but notice your hands. Your finger was cut by the glass. She immediately stood up and dragged you up with her

"You're bleeding, come on"

*she started to walk towards the bathroom, still holding your injured hand*

"Where-" you looked at your hand and noticed the cut. You must have cut it when you're picking up the plates, "but the plates-"

"You're more important, now sit down"

Jessie said as she walked over to the sink and bent sown to grab the first aid kit. When she returned, she just asked for your hand and started to take care of it. "You know, I think you're even more accident-prone in the kitchen than I am," she teased gently, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

You couldn't help but laugh at her comment, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "I guess that's one way to put it," you replied, still feeling a bit embarrassed.

When Jessie finished, she put a kiss on the back of your hand and smiled. "Feeling better?"

"Yea, thank you, baby." You kissed Jessie's lips for a brief second and grinned, Jessie blushed and connected their lips again, and they stayed like that for a while before she pulled away, both of you a bit breathless "Come on, we still have dinner to finish and some plates to clean up"

You grinned and followed Jessie out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen.

"That's night ended very well thank you very much!" You tried to defend yourself again.

"That's not what l'm trying to say! You really should be more careful baby" Jessie said as she stepped forward, closer to you as she wrapped her arms around you

"I know, jess, l know." You leaned into the touch, and gradually, it turned into a hug as you wrapped your arms around her neck. sudden, the doors of the changing room opened, and Guro's head popped in.

"Come on love birds! Your late and Emma is asking why your taking so long to get changed!" Guro's Norwegian accent shown though as she spoke, you and Jessie both broke apart of the hug and chuckled.

"Race you to the field!" Jessie yelled as she got a head start, racing out of the changing rooms, you followed, and of cause, since you still haven't re-tied your laces, your face is on the ground once more.

A/N: l hope you like it! The end is a bit rush but l think it's good! I hope you enjoy it and feel free to send more requests!! This is theta, signing out, see you later!

#jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #jessie fleming #woso fanfics #woso imagines

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Text

This goes out to @tortilla-chips-and-allioli

“This’ll be the last one, I’m swear.”

“You said that last time and the time before that, and the time before that and oh! The time before that too!” Xavier said as he took his sketchpad off of your lap, bringing to life the charcoal chipmunk you’ve been staring at; Watching in amusement as the creature immediately looked to you curiously before scampering over to run up your arm where it took refuge on your shoulder.

Complain as much as he wanted but Xavier enjoyed the fact that you adored his ability in bringing his sketches to life, always asking him to bring them to life almost daily that he would ramp up his act in being ‘annoyed.’ When in reality he’d bring all of his sketches to life-yes even his first ever sketches- if it meant to be the constant reason you smiled. It was all worth it in the end. “You think your slick in sounding over it all or annoyed whenever I ask this of you but your actions tend to contradict your tone of voice.” You said as you tickled the stomach of the crosshatch shaded fennec fox, smiling when it howled silently with laughter on your lap; Using it’s little paws in attempt to swat your fingers away from it.

“It’s almost like you like me Xavier.” You added teasingly as you finally gave the fox a break to turn your attention to the chipmunk munching in your ear; Watching as it devoured the nut in its tiny hands as though it was starved. This thankfully gave the boy across from you the cover to feel flustered at how fast you catch on. Sure he wasn’t trying to hide his blatant attraction but to be called out on it -playful or not- didn’t do much in quelling the heat blooming within him. “So what if I did?” Your eyes darted to him and Xavier added hastily, “hypothetically that is. What would be your responses…hypothetically.”

You hummed in thought for a while. You knew this wasn’t a case of hypotheticals, this was Xavier merely testing the waters on where he stood with you and vice versa before attempting to pull anything that would in any other situation, had you not felt the same, ruin your relationship. “Since this is purely hypothetical,” you started, eyeing Xavier in amusement as he attempted to act nonchalant as he shifted on your bed. It was like watching a puppy dog being told to wait before devouring their dinner, “Then my response would be that I like you too and that we should go out on a date to the lake tomorrow if your free.”

Xavier’s eyes glinted brightly at your answer and a smile started to creep up on his lips but they soon faded upon your next words, reminding him that this didn’t constitute as an official confession as he’d liked it to be. “However seeing as this is all hypothetical and not factual, then it shouldn’t mean anything to you.” You shrugged, leaning back against the headboard, taking enjoyment in seeing him internally berate himself for that little slip up. You went to look back at the chipmunk on your shoulder when you heard Xavier murder something under his breath before lunging forward, grasping your chin in his hand so he could have you face him as he leant in; Before more could happen Xavier rested his head against your forehead, eyes honed in your yours as his warm breath brushed over your skin.

“Just so we’re clear, none of what either of us said was hypothetical…right?” He asked and you chuckled, leaning your forehead further against his as your noses brushed together, “not even in the slightest.” You responded. “Good, just checking before I do this.” Xavier replied as he leant in the rest of the way to kiss you. The kiss was soft as it was sweet that it made your mind go blank with all the potential future kisses you’ll share after this one as you throw your hands to clasp the back of his neck and shoulder respectively. Smiling through it all like a goof at your dream finally coming true.

#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier Thorpe imagines #xavier Thorpe imagine #xavier Thorpe fanfic #xavier Thorpe fic

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

Text

Eddie x fem!reader. [vol I]

Summary: just a bit of Eddie’s shenanigans 😈

TW: no minors, angst, mentions of hard times.

W.C: 4.7k

A/N: hope you are all enjoy this! Thank you for all the love received on the first chapter 🥰

You spent the rest of the night questioning why you ever placed the ad in the paper to begin with. Certainly you could just go to sleep and you’d wake up to all of Eddie’s belongings gone because this was a nightmare.. right? Of course. You’d wake up any minute now and things would go back to the way they used to be.

////

Oh how you had hoped.

Eddie wearing your robe was just the tip of the iceberg of the stupid shit he would endure for the next 12 hours. After eating 7 slices of pizza, he wiped his greasy hands down the front of it. Settling for that instead of the arms of the couch after you had scolded him. He talked during the entire episode of The Nanny.

“Holy shit, she’s hot, I mean her voice is kinda nasally but woooowwweeeee.. you think she’s into metalheads? I bet she is. I bet she’d love to be wrapped all up in me, it'd be a secret though for her.” He talked with his mouth full, bits of cheese and pizza sauce flying from his lips and landing on his naked chest. His feet were propped up on the coffee table, toes wiggling like he was a child watching cartoons. “Got any chips? I’m hungry.”

He left a mess wherever he went. The chips he begged you for were still sitting open on the couch. Crumbs decorated the upholstery like confetti at a New Year’s Eve party. His pizza plate on the coffee table, holding an impressive amount of beer cans. Instead of hanging your robe back up on its proper hook in the bathroom, he left it on the floor in between the living room and the hallway. You had gone to bed after he insisted on belching “Love Bites” with three beers tucked between his legs. It was at this moment you thought of begging Steve and Robin to move in with you instead.

“For the last time, I refuse to try to out burp you, I will not be duct taping beers to my hands, and for the love of god if you get salsa on the carpet I will skin you alive.”

“It puts the lotion on its skin….”

You stomp to bed, slamming your bedroom door and throwing the covers over your head. You can hear Eddie slurring through your bedroom walls.

“C’mon Tooooty, I thought we were having a slumber party. You didn’t even paint my nails yet!” His small hiccuping giggles turn into a roar of laughter lasting entirely too long.

The next morning you wake up to your alarm, it’s peaceful, content. Today is a new day and you have a busy schedule working at the salon. Saturdays are easily the most hectic at Josie’s. It seems it’s the only day off for most people to come in and get their hair done. You dress in a simple black tank top tucked into a black mini skirt, a form fitting denim vest over top, and black chunky slide sandals. Spritzing yourself with your Exclamation perfume you just have to brush your teeth and grab a little breakfast.

Upon opening your bedroom door you are hit with a stench so ungodly, it makes the hair stand up on your arms. Did a fucking tornado crash through your home? How hard were you sleeping? You felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz only in reverse, while she was mystified by the sights around her you were full of rage, disgust, and sheer anger.

Eddie.

For fucks sake it is almost as if he needed a goddamn babysitter.

Beer cans litter the floor. A silver ball made of duct tape was sitting on the couch, the small tv was still on. All your VHS’s were scattered along the floor by the entertainment center. A plate of what looked like hardened shredded cheese was balancing on the edge of the coffee table. Rolling papers, and two joints were piled on top of it, along with various baggies of god knows what. Chips were ground into the carpet, their sharp edges making the carpet glitter with nacho cheese and tortilla shrapnel. And sitting opened and probably now dry, was the blue nail polish you had gotten with Robin. The whole place reeked of the dirty rotten scent of spilled stale beer soaking cotton fabric, the remnants of weed wafting from the furniture baking into the fibers from the sun streaming through the windows in lazy strips of golden yellow.

Homicide is probably what? 10 years? You could manage that.

You make your way into the culprits room, swearing under your breath and feeling the sweat start on the back of your neck. Pushing through the heap of clothes and worn boots, you find the prince of trash laying on his back, soft snores escaping his slack mouth. There aren’t even sheets on his mattress, just mountains of his belongings.

A beer is taped crudely to his left hand, your brand new bottle of jergens lays next to him along with a playboy— flipped open to a brunette with obvious fake tits and her lips placed into an orgasm. He apparently threw some boxers on during his midnight raccoon shenanigans.

This is comparable to bringing home a dog from the humane society, you aren’t sure how they’ll act but once you go to sleep— all hell breaks lose.

“Eddie,” you yell, loud enough that your own ears are ringing. He doesn’t move a muscle, just a loud snore erupting from him. You kick at his legs, push his body around but nothing. If it weren’t for the snoring you probably should have called a coroner.

One last slap against his bare chest and he finally groans, “gimme five more minutes baby and I promise I’ll rock your world.” Jesus Christ.

Fuck it, just go to work, you can deal with him when you get home. Breath in and out. Nope— the fuse that was lit in your brain from Eddie’s mess inches its way slowly towards the dynamite, licking up the wick. Also like a dog from the shelter, they need to be trained, told when they are doing something wrong, and immediately corrected.

Filling a cup with cold water you waltz back into his room a smile plastered to your lips.

The splash of water against Eddie’s face is music to your ears as he gasps for breath. Spluttering and sitting up, spilling the beer taped to his hand, he looks like a cat that was thrown in the tub, long curls soaking wet, his bangs parted and thrown back from the force of the water hitting him.

“Damn sweetheart, I said give me five minutes and I’d give you all ten inches of my co—” the plastic cup bounces off of Eddie’s head. “Okay, ow. Goddamn what was that for?!”

“What was that for?! Look around Eddie!” You motion around the house as he stands up holding his head and pressing the palm of his right hand into his eye, dragging it down his face to wipe the remnants of cold water away, “this place is disgusting!”

You begin to list off everything wrong, as you walk around the house, Eddie following begrudgingly behind you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. You point out the chips in the carpet, the hardened cheese plate, the vhs mess. Each and everything you show him your voice gets higher and higher and louder and louder. The rage bubbling up in your body as you huff around. A large hand and the odd sensation of a rubbery plastic mass spin you around, holding onto your shoulders.

Eddie’s face is so close to yours, you can see the sun reflecting off the usual darkened browns of his eyes, bringing a goldmine to the muddy surface.

“Tooty— it’s far too early for this shit,” he speaks slowly, the Cheshire Cat like grin on his stupid face spreads across his lips revealing his straight white teeth, “you need to relax a little bit.” He notices the weight of the beer can and tips it back into his mouth, chugging the rest of it and smacking his lips when he’s done. Adding a deafening belch upwards to the ceiling.

You curl your lip in disgust and shove his arm off of you. “What? Hair of the dog baby, gotta keep drinking to avoid a hangover.”

Crossing your arms and taking a step back from him, you take a deep breath, “I don’t know how you lived in the trailer park, and frankly— I don’t give a fuck—but, you will not, make a mess of my house. Either, clean this shit up before I get home from work, or I’ll personally move your crap out to the lawn. Got it?”

His smile fades, and his eyebrows pull together, eyes squinted. The hum of the ceiling fan is the only noise in the house. “Are you threatening me at 7:30 in the morning?” he asks, checking his watch, towering over you. No doubt he is trying to freak you out.

It takes everything in you to not slap him upside the head.

You stand your ground, not letting his carved jaw and mean eyed demeanor get the best of you.

“Damn right I am. I’ll have your shit lying on the lawn like a horrendous Halloween yard sale. Just because the whole town thinks you're some psycho, bastard doesn’t mean I do— you don’t scare me, Munson,” his surname falling from your lips like agent orange, thick and heavy painting the air around you both. Your head held high, eyes glaring back into his. His bravado falters and he also crosses his arms, matching your energy.

“Maybe you should pull the stick out of your ass before it splinters, babe.” Eddie chides back, lips spreading manically across his face.

Neither of you will let the other win, and if you didn’t have to go to work, you would stand here all day arguing with him. You poke a manicured nail into his chest. “You owe me a new bottle of lotion.” With that you push past him and make your way into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

“It was either that or the mayonnaise, sweetheart!”

You had always found comfort working at Josie’s. She had taken you on immediately after finishing Cosmetology school at Empire Beauty School in Indianapolis, giving you full time hours and helping you buy your supplies. Nancy had dropped down to part time, working for both the Hawkins Post and cutting hair on the side. Josie was like an older sister to you, and you loved her dearly.

After doing matching perm sets on a mother and daughter, a trim on your regular client, Audrey, and catching up with the latest gossip from Molly about her date that ended with them making out in his car—it was time for your lunch break.

The leftover half of a tuna salad sandwich stared you down from its cellophane wrapper, begging you to ingest the soggy yet stale bread. A stomach ache waiting to happen. Tossing it into the trash, you settle for Marlboro menthols and a Diet Coke. The sun is high in the sky, begging you to enjoy it.

You shed your vest as you sit on the back patio, leaning your head against the neon pink and white striped plastic pool chair lounger, stretching your legs out and kicking off your sandals. You accept the sun’s rays into your skin. Sunglasses poised on your face and a cigarette tucked between your mauve painted lips, you pretend you’re in a movie.

But you’re not— you’re in the middle of Butthole, Indiana. The only exciting thing that happened here was the possibility of hearing the latest town gossip about someone’s cousin, friend, or ex getting knocked up by the high school football star.

You longed for a day off where you and Robin could enjoy the once luxurious but not desolate woods of Lover’s Lake. Nothing but the peaceful breeze to fill your mind and the light rustle of the leaves.

Nancy pulled the blue matching chair up next to you, curling her legs beneath her as you silently pull your lighter from your pocket and hand it to her. A small cloud of smoke dances around your face as she lights her cigarette inhaling deeply.

“Ready for the honeymoon?” You ask her as she inches her way down the seat, a slight squeak to the rubbery plastic as she settles her body in.

Nancy and Jonathan had gotten married two months ago. The wedding was pristine and beautiful in typical Nancy fashion. Her glorious curls in a French twist, soft tendrils framing her youthful face. A pearl colored lace gown billowing behind her and sleeves puffed around her shoulders with dainty lace decorating down her delicate wrists. She looked incredible.

You cried standing beside Holly and El in your peach colored satin gowns, wiping your eyes when they read their nuptials, vowing to be together during sickness and in health. Will, Argyle, and Mike stood beside Jonathan trying like hell to stand upright as the bachelor party spilled into the midnight hours, Mike, paler than usual and Will, drenched with sweat under the beaming lights of the church. Argyle was the only one smiling through the entire ceremony, moving his head to the rhythm of the organ.

Karen had wept and gathered you into a tight hug for helping style the bridal party’s hair that morning, and for being such a wonderful roommate to Nancy. Ted checked his watch every half hour, and kept an eye on the punch which seemingly looked to get darker and darker throughout the night.

Joyce and Hopper held each other close and danced slow to every song played. Their undying love for one another evident on their faces.

A very drunk Murray Bauman hollered obscenities behind the bar, obviously taking advantage of the open bar night as he mixed drinks for the Wheeler and Byer wedding guests, heavy on the liquor. It wasn’t until grandma Wheeler grabbed the mic and started singing Frank Sinatra that someone caught on to Murray’s antics.

You had danced and laughed along with your high school classmates all night, spilling champagne and beer onto the community center floor, the bottom of

Nancy’s dress turned an ugly smoke gray. It was a perfect summer wedding, one that all of Hawkins would be talking about for years to come.

Nancy stretched her back and twisted her neck to look at you, blue eyes peering over round colored lenses, “Yes, I can’t wait to dip my toes in the ocean,” she says beaming, “we’ve been going to the pool pretty often these last few weeks trying to tan Jonathan a little bit so he doesn’t burn like a piece of bread in Cancun.”

A giggle bubbles on her lips as you laugh along with her. “Any luck on finding a roommate?”

You had been dreading this conversation. Originally you had hoped that Erica Sinclair or even Max would maybe want to be your roommate. Sadly they were both either starting college or finishing up their degree this year—Lucas turned down a full ride basketball scholarship to be with Max. Even the boys had places to go. Dustin and Suzy were finishing their summer internships and moving in together—he had plans on proposing after summer’s end. Will lived in Indianapolis, he became a teacher’s aid after finishing his Bachelor’s in Fine Arts, hoping to one day become a professor. Mike and El lived in Hopper’s cabin, tucked deep in the woods. Celebrating being together for almost 10 years. It was quite literally just you— single, and desperate for a roommate.

“Yeah— I uhh— they moved in last night actually,” you said through a wall of smoke nonchalantly. Lighting another cigarette to power through this conversation.

Nancy is picking at her cuticles and flipping through Cosmo as she asks who answered the ad.

A nervous laugh surpasses your lips, “Eddie,” you say in almost a question.

Nancy stops moving entirely. The ash from her cigarette threatening it’s length. She shakes her head and corrects herself, “Sorry, I think I had a stroke… did you say Eddie? As in Eddie Munson?”

You throw your arm over your eyes and slip further into the chair, hoping it would swallow you whole. A groan escapes your lips followed by your confirmation.

“There was no one else! Everyone is off at school, or getting engaged— he was the only one to show up and look at the house! Plus he forked out more cash than I had originally been asking for so obviously he can afford the rent.”

“Probably drug money,” Nancy coughed.

“Honestly I don’t care if he robbed a bank, the money is there and right now—” the threat of what your life could become stings like a wasp in your brain, red ink showing final notice, light switches not working due to the electricity being shut off, before Eddie moved in— you were well on your way to that lifestyle. “that is what matters.”

Nancy huffs in disagreement, taking a breath to settle her nerves. “I don’t know him personally— but just be careful. Wait, wasn’t he friends with—”

“Yup.” You quip, tight lipped and short, “Robin and Steve know him too.”

“That's what I had thought, well at least he’s not like, a total stranger then.”

Nancy listens intently to the horrors of the past 24 hours at the house she once lived in. Twisting her wedding ring around her small fingers, she had never been more thankful to be married.

The work day ended later than you had hoped, a last minute client showed up begging for a “quick perm” — as if there were such a thing. You waved goodbye as you reminded her of the strict no washing policy when it came to maintaining her curls in place. You sweep the floor in a rush and place your combs and scissors in the blue barbicide. Putting away the perm rods and wiping down the surfaces. Switching over the laundry so at least the towels would be dry by the time you opened on Monday morning.

You were tired and your back felt a little stiff. You shut off the radio, still humming Material Girl, to yourself as you turned off the lights and locked the door.

The drive home was short, your small Ford escort a blur through the streets of Hawkins. You could hear your bed calling you, maybe you’d make yourself a grilled cheese and do some laundry so you wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow. But when you pulled into your driveway you realized you wouldn’t be relaxing at all tonight.

The garage door was pulled open, a makeshift banner with red and black spray painted letters on it spelled out “Corroded Coffin”, a better glance at it and you could see it was the same pattern as your spare bed sheets that you kept in the linen closet. The garbage cans were moved out of the way and tossed into the front yard. Cords from amps and a microphone were plugged into every outlet your small garage could offer. A drum set was in the back beside the shelf that held old paint cans full of lead. The floppy blond haired idiot slammed a Busch Light as he twirled a drumstick in his hand. Two members of the band were head banging along to the guitar solo that Eddie was plucking away at. His fingers moved fluidly over the fretboard. Years of practice evident in the dexterity of his hands. The muscles in his arms tight and flexed, veins protruding around them. There were beer cans scattered all around them. Another dirty thirty, no doubt. Fries were spilling out of empty fast food bags and greasy burger wrappers were littering the ground. The push mower was laying on its side, in the middle of the driveway. The rake snapped in half.

The slam of your car door goes unheard.

The unhinged quirk of your jaw starts to ache as you clench your teeth, stomping towards the garage band. The guitar solo ends just as you get to the garage. They’re all hollering and cheering as Eddie whips his head back, long sweaty strands of his curls whipping around as he tries to catch his breath. Holding the beer at arms length, he pours it into his mouth, light amber colored lager flowing down his chin and the expanse of his neck.

“Fuckin’ told you Jeff,” Eddie says, throwing the beer to the ground at the other guitarists feet, “don’t matter if its been five or fifteen years— I can still play that Master of Puppets solo.” A smug smile spreads across his mouth as he pulls a joint from his back pocket, and lights it between lips.

Jeff swings his guitar off his neck and places it on one of the amps, “yeah, yeah whatever man— you gonna share that or just keep gloating?”

You are standing on the driveway, hands on your hips, weight balancing on one leg, the other straight out, foot tapping in annoyance, waiting for the band of rejects to notice your throat clearing.

“Tooty!” They all yell in unison.

Your expression doesn’t fade. Jaw unhinged, lips pressed together tightly. The icy cold of your stare burrowing into Eddie’s beer and sweat soaked skin, a hazy film around him as he exhales the joint.

“Aww, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He says with fake concern, a smirk curled on his lips, “you mad you missed the jam sesh?” Eddie croons, the tip of the joint goes red as he inhales again and passes it to Jeff, “don’t worry we do this every other night I’m sure you’ll catch the next one.”

The garage fills with echoing drunk laughs and the asshole on the drums hits a ba dum tss. Causing Eddie to choke on his exhale and start a coughing fit. He’s doubled over laughing as he forces the smoke from his lungs.

“Not here you’re not.”

He looks from you to the guys, all four dumbstruck by your words.

“Please tell me, Tooty, why I, a paying resident of this house,” he says, gesturing wildly around him, taking long legged steps towards you, head dipping and turning to catch your gaze, “am not ‘allowed’ to practice with my band, in a garage that we share?”

He’s lowering his head down to you, the ends of his sweaty curls licking your cheeks as he closes the gap between you, rubbing a hand across his chin, that same smirk on his face as always.

“Hmm?”

You let out an exhausted sigh. After a long day at work the only thing you had wanted to do was relax— not deal with Eddie’s antics.

“I’m not going to entertain your little half-witted dreams from middle school on being the next Kirk Hammett— find somewhere else to play rockstar, and get this shit out of here.”

You shove past him and the band as you stomp through the door leading into the kitchen, hanging up your keys. A quick look around made your head spin.

The house looked worse now than it did when you left for work. Dishes piled along each surface on the counters and into the sink, the microwave was open with what looked like the remnants of a spaghetti-o explosion, a beer can pyramid was starting in the living room. A burnt aluminum pan of jiffy pop sat on the stove, charred on the bottom. The trash bag suitcases Eddie had packed his belongings with, were now thrown in between his room and the hallway.

You were fed up with this bullshit, it had been 24 hours and he was already on your last nerve. Dragging both hands down your face in sheer fatigue, you grab a roll of trash bags from under the sink. Walking heavy footed back to the door, making as much noise as possible, you fling open the door, four pairs of wide eyes stare you down as you shake open the garbage bag.

“Here, let me help you because apparently you don’t have any common fucking sense.” You stomp over to Eddie and rip another bag free from the roll and toss it to him.

In the best condescending tone you can muster you explain, “This, is a garbage bag. Oooh, ahhh. Cool right? See? When you are done with something and it’s empty,” you educate the gaggle of degenerates, “you pick it up, and throw it away! Wow.” You demonstrate for them, picking up an empty can of beer and placing it in the bag.

“See how easy that is? Now,” you say turning towards Eddie your eyes lost of any endearment, “Do you think you big boys could handle that? Or do you need written instructions?”

A scoff is heard from behind you, as it’s now your turn to smirk, stomping back up the steps and into the kitchen, slamming the door hard behind you.

Huffing and puffing, you know that the house will never get clean if you don’t do it yourself. You change into a faded Hawkins High shirt and a pair of old worn cotton shorts with paint smears on the hips from when you and Nancy tackled painting the living room last summer, as you set to work on the kitchen. Pulling on a pair of rubber yellow gloves, you make work on cleaning the mess Eddie had made. The soft hum of your kitchen radio plays as Pearl Jam invades the background. You first fill the sink with the hottest water the faucet allowed, dousing the dishes with dish soap. You’re carrying around the garbage can, picking up empty beer cans, cigarette butts, and the charcoal mess of black popcorn on the the stove.

You don’t hear him enter the kitchen, your mind far away to another time, when Nancy lived with you and the only problem she caused was paying rent a week early. He advances towards you and stops in front of you, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath.

“What’s your fuckin’ problem? You can be a bitch to me all you want, but the guys don’t deserve that.”

You set the garbage can down by your feet, a rubber glove shoved into his chest, “If you think I give a fuck about what they deserve, you are sadly mistaken! I deserve to not have my house completely trashed every time I turn my back!”

“I didn’t know I was living in a fucking convent, Sister Tooty.” Eddie argues, proud of his comeback he leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest, “that why you never get laid?”

You roll your eyes, “fucking yourself with a beer can taped to your hand isn’t exactly getting laid, Munson. But keep it up, you won’t be living here for long if you keep acting like a fucking pig!”

“Again, with your empty threats, sweetheart. Isn’t it tiring being so mad all the time— careful, looks Iike you’re already getting wrinkles.” A throaty laugh escapes his mouth and he sweeps his thumb between your eyebrows, trying to joke around and diffuse the tension growing between you both.

You swat your hands at him and pull away, a look of disgust and frustration planted on your face.

“Jesus,” he says irritated, “Harrington told me that your family moved away— didn’t know it was because you’re such a stone-cold bitch.”

Without even thinking, you shove him hard in the chest. He goes crashing backwards, the rest of the cluttered items on the counter cascade to the floor with loud thuds. Your cheeks are heated, and your eyes glisten with tears, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. You look at your socked feet and back up to him. Your lip quivering, head held high.

His expression is stunned, not angry like you thought he would be. A look of worry washes over his face as he realizes he crossed the line. Anger ran its course as he recognizes that he hurt you.

“Ah fuck,” he breathes, putting his head down and shaking his long mane. He looks back up to your face, still steady, not daring to let those traitorous tears fall.

“Tooty, I’m— I’m sorry.”

You pluck off your rubber gloves and toss them to the counter, making a dash to the bathroom and locking the door. Eddie doesn’t hear your crying, drowned out from the shower head as he starts to clean up his mess.

vol iii

—

A/N: thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed! If your name is crossed out on the Taglist it means your settings are more than likely set to private and you’re not allowed to be tagged!

Tag list: @tlclick73 @sweetsweetjellybean @bbyhargrove @sidthedollface2 @eddiesguitarskills @manda-panda-monium @luna-munson83 @sinczir @icequeen1371 @stephywxphy @aol19 @munsonzlsvr @2lekk @thirddeadlysin @sevikasblackgf @whenshelanded @b-irock @daleyeahson @alanamarie @ijustwanttoreadsmutttt @emmalee-01 @justsheerfilth1 @mynameismothra @1weirdbitch @emma77645 @aysheashea @kaitlynnlo @micheledawn1975 @iheartyouyou @xladyluna15x @awhoreforeddiemunson @fallinginlovewithqueue @notdeadnotalive @seventhlevelofhell @belleoftheba11 @secretdryrose @harlowsgirl @gloryekaterina @veravee-blog @leahjean @Ifaewrites @amestbr @lunatictardis @munson-blurbs @corroded-hellfire @agentmarvel @ghost-proofbaby @jo-harrington @abibliophobiaa @josephfakingquinn @bimbobaggins69 @loveshotzz @jadequeen88 @joejoequinnquinn @divamatrixx @myosotisa @boomhauer @br0ck-eddie @avalon-wolf

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #Eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x f!reader #roommate!eddie #roommate!eddie munson

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drabblesandimagines · 3 months

Note

could i request something with leon and a reader with lots and lots of energy? like i imagine reader jumping around the house for some reason and leon trying to keep up with that energy. that would be so cute idk 😩

Okay, I must apologise because I fear this went waaaay off topic, but I immediately thought of nervous energy and this fluffy bit came out. I hope you still enjoy it - please let me know!

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship

Leon smiles as you finally perch down on the edge of the sofa besides him, moving to slip his arm around your shoulders and pull you in for a cuddle – loves it when you nuzzle into his chest - only for you to get to your feet once more, walking over to the opposite sofa to straighten up the cushions.

You’ve had non-stop energy all day and, thinking back on it, he swears you’d even ate breakfast and lunch without sitting down once. It started with you being out of bed before him, usually an impossible task with his internal 6am alarm clock. He’d often left you tucked up in bed after a kiss on the forehead before he went for his morning run, knowing full well you still wouldn’t be awake on his return.

He’d be a liar though if he didn’t admit that he was still recovering from the Alcatraz incident – some of those bruises were still healing, making him groan like an old man sometimes if he’d sat in one position too long. More recently, and aided by a period of leave from the DSO, he’d been enjoying the lazier starts you were now getting to share, waking up only enough to nuzzle his face into your neck, a few soft kisses here and there, and spooning you into the mid-morning.

No such treat that morning, though. By the time he’d lugged himself down the stairs, you’d mopped the kitchen floor and been to the grocery store whilst it dried.

“What can I do, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, thanks. All under control.” You beam, multitasking up a storm in front of him. You poured him a cup of coffee from the machine and turned back to the stove where you were somehow already cooking him breakfast, a cake was baking away in the oven, all whilst mentioning something about how you were holding off on vacuuming until he was awake. He's a bit in awe at your energy levels today – though it was true he had a few years older than you, he didn’t think it was to this much of an extent. Next, you’d vacuumed all of the rooms, shaking your head at his offer to do them, thinking you were just being a little too particular on the way you liked them done, and when you washed the windows, dusted the surfaces, cleaned the bathroom… But as 5pm rolled closer, he finally realizes what it is, cursing himself internally.

“Sweetheart…” he trails off as you decide the cushion needs a little more fluffing up, now bashing it against your thighs into submission.

“Uh-huh?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just, you know, finessing.” You place the cushion down, eyes scanning the rest of the living room. Did you miss that dust on the entertainment console? You were sure you’d ran that fluffy duster everywhere. It’s fine, there’s cloth dusters under the sink – maybe that would be better – and whilst you’re in the kitchen, you should definitely double-check the ice drawer again, just to make sure you definitely have enough ice…

As you head towards the kitchen, you stop a moment and adjust the bowl of tortilla chips by a fraction of an inch. It’s Leon’s birthday celebration, so you’ve laid out your best snack spread, including two huge bowls of homemade guacamole – a family recipe that has never not once been a hit when you’ve rolled it out – but now you’re not sure it’s enough. It’s not Leon’s actual birthday either as he never wants a fuss, no balloons and definitely no banners – reminds him too much of his evening at the RPD HQ - but after Alcatraz, Chris, Jill, Claire, Rebecca and he had stayed in regular contact and somehow what was going to be beers at a bar had escalated into a little gathering at his to celebrate his birthday… and for them to meet you.

Leon has other ideas as you head towards the kitchen and your mind’s too focused to see him poised as you go to walk past. He grabs hold of your wrist and suddenly you find yourself on his lap after a firm and gentle tug, his other arm now wrapped tightly around your waist and keeping you in place.

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not.” So what if your leg is bouncing up and down on the spot? He lets go of your wrist then, places his palm flat on your thigh and stills it.

“Liar. You’ve been on the go since dawn – I’m tired just watching you.”

“Fine, maybe I’m a little nervous.” You relent – could never resist those blue eyes of his. “You’ve never invited friends round here before, let alone had a birthday party and I want everything to be perfect.”

He smiles – the one you know that precedes a corny line. “It is already perfect because you’re here.”

You roll your eyes.

“Seriously – they’ll like you, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” You’ve heard of them from his stories – little snippets he’ll share from his work. They’re all so strong, and brave, and clever…

“Because I love you.”

You still go weak at that knees when he tells you those words – he sounds as sincere as the first time he said it. You lean forward then, kissing him deeply. His hand rubs up and down your back as you do, making all the anxious thoughts stop for a moment as you focus on him and his touch alone.

You pull back after a moment and take in his soft, lovestruck expression, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I still think I should make another bowl of guacamole, though. Just in case.”

“You’ve already made two huge servings, sweetheart - we’re good.”

And, when Chris takes another heaving scoop of it atop his tortilla chip later that evening, it’s Leon’s turn to relent.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

#ghostdogwrites #ghostdogasks #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 7 months

Text

I bet Miguel can cook REALLY well.

Like CRAZY WELL.

Being a dad he did have to come up with something to eat for dinner every night

And with Gabriella being a bit picky, sometimes he had to get creative

And some of his favorite memories are the conversations he and Gabbie had while dinner was on the stove

But even now, he loves it. Miguel finds he act of cooking so relaxing. He likes the peace and the order of it

And even if he comes in really really late from HQ - he'll still try and cook something

Fighting sleep while cooking a quesadilla on the stove

He's a Sazon loyalist SORRY ADOBO STANS

There's always tortillas, sour cream and salsa verde in his fridge - freshly made

(if you got those you can figure something out)

And he grows his own cilantro and basil on the window sill

And he'll never use powdered garlic, only fresh

Yes he can eat garlic - yes people on campus ask him that a lot

(he's hot ACTUALLY a vampire)

His seafood is TO DIE FOR

Miguel can make amazing lobster tail, or crab legs (with Old Bay and butter of course)

And his Ceviche is SO GOOD and SO FRESH

Most likely makes everything spicy. It's not even that he 'loves' spicy food - He just makes it spicy AF and acts like he doesn't notice

MEANWHILE you're next to him and it hurts to breathe

He and Hobie are bean stans.

Miguel loves them in Chilli con Carne, with rice, refried, you name it

and Hobie goes through those British blue cans of Heinz baked beans like it's nobodies business

They both think beans are underrated

Makes AMAZING MOLE and even better Tamales

But you have to BEG him for weeks on end to get him to make Tamales cause he can't be bothered - and he will make you help

He likes Avocado, like in general. On toast, with eggs, guacamole use always a staple

He'll often just eat chips and guacamole the whole day in his office and he'll get pissed if the food court is out of it.

Well look at a corn shell ground beef taco and be like 'You think that's a taco? Is that what you honestly believe?'

Loves cooking with other people - in fact Miguel actually just likes working with people in general. That's why Lyla has a personality.

He's good at guiding others during cooking and teaching them things and not bossing them around

OBSESSED LIKE CONCERNINGLY SO

With mango and Tajin

He'll put Tajin seasoning on ANYTHING - the first time Jess saw him put it on watermelon she was like 'what for????'

But he loves fruit in general, watermelon, lychee, guava. A lot of them are grown fresh in the Society gardens

Strawberries are a favorite of his. Gabriella loved strawberries on pancakes

He pronounces lychee - Leechee (not Lie-chee)

He's the fucking PRO at protein shakes and milkshakes

The man needs workout fuel and whey powder and kale and potassium and-

He's in the kitchen 5am getting ready for the gym

Making a shit ton of peanut butter strawberry banana and oats protein smoothie with coconut milk and honey to sweeten

Because he does have a sweet tooth.

Jolly Ranchers are an oral fixation

You can hear him sucking on one, the quiet clacking of it.

Or see him press it into his cheek, lost in thought

But baking and sweets are his secret love

He just doesn't have anyone to test it on anymore - so he doesn't

His flan is the best, and it was one of Gabbie's show faves

He eats parfaits pretty often, and makes them a lot for Jess (and she teases it for it)

Miguel LOVES tres leches cake, as sweet as possible. And fancy stuff like creme brulee

Don't tell anyone but he actually really likes cheesecake he acts like it's a secret

With him cooking get ready for the most sugariest breakfast ever. It's a dad thing.

Whipped cream, fruits, syrup, chocolate chips, you name it.

Sure Miguel shouldn't have been giving Gabriella THAT much sugar THAT early - but with you it's fine so enjoy the stomach ache in two hours

Another dad thing:

COOK OUT FOOD.

Him and Peter get INTENSE.

Miguel swears by charcoal grills, Peter likes propane and gas

Miguel is the tio with the best Hot dogs and relish that HITS

Peter is the burger dad who spends an insane amount of money on Angus beef

Miguel judges your hot dog toppings but says nothing

His ELOTE???? EUPHORIC

Like,,, it'll bring you to tears it's so good - I don't know how he does it

And when it comes to cooking he's ALWAYS willing to learn

He'd rather invite you over and cook you something than going out to eat

He'll learn something you like or where you're from and make something from there

Even better if you can teach him how to make something - the two of you can make it together

But his favorite part by far is setting it down at the table, trying not to seem like he's watching your reaction

And seeing your face light up at the first bite

Or even better -

Seeing you collapse into bed with a food coma

Miguel with cooking and food as a love language

#yes please #spiderman #atsv #marvel #spider man #across the spiderverse #Miguel Ohara #Miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #Miguel O'hara x reader #Miguel Ohara x reader #Miguel x you #gabriella o’hara

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wardenparker · 3 months

Text

Hurry Home

Frankie Morales x female reader x Santiago Garcia

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: Reader is described as wearing feminine clothing and having hair long enough to run fingers through. Fluff. Domesticity. Food/alcohol. Oral sex (m receiving), mention of shower sex. Summary: A small snapshot of an established poly relationship. Notes: There is no world in which I do not want to be in a poly marriage with Frankie and Pope. End of story. I hope you enjoy!

The light in the living room is still on when you come through the door; the smell of long-cooked chili wafting from the kitchen where unwashed dishes sit waiting for the morning. You drop your purse in its traditional place on the little table by the door and immediately reach down to pry the high heels off your aching feet. Too many damned meetings have fried your brain and left you craving a hot dinner and sweet cuddles. Thankfully, that delicious smell from the kitchen and the sound of Yellowstone on the television in the living room mean that Santiago is home. Alas, the gentle snoring means he has fallen asleep on the sofa.

Intent on not waking him up, you decide not to turn on the light and move soundlessly around the kitchen in your stockings and dress, glad to have rejected your heels at the door. Santi’s chili is your favourite comfort food. It’s spicy enough to clean out your sinuses but so complexly flavored that he completely betrays his years of culinary school every time he makes it. And he never minds that you scoop it up in half a bag’s worth of convenience store tortilla chips every time you need that next level comfort. Tonight, you pour absurd amounts of cheap tequila and margarita mix into a novelty pint glass and tap the microwave button to stop the heating cycle before it beeps too loudly across the apartment.

You reach blindly over to grab a spoon out of the drawer and have one plopped into your hand instead. “Jesus Christ!” You hiss, snatching your hand away and just barely managing not to drop the flatware.

The snickering giggle from your right isn’t Santi’s.

“Frankie!” You almost shriek, face splitting into an immediate smile and throwing your arms around his neck without a second lost.

“Shh! Shhhh, love.” Frankie wraps his arms tight around your waist, breathing in the faded strains of your expensive perfume. “Santi’s sleeping.”

“I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow?” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin. He’s already stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers from whatever he’d put on that morning and he looks good enough to eat. Damn the chili, Frankie is a whole three course meal in his own right.

“I rescheduled for an earlier flight.” It sounds almost confessional, the way he quietly whispers in your ear. “I missed you.”

“Mmm,” The hum comes up from the back of your throat. “We missed you, too.”

“Is that why you have the world’s largest and saddest margarita in that glass?” Frankie smirks, raising one eyebrow at the glass on the counter next to your bowl. That awful sugary bottled cocktail mix only sneaks its way into your home when Frankie is away. As a former bartender he finds it fully offensive, but he knows you like sticky sweet drinks.

“Give me a break,” you beg, pouting fiercely. This is why you were having such a big drink tonight – not only because of the day you’d had at work but to empty the bottle before his return. “I had four meetings today, I earned this sugary tequila.”

Frankie knows how hard you work, constantly proving yourself day-in and day-out in an office full of men where you are the best educated in the room but always last to get a new client. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m only teasing.” He plies you with a soft kiss, letting it deepen when you sigh to let him in. Your reunions are like this more often than not now, after almost a decade together. In the beginning you would be fucking against a wall within minutes of the door closing, so desperate to feel each other’s touch again after a business trip or other time away that you had ruined a fair few pieces of clothing in moments of enthusiasm.

Now you linger together and let yourselves melt into each other, usually ending up going to bed early with a bottle of wine. When Santi had become a part of your romantic lives, you had become oddly more domestic, but you all quietly agreed that that was due to age and not a loss of passion. In fact, the only odd thing about it was that it had taken so long. For as close as Frankie and Santi had always been, it had taken the three of you going camping for a long weekend for something to finally happen.

Soft became sensual becomes hungry, and proof of that passion shows itself in you shoving Frankie’s hips against the kitchen counter so you can drop to your knees in front of him in synchrony with his boxers hitting the tiled floor.

“Goddamn.” Frankie’s long, thick fingers flex insistently against the base of your skull, not scratching or pulling, but encouraging as he drinks in the sight of you in the glowing shadow of the flickering living room television.

You have only gotten more gorgeous as you’ve gotten older, growing from an adorable little imp to an elegant and confident woman who owns her curves instead of hiding them. He’s always loved your body in every form, but he loves even more the way you’ve come to love yourself. With that confidence in yourself had come even more confidence as a lover – and he is more than okay with that. He simply wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t show you the vocal appreciation he has for your skills with your tongue. “Fuck, baby girl,” he moans, humming so deeply that he practically purrs.

“You know he’s just going to keep taking more out of town jobs if this is how he gets greeted at home.” Santi’s sleep-thick voice joins the rather obscene sound of your mouth leaving Frankie’s cock and your eyes flick up to Santi with an amused glint.

“Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t give him the same hello?” You tease. These men always make you smile. And moan. They always make you moan.

“Of course not.” Santi’s hand goes to his chest in mock affront before he leans down to nip at your bottom lip. “I gave him a good fuck in the shower. Obviously.”

“And I’m the one who’s spoiling him?” On your knees with Frankie’s length in one hand, you reach for the waistband of Santi’s joggers with the other and feel your smile go lopsided as your eyes grow darker. “I’ll spoil both of you, then.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you up.” Frankie apologizes by pulling Santi in close, untangling one of his hands from your hair only to catch it up in the other man’s equally thick locks as they come together in a kiss. You’ll lavish them with attention here and then they will bring you to bed where they have space to work over every inch of you – the three of you falling asleep in a sweaty pile of satisfied partners.

When Santi had joined your family, you and Frankie had become a little more domestic. You had found the piece of your marriage that you hadn’t known was missing in a clever, loving third partner, and now you can’t imagine your lives without him.

______

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bumblesimagines · 2 months

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but what if you're the one for me?

when were you going to tell me you were seeing someone? i thought i was the first person you told about that stuff.

- Cassie Howard

but what if you're the one for me?

when were you going to tell me you were seeing someone? i thought i was the first person you told about that stuff.

Pronouns: He/Him/His

Gathering the multiple party-sized bags into your arms, you peered over the top of them as you followed Lexi out of the kitchen and into the living room where the girls had gathered around. From the flush on Cassie's cheek and the way Maddy and Kat giggled, Suze must've told a helluva story. Lexi carefully balanced the small cups of dippings with one arm and began setting them down on the coffee table alongside the scattered candy wrappers and beer cans.

"Finally," Maddy groaned, wiping her lips free of beer and reaching for one of the tortilla chip bags you held. She ripped it open and dug inside, pulling two chips free and eagerly dipping them into the guacamole. She did a blissful shimmy when she munched on the chips and happily went in for more chips.

"So, (Y/N)," Kat began with a wicked grin, her eyes watching you set the rest of the bags down on the table. You glanced at her questionably and settled down nicely beside Cassie, already feeling ganged up on from the way Maddy and BB turned to Kat expectantly. She took her time, sipping on her beer and taking a bite out of a chip before continuing. "I heard that you and Tammy Lewis were getting a little cozy at the movies last Sunday."

"What?!" Maddy nearly shrieked with a mouthful of chips, her head whipping around to look at you with wide eyes. "You dick! Why didn't you tell us?"

The guys at school who constantly badgered you with questions as to how you could've possibly managed to land a spot in a friend group consisting of the prettiest popular cheerleaders in school had no clue the type of torture you'd been under since 6th grade.

It'd all started one fateful afternoon during lunchtime when the snotty boy in front of you had made fun of Kat and tried to flee before Maddy could lay into him. It'd been instinctive how you stuck your leg out and sent him toppling to the floor. The humiliation of not only falling in front of half the school combined with getting a bloody nose had made the boy cry and you'd been given a couple days of suspension. When you returned afterward, you'd been formally invited to sit with the girls at lunch by none other than Madeleine Perez.

From then on, the girls kept you around and you were quickly dubbed the luckiest guy in school, even if you viewed all the girls as sisters and they treated you like a baby brother they liked dressing up and cooing over. But along with the territory of brother, came the gossip, drama, and the fact every single person you vaguely showed interest in had to be approved by the council.

"It's not serious, Mads, I swear. It's just.... dating. We're not together."

"Not yet." BB cooed, exhaling a breath of smoke and snickering when you groaned.

"Tammy Lewis," Maddy murmured and leaned back into the cushion of the couch with squinted eyes. "She's pretty, I guess."

"She's failing English," Kat added, "Like kindergarten reading comprehension type of failing."

"I think she's sweet." Lexi piped in, cradling a cola can in her hands and shrugging her shoulders.

"It's not serious," You groaned again. "I would've told you guys if it were, I swear! It was just one date and nothing happened."

Maddy squinted again. "Nothing? Not even a little kiss?"

"Maybe... maybe like one kiss-"

"And you didn't tell us?!" Maddy shrieked again and grabbed a pillow, tossing it over the coffee table and hitting you square in the chest. Unnaturally quiet Cassie laughed, albeit forced and slightly awkward, and retrieved the pillow before it could go tumbling to the floor. You glanced at the blonde, finally noting her lack of input but decided to leave it for later rather than put her on the spot.

The rest of the night had been the same as others, with a couple movies put on the TV until the girls ultimately passed out either on the floor or the couch. Suze ensured everyone had blankets and pillows as she called up the parents to alert them their kids would be staying over before she retreated upstairs to her bedroom with one last glass of wine in hand.

You'd been curled up on the end of the couch on the brink of dozing off until the feeling of someone slipping by startled you awake and you caught Cassie slipping into the kitchen. You yawned and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, tugging the blanket over your shoulders and shuffling after her into the kitchen.

"Oh, hey," She greeted quietly, taking a water bottle out of the fridge and drinking from it.

"You okay?" You questioned and leaned against one of the counters, trying to fight the exhaustion from clouding your brain. Cassie brushed some loose strands of hair back and took another sip of water, the look on her face conflicted. Cassie confided in you all the time, whether about guys or her mother, so her hesitation seemed odd.

"When were you going to tell me you were seeing someone?" She asked quietly, running her finger over the rim of the bottle. "I thought I was the first person you told about that stuff."

"You've got a lot on your plate already, Cass. I thought it'd be better to let you recover from... everything." Your eyes flickered down to her belly. She'd hardly been able to tell the girls about it when she found out, seeing as Maddy and Kat had gotten into it and angered each other that day. McKay had known, of course he had, but he hadn't been the one she called when the procedure had been over and done with.

"I... I'm fine, (Y/N). I'm past it. I'm past McKay. He didn't make me feel... special or loved or.. beautiful. I know that's how love is supposed to make you feel. It- It shouldn't make you feel like shit." Cassie said, setting the bottle aside and turning to face you. Her eyes softened and then began to glisten with tears. You frowned and moved the blanket from your shoulders, taking a step closer and wrapping it around her instead. "He wasn't the one for me... but what if you're the one for me?"

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #euphoria #euphoria x reader #euphoria x male reader #euphoria x y/n #euphoria x you #cassie howard #cassie howard x reader #cassie howard x male reader #cassie howard x y/n #cassie howard x you #maddy perez #kat hernandez #euphoria bb #lexi howard #suze howard

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