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ghoulphile · 27 days

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janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears.

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood.

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog.

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

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gallusrostromegalus · 3 months

Note

hi i see that you have much smart dog experience. i may have accidentally purchased such a dog. she's only 10 weeks, and ive had her 1, and she's already outmatched every puzzle feeder i got or have made. to the point that she is morosely disappointed when her food comes in an actual food bowl. do you know where i can find like. "heres 100 enrichment toys you can make out of free trash so your dog stops eating fucking rocks for enrichment" lists. i only have so many paper towel tubes XD

Herschel now just disassembles puzzle feeders, so I've been focusing on "Toys that, even if he already knows how to operate them, will still take TIME for him to collect the treat from" to give him something to fuss with.

Herschel eats all his meals out of a Kong Wobbler, because he will otherwise eat so fast he will literally inhale and choke on his kibble and I do not need him developing pneumonia from aspiration. Even though it's a "Simple" toy it slows him down and he does have to think a bit to tip it in the most efficient manner possible. Kong's "Flipz", "Gyro" and "Rewards Wally" are also really good "dog needs to think/carefully manipulate the toy for food" toys that act as both mental stimulation and exercise and "give human a break for up to twelve minutes" toys.

I highly reccomend KONG as a brand- they're local to Denver and have an impeccable saftey record and all of the toys I have gotten from them have held up extremely well vs. the ravages of three entirely too smart and strong-jawed dogs at once.

Some more thoughts:

If she's not prone to shredding rubber, the kind of treat toys she has to chew are also good stimulation.

If you don't want to give her That Many treats, my vet said that dogs can have as many green beans as they want. Just make sure that the beans haven't had salt added to them- canned usually does, but frozen green beans usually don't, but always check the label.

You can make nearly any toy last longer, or make a cheap long-puzzle by freezing the treats so they take longer to eat AND provides hydration. Herschel's most favorite treat of all time is literally a wad of sliced green beans in a dixie cup, filled with water and frozen. Just peel off the cup and hand him the chunk of ice and he's good for up to half an hour and more chill afterwards.

You can also freeze lick mats

If your girl is like Charlie and doesn't like greenbeans, you can also try freezing paper cups of: Canned pumpkin, apple slices in water, putting some ice cubes in the bottom of the cup, a gob of peanut butter in the middle and then fill it with water to make a peanutbutter filled ice cube.

If your girl is REALLY like charlie who has figured out how to use labor negotiation and strike tactics for better treats: boiled chicken chunks frozen in some of the water you boiled them in.

Walkies are as much mental stimulation as they are physical exercise. Take her out and let her sniff to her heart's content.

Also Puppies in particular need like, SO MUCH exercise.

Let her participate in activities with you. Herschel and charlie sit in the kitchen and I narrate cooking dinner to them, which seems to interest them, even if I don't have spare veggie ends to give them. I also frequently bring them along in the car if I'm running errands when it's cold enough to do that, so they have something new to look at, and get to participate. I also am more likely to stop at a new park and give myself some exercise and mental stimulation.

Training her to do tasks is GREAT Smart Dog enrichment- esp if she's a herding or heeler, they LOVE being helpful. I taught the dogs they get a small treat if they come in from the yard without me having to go chase them down, which saved me a lot of hassle, and now I'm working on teaching herschel to pick things up off the floor for me if I drop them and alert for chickpeas, which my housemate is allergic to.

A lot of dogs like cat-type toys. Tie a stick or some fleece to some paracord and drag or flycast it around for her to chase/play tug with when she catches it. Toys that bounce unexpectedly were also a huge hit. or just wave the string around the cat and the corgi both like that.

If you live in farm country or know other people with pets, you can grab something with the scent of another animal on it and bring it home for her to smell. Charlie and Herschel spent the better part of three days investigating the wad of horse undercoat I brought home and put in the spare wobbler for them to smell.

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

II ║ Threads

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part I: Seams | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: When Joel revisits Main Street Outfitters two weeks later, he finds you on your knees. Again.

Warnings: Very spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: This crept up on me and happened just as I was finishing up edits. I am so grateful, and I hope Threads is a fitting thank you gift to you all 😘 I’m thinking about doing a sleepover celebration, we shall see!

Joel and Pin are back ❤️ They're back because you guys have been so generous with your love, sending me so many ideas and hyping me up - I can't thank you all enough! This chapter is all thanks to Singer machine anon who bravely (affectionate 😉) shared their story of getting stuck under a sewing machine table. I hope you enjoy this one!

A treadle sewing machine is powered mechanically by a foot pedal that is pushed back and forth by the operator's foot.

If you're not familiar, here is a classic Singer treadle cabinet, which is no way big enough for the purposes of this story, so please exercise your imagination 😉

Joel hovers outside the Jackson Grocer’s, arms crossed, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible in front of the leafy display of butter lettuce heads.

It’s been a few months since he’s settled in, but sometimes he can’t get over how fucking nuts this place is. Looking at the shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables outside, canned food and home goods inside, he could easily be standing outside the 24/7 mart in his old neighbourhood. There are even shopping baskets, for crying out loud - stacked neatly one on top of the other by the door.

A voice pipes up from his left. ‘Didn’t know you ate greens.’

Joel scowls. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why are you loiterin’, then?’ asks Tommy, picking up a couple of apples and examining them with exaggerated care.

‘I’m not loiterin’,’ he spits out the last word as if he’s above it, turning his gaze to the high street.

Tommy tosses him a cocky grin, head tilted at a knowing angle. ‘Yeah, you are. And now you’re makin’ eyes at Bob. It’s disturbin’.’

Glancing across the main thoroughfare at the welder’s shop, where the said proprietor is cutting up wooden planks on the porch, Joel grumbles sarcastically, ‘That’s right. Bob is just my type.’

At that very moment, right next to Bob's, the door of Main Street Outfitters creaks open, and Joel recognises Lucy instantly as she sneaks out on tiptoes. She skips down the stairs and wanders up the street in what appears to be another impromptu work break.

Joel’s already taken two steps towards the shop before he remembers that he’s not alone. Braking abruptly and bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck, he feels Tommy’s eyes on him.

He half-turns, and snaps, ‘What?’

The younger Miller brother shrugs, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Why are you going to the Outfitters again? Didn’t you just get those new jeans a couple of weeks ago?’

‘Thought I’d get a new shirt for your stupid baby shower.’

‘Joel -’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He throws his hands up in capitulation. ‘Baby showers are not stupid. Especially in the middle of an apocalypse.’

Taking another two steps forward, a thought stops him dead in his tracks again. He can practically feel Tommy smiling smugly at his back.

For fuck’s sake.

He doesn’t turn around this time, jamming his hands into his pockets and asks, ‘Can I bring someone? To the party?’

‘We know Ellie’s comin’.’

Whipping around, he growls, ‘Tommy -’

He laughs. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Joel Miller makin’ friends in town? Maria’s right - you’re fittin’ right in, big brother.’

Rolling his eyes, Joel flips him off and stomps his way across the street.

Tommy calls out at his retreating back. ‘Say hello to Pin and tell her we’d love to have her come over on Sunday!’

When he steps inside, the shop is as empty as it was a fortnight ago. Joel shuts the door firmly, making sure the bell jingles, so his entry doesn’t go unnoticed.

Your voice, though muffled, comes promptly. ‘Lucy! Is that you?’

He heads towards the doorway that leads to the workshop. ‘It’s Joel, actually.’

‘Oh, shit!’

His eyebrows reach for his hairline - you don’t seem to be the type to curse. Concerned, he asks, ‘You alright back there?’

There’s a touch of panic in your reply, ‘Don’t come back here. Did Lucy sneak out again?’

On your instruction, Joel hesitates in the middle of the room, talking to air. ‘Yeah, saw her leave a couple of minutes ago.’

‘Goddamnit, Lucy!’

He shuffles his feet awkwardly. ‘Uh, you sure you’re ok? Should I come back later?’

There’s a resigned sigh, then a pause. ‘Promise you won’t laugh.’

One end of his lips tugs upwards in a smile. ‘Why would I?’

‘Promise.’

At your insistence, he humours you, ‘Alright, I promise, sweetheart.’

‘Come on back.’

When he steps into the workshop, he doesn’t spot you immediately. The space is seemingly empty, everything standing still and in order. He sweeps his eyes across the room, starting with the shelving unit and the desk along the near wall, then trailing over the large timber work table in the middle, where a stack of folded shirts stands neatly.

His throat isn’t the only thing that tightens when he glances at the rug under the skylight -

‘Joel?’

Your voice draws his attention to the far corner of the room, where a sewing station is tucked into a little alcove.

Joel doesn’t know much about sewing machines, but he can recognise a vintage Singer anywhere even without the name blazoned across its elegant body. His grandmother had one in her drawing room by a sunny bay window, and he used to watch her work on it when he visited every other weekend. For a disorienting second, he can almost smell homemade cinnamon rolls and black tea.

Little did he know that things were about to get a lot more disorienting than a pleasant childhood memory.

As he steps around the work table, the rest of the sewing station comes into view, fronted by a big window, the light streaming through the glass glancing off the black sewing machine on top of a classic treadle cabinet. What looks like a half-finished dress lies on the wooden work surface, which stands on quintessential wrought metal legs, and between them - his throat constricts with a slow swallow when he realises what - or rather, who - he’s looking at.

The words barely come out, as if his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth, as he makes his presence known. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’

To be fair, you’re not making things easy by any means. All he can see is your backside hovering in mid-air, the rest of you out of sight under the desk. It has built-in cabinets on each end, the right side of it backed up against the far wall, and a chair is pushed to the side.

Joel stops two measured paces away, staring down at the curve of your ass and the way your top rides up, baring the small of your back. His eyes linger on the soft skin between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of your very tight jeans.

Jesus Christ. Do you always have to be on your fucking knees in this workshop?

Your small voice jolts him from his daze. ‘Well, at least you’re not laughing.’

He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew how laughing is the furthest thing on his mind right now. ‘What happened?’

‘A spool rolled off and I went down to get it, but I fell on the treadle accidentally - I think my shirt is snagged in the band wheel. I can’t move at all, and this Singer is an antique - I can't risk breaking it.’

Unfamiliar with what you’re talking about, he probes, ‘And where’s the band wheel?’

‘Under the table, on my right.’

You wriggle your hips, perhaps to help him locate where you’re stuck, unaware that you’re not helping. At all.

He swallows thickly and implores you, ‘Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.’

It’s been two whole weeks since Joel Miller came into the shop. You’ve caught glimpses of him in between - Jackson is tiny, after all. He catches your eye as he ambles down the high street with Ellie, his gruff Southern accent carrying even in the mid-afternoon bustle, too preoccupied arguing with the teenager to notice you on the other side of the road. He’s in the cafeteria a couple of times when you arrive for a late dinner, nodding at you from a few tables over, while you work up the nerve to smile back.

Every time, he’s wearing the jeans you handpicked for him, which makes your chest swell and constrict at the same time with something like - pride.

You picked out the pair for him. You assured him that he looks good. And by the way he’s wearing his confidence on his sleeve, he’s certainly taken your words to heart.

Whenever you see other women eyeing him as he struts about town - which is entirely too often - it awakens an ugly possessiveness in you, one that twists your insides into grotesque balloon animals.

Fourteen damn days. Even in the privacy of your workshop, you can’t escape that man. The simple touch of denim provokes a visceral reaction from you, heat chases beneath your skin every time you pick up the tailor’s scissors. It doesn’t help that most of your daily tasks are not exactly cerebral, which gives this man all the more leeway to lay claim to your subconscious.

If you believed in magic, you would've thought you summoned him with the sheer energy you’ve spent thinking about him. But what kind of witchcraft conjured him up at the precise moment you get trapped like the bumbling idiot that you are?

One minute you’re reaching for the stupid thread, the next thing you know, you’re stuck, unable to move without the mechanisms of the antique Singer groaning ominously at your attempts to free yourself.

But maybe, it’s still better than Lucy finding you. She’d take a hammer to the sewing machine to get you out, no question - patience is not her strong suit - and she’d be laughing at you for days.

You hear the floorboards give behind you as Joel moves into the space, which isn’t much - when you’re sat down at the treadle cabinet, the wall is barely two steps behind.

The wooden table creaks above you as he braces one hand on the surface, and you startle at what sounds like the vicious crack of a vertebra.

‘Um - you okay?’

Joel grunts. ‘I’ll live.’

So you wait, thinking absent-mindedly how your elbows are starting to get numb. There’s a scruff of boots and what sounds like a brief struggle, before Joel sighs. ‘Back’s too stiff ‘mfraid. Gotta get on the floor to see underneath.’

Before you can squeak out a reply, there’s a boney click of what you presume is his knees as he crouches down, and an unexpected brush of denim on your left ankle surprises you. Forgetting where you are, you jump in reflex, hitting the underside of the table so hard that you screech in pain.

‘Shit!’ Joel cusses behind you, one warm hand landing on the side of your hip to steady you. ‘You ok?’

Up until this point, you’ve been too consumed with embarrassment by your predicament to even think about the position Joel found you in. But once the warm imprint of his palm registers through the denim, it hits you like one of those interstate trucks that you used to see out of your window.

You’re leaning on your forearms, ass in the air, and now - he’s behind you, getting onto his knees. You can’t decide if the back of your head or your pussy is throbbing harder as you stutter, ‘I’m fine, just - get me out, please.’

‘Alright, hang on, sweetheart.’

You swallow the childish urge to stamp your foot. He has no right going around dropping sweethearts all over the place.

There’s a throaty exhale as Joel lowers himself onto the floor, his knees bracketing yours to shift closer to you. You know he feels the shudder that chases down your spine when soft flannel grazes your bare back, heat spilling from his solid frame as he looms over you.

‘You say you’re stuck in the band wheel?’

Somehow, you manage to answer, ‘Yeah, to my right.’

He clears his throat. ‘I - uh - I’ll have to lean down pretty close to you to take a look, is that ok?’

You feel all the air leave your body, which is probably why your reply comes out far breathier than you intend it to. ‘Yes, Joel.’

And with those two words, Joel has a problem with his jeans. Again.

They’re too tight. Again.

There’s nothing he can do as his mouth goes dry and his cock hardens with a vengeance, his self-control slipping like sand between his fingers.

He was doing so good - well, he was more or less holding it together, as much as he could be expected to while kneeling behind you. And of course, his damn knees hurt, but so does his bottom lip which is caught in his teeth, trying to regulate his breathing when his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest.

He already has one hand on you, and goddamnit, it’s taking him all he’s got to hold back from gripping you with his other, to grasp the swell of your ass between his palms, to trace your curves up to the dip of your exposed waist, to bow his head and run his tongue along the arc of your spine -

And the jeans you’re wearing - fuck, they’re tight. He wonders idly if you wore them for him. His eyes follow the seam that runs down the cleft of your ass, the way the pockets stretch over your backside has his fingers twitching, thinking about how well you will fill his hands, and how the slow rub of denim will burn his skin.

He wants to hook his thumbs into the belt loops and pull you flush against the zipper of his jeans, where his cock is straining against - rub himself on you, grind on you, his thighs plastered to the back of yours -

‘Joel?’

Fuck.

He sways as he snaps out of his stupor, dangerously close to knocking into you, light-headed from the lack of blood to his brain. He chokes out, ‘Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.’

Get it together, you dirty bastard.

He’s careful to leave a couple of inches between his front and your ass when he bends his elbows and ducks so he can peer beneath the desk. His chest pressed flat against your lower back, he can see the bunched fabric of your shirt where it’s caught.

‘Yup, you’re right, your shirt is snagged tight in there.’

‘Can you untangle it?’

‘Think so, but I’ll need both hands.’ He pauses. ‘I’d better get on my back under you.’

You swear you’re going to black out.

‘Pin?’ he prompts when you’ve been quiet a beat too long.

‘I - um, what do you mean by going under me?’

‘If I’m on my back, I can use both my hands, like a mechanic under a car,’ he explains. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another way -’

‘No!’ you blurt out, wincing at the desperation in your tone. ‘I mean - whatever is easiest for you. You’re the one doing me a favour here.’

‘Alright,’ he says, placated by your reassurance. ‘On your hands and knees then, sweetheart.’

Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. Oh, come on. Can he hear himself?

Scraping together your last vestiges of control, you push up on your palms to make space underneath you. You have to consciously lock your elbows - your joints suddenly feel like barely set pudding.

‘Move as far to your right as possible so I can slide in.’

Shuffling on your hands and knees until you’re pressed up against the band wheel, you hear the brush of fabric on wood - must be his back against the floorboards as he slides in. To say it’s a squeeze is an understatement. His broad shoulders brush the front of your thighs as he inches in, and then, his face appears under yours, head between your hands.

His lips quirk. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’

Your breath hitches at his proximity, your wrists brushing the soft red flannel he’s wearing today. ‘Hi.’

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You’re this close to pouting. What does he think? There’s a telltale stickiness between your legs that you’re frantically trying to push to the back of your mind while you mmhmm noncommittally, hoping that he doesn’t smell your want in the tiny, claustrophobic space you’re now both caught in.

You can only assume that he’s none the wiser, since the next thing that comes of his mouth is -

‘Climb on top of me so I can slide in closer to the band wheel.’

Someone might as well say your last rites. This is the end.

You’re taken aback when your limbs start to move on autopilot, because your faculties have well and truly abandoned ship. One trembling leg attempts to swing itself over the solid breadth of his body, but it wobbles like jelly, and your knee ends up connecting firmly with his stomach instead of landing clear on his other side.

At his grunted oomph, you panic and bang your head on the underside of the table again, which sends your whole weight sprawling onto his front with a yelp.

Joel cradles the back of your scalp with one hand. ‘Shit, you ok, sweetheart?’

The seams of your lashes sting, your head smarting with the impact, and you blink drily as your gaze focuses on Joel under you. He’s so close that you can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his breath hitting your face in warm puffs. Your glance at his lips, and with that one little motion, all goes quiet.

He watches you back, neither of you breathing, and in the stillness you realise that you’re fully straddling him, your palms pressing into the hard floor on either side of his ears. Your tits are crushed up against his ribs, his soft tummy warmly cushioned under you. Lower still, where your hips are nestled into the spread of his thick thighs, something stiff and long and insistent presses into you -

Your jaw goes slack when it dawns on you.

Oh god.

He’s hard.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Joel breaks the silence, a pained frown on his brow as he shakes his head. ‘This is embarrassin’. Couldn’t fuckin’ help it, seein’ you in those jeans -’

Tongue-tied, you can only stare at him, wishing you were brave enough to say something. Tell him that you pulled extra shifts to buy this particular pair of jeans, knowing that they flatter your figure. That you’ve worn them almost every day these two weeks, hoping that he’d swing by again.

But you can’t.

So you pray that he can see what you can’t say by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your heart races wildly in your ribcage against his chest.

His voice cracks. ‘I understand if you want me to go -’

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and cut in, ‘Don’t.’

His warm eyes widen, something like hopefulness in the way he looks up at you. ‘You don’t want me to go?’

You press your body closer into his, filling in the gaps. ‘No. Please don’t, Joel.’

He leans forward, so close that you can feel the phantom burn of his silvered beard, his palms finding the meat of your legs, blunt nails biting into the denim.

He really should be ashamed of himself, at the way his cock pulses unabashedly, nudged right between your thighs as you stare down at him, lips parted. He’s hard enough that he worries if there’s a wet spot of precum on the front of his jeans - he can feel himself leaking through his boxers.

The wicked tip of your tongue traces a wet trail on your bottom lip, and he almost chokes on a half-buried groan deep in his chest. He knows that you don’t even know you’re doing it - and in turn, what that does to him.

It would be easy to close the two-inch gap between you. To kiss you, taste you, lick into your sweet mouth. All he needs to do is to cup the back of your head and pull you down, or crane his neck and press his lips to yours -

And Joel is someone who always follows the path of least resistance.

But - he wants to do right by you. He knows you deserve more than a quick fumble under a table.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Joel steels himself and brushes a chaste thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Let’s get you out of here, and then we can talk, ok?’

It’s almost perverse the way his chest warms at the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you give a reluctant nod, ‘Ok. Please be careful, the Singer’s really delicate.’

It’s hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting to how snugly you fit into his chest, between his arms, and it’s not a stretch to imagine a soft mattress underneath his back. It's funny how quickly his body has adjusted to creature comforts after months of sleeping on the cold winter ground.

Joel’s mindful that an antique sewing machine will be a pain in the ass to repair without the requisite parts, so he moves carefully, gently coaxing the band wheel back and forth to see how he can extract you. It doesn’t take long to loosen the grip of the metal teeth on your shirt, but he has to reach up and untangle the threads snagged into the mechanisms one by one.

He muses idly that this is not his method. These hands of his, with crooked knuckles that never healed right, where many a dagger, knife, gun, rifle have found a home - they break things, people.

When was the last time someone asked gentleness of him?

He wants to scoff. That’s not what he’s good for.

Despite himself, his throat rumbles with a hum of satisfaction when the band wheel finally lets go of your shirt, the Singer whirring to life as it spins freely. He gives you a lopsided smile. ‘There you go, sweetheart.’

You smile, but don’t seem to be in a hurry to move, which pleases him. He likes looking at you from this angle, relishing in your weight on him. He takes his time running his eyes over your face, his palms coming to rest on your knees.

You duck your head prettily. ‘Thank you, Joel.'

He gives you a playful shrug. ‘Well, I owed you one for these jeans.’

You roll your eyes in good humour. ‘Actually, I told you specifically that you didn’t.’

Joel basks in the lighthearted turn in the conversation, egging you on, ‘Well, in that case, you owe me one for this instead.’

‘That’s hardly fair -’ you chide him, punching him in the shoulder in a half-hearted rebuke.

Taking the opportunity, he grabs you by the wrist, the contact prompting a bodily shudder from you that he doesn’t miss. He smirks, ‘M’fraid I don’t play fair, sweetheart.’

You glare at him in mock sternness, bold enough to demand, ‘Fine - what do you want then, Joel Miller?’

For a split second, he hesitates, woefully out of practice at whatever it is that he’s about to do. Swallowing his self-doubt, he asks, ‘Tommy and Maria are throwing a baby shower on Sunday at their house - do you want to come?’

Your shoulders stiffen. Now, that you were not expecting. Your social anxiety bubbles between your ribs and looms over you like a spector. You sputter, ‘Um, I -’

You start when his fingers draw soothing circles on the top of your knees, as if seeing straight through the source of your apprehension. He reassures you, ‘Lucy is welcome to join too. The more the merrier.’

Your eyes soften. ‘Ok. I’d love to.’

The endearing way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles has you swaying towards him, his nose just brushing the side of yours - when the doorbell rings, cutting through the loaded silence.

In your haste to sit up, you knock your head against the table for a third time.

‘Ow!’ you cry. Even Joel flinches at the hard hit.

Lucy calls out, sounding dangerously close. ‘Pin? You ok, hon?’

‘Shit!’ You start scrambling backwards, bent over awkwardly, convinced that you’re one more blow away from a concussion. You’ve barely scrambled onto your feet when Lucy steps into the workshop, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as blood rushes to your brain.

She watches in amusement as Joel drags himself from under the sewing station, head cocked to one side. ‘Hi again, stranger. You really like our shop, don’t you?’

His shirt is rumpled from where you sat on him, bits of his curls sticking up. He rubs the back of his neck, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘I just swung by to, uh, invite you and Pin to the baby shower. Tommy and Maria’s. This Sunday.’

Lucy crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. ‘And it’s a tradition where you’re from to talk about weekend plans under a table?’

You narrow your eyes at her. ‘Luce -’

She winks. ‘You know what? I don’t need to know the gory details - but I’m in. See you Sunday, Miller!’

Joel huffs a chuckle as Lucy disappears into the front of the shop, leaving you two alone. You smile, suddenly shy for no reason, twining your fingers to stop from fidgeting. ‘Thanks again, Joel.’

He shrugs it off, a touch of boldness in the way he stands, hands in pockets, hips cocked. ‘Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.’

Instead of heading in the direction of the door, he takes two long strides towards you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, ‘Wear those jeans for me again on Sunday?’

Stunned, you gape at him as he turns with a crooked grin and walks off, dispatching a two-fingered salute at Lucy as he goes. Pausing by the threshold, Joel gives you one last wink that has your breath stuttering - but you only allow yourself to sag against the wall when the door closes behind him, your knees giving.

Lucy wastes no time skipping back into the workshop, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. ‘Alright, time to raid the party clothes rack, girl!’

You laugh - Sunday can’t come fast enough.

Notes: I had the best time writing this chapter - it was fun to flip the tables on Pin, not that Joel comes out completely unscathed!

I definitely have ✨ideas✨ for these two, but I'm enjoying keeping things loose, so I have no plans to turn this into a full-blown series just yet. I hope you enjoyed this instalment, comments/reblogs/asks are so so appreciated as always ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader

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luveline · 2 months

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What about if in Eddie and Roan, Eddie and Reader' are both occupied with wedding stuff or smth else and they left Roan with either Wayne or Steve and Robin, and it's just fluffy fluff about them being the best uncles/grandpa ever?

Roan wraps her arms around his neck. “Why can’t I come?”

Her dad has pretty much always felt like an extension of her. He’s dad. So when she doesn’t get to go places with him that aren't work or school, it doesn’t make sense. She’d care less if Uncle Wayne wasn’t too tired for a slumber party, because her Uncle Wayne is the best uncle ever.

“Baby,” Eddie says, in that soft sweet voice that means she’s being let down easy, “you can’t come because it’s a lot to do in one day, okay?” He encourages her face back. He’s on his knees to be her height, but he’s still taller. “I know you want to come, but it won’t be any fun at all. We have to go argue with people all day. Y/N’s gonna put on her scary mommy pants and I’m gonna have to back her up because she’s my girl.”

Roan just looks at him. Eddie grins.

“Okay, but will you bring me something?” she asks in a whisper.

You laugh where you’re standing in the doorway behind him.

“What do you want?” he asks.

She leans in to whisper in his ear. When she pulls away, he’s squaring his expression into something quite fierce. She’s confident she’ll have what she asks for as soon as he’s home.

You and Eddie kiss her goodbye, hands quick to intertwine as you walk down the driveway, though you take your hand back to wave at her with both hands when you realise she’s waiting on the porch for you to go.

Steve holds her shoulder. “Should we go back inside?”

Roan tips her head back. “Steve…”

“What, babe?”

“Can we get ice cream?”

He holds her gaze. “Maybe. Depends.”

“On what?”

“We have dinner first, and you have to eat two vegetables. Because last time your dad said I’m terrible at looking after you.”

“You’re not terrible,” Roan says, shaking her head vehemently.

Roan offers him her arms and he picks her up. When she was a baby Steve and Robin used to call her Princess Ro on account of her never being put down, but that was usually because she’d been traded from arm to arm rather than her being demanding. She was demanding, of course, she was a baby.

“Thank you, Roan. I know I’m not terrible, your dad just loves giving me a hard time.”

“He does that to me too.”

“He does not,” Steve chastises, “your dad is a great dad. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

“Me and dad don’t have secrets,” she says.

“I know, that’s why he’s a good dad.” Steve sighs forlornly. “Ew. Let’s be less sincere from now on. What movie do you wanna watch?”

“You have The Little Mermaid?”

Obviously Steve has The Little Mermaid. He plops Roan down on the couch and she balls herself up tightly. Steve thinks she might be a bit grouchy today, but it’s hard to say yet. He tries to nip it in the bud before it can start, wrapping her in the blanket she likes with the soft ends and cutting her a boat load of apples for peanut butter. “Thanks, Uncle Steve,” she says, stretching her legs out over his thigh. Steve squeezes one of her feet until she grumbles and pulls it away. “I forgot you do that.”

Steve laughs loudly. “Do what, babe?”

“You’re like dad. You aga-vate.”

“I do, huh?” he asks, patting her leg. “Sorry. Just teasing.”

“Mom says teasing is okay if it doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

“You hurt my foot.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, laughing, because he knows it didn’t hurt too much.

“It’s okay. I don’t want feet, I want a fish tail.”

“You do not,” Steve says, squeezing under her knee. She grumbles more and kicks at him, a few of her apple slices sliding off of her plate and onto the blanket. She doesn’t notice.

Robin lets herself in not long after. She’s in sweatpants with her hair up, arms laden with soda and bags of chips. “Hey, Ro,” she says. Even when Roan was a baby, Robin has talked to her like she’s an adult. “You look comfortable. Did you miss me?”

Roan seems to have missed Robin lots —Robin sits down and within twenty minutes has Roan snuggled under her arm, another twenty and she’s giggling sleepily at the murderous chef trying to cook the Little Mermaid’s crab friend.

Steve and Robin are best friends, and great watchers, though it’s much easier to look after a kid when you’re allowed to spoil them. They feed Roan chips and soda (though they aren’t animals, the soda is limited to one small cup, and the chips are before a dinner that includes three different vegetables), and they let her jump on the couch and climb up on the kitchen counter to play with the soap dispenser.

Pick up time comes and passes. Roan sits kicking her feet on the kitchen table, her coat unzippered and her wellies hitting the chair. “Are they late?” she asks.

Steve offers her a slice of orange. “Yeah, babe, it looks like it.”

“Are they gonna never come back?”

“Of course they’re coming back,” Robin says, “your dad has no personality outside of you. He needs you to be happy.”

Roan smiles to herself. “Yes,” she agrees, taking a bite of her orange.

Steve kneels in front of her and pulls the two sides of her jacket together. “Your teeth are orange.”

Roan accidentally drops the orange rind out of her teeth. It rolls down her legs and hits him in the shirt, leaving a greeny tinged stain on his blue polo. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he says, zipping her coat to the collar and brushing her hair back away from her sticky cheeks gently, “I’ll just charge your dad extra.”

“You’re the best, Uncle Steve,” Roan decides.

He strokes her hair behind her ears. “You are the best, Roan. My favourite Munson ever.”

Her eyes light with joy. “Really?”

“Really truly.”

“That’s a bit controversial,” Robin says, clipping Roan’s backpack shut to house what was left of her chips.

“I don’t like Eddie and Wayne doesn’t tell me good job when I wash my hands.” Steve shrugs. “No competition.”

The phone rings. When Robin picks up, she says that it’s Eddie, and Eddie needs to talk to Steve, who, after a short conversation, passes the phone to Roan.

“Dad?”

“Hey, baby! Sorry we’re not there, we went to the wrong place for mom’s hair stuff and it was a disaster, we won’t be home for another hour, I’m sorry. Are you really mad?”

“I'm not really mad.”

“I’m bringing you a present, remember? So can you keep being a good girl for Uncle Steve? No shouting?”

Roan decides this is alright. Eddie tells her he loves her about six times and Roan hands the phone back up because she can’t reach the receiver, letting Steve hang up. She frowns at the floor, her head hanging, dark hair curling in front of her eyes.

“How about we make use of your shoes and coat and go get that ice cream I promised?” he suggests. “Anything you want. You did eat all your vegetables.”

Robin rolls her eyes. Roan slouches sadly into his legs, the beginnings of a smile on her lips when she looks up at him and asks, “Hot fudge?”

“As much hot fudge as you want,” he promises.

#eddie and roan

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

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feel free to ignore this if you’ve done it already but…

how would könig react to a wifey who loves to bake? growing up with a sweet tooth she developed a love for making treats and now she wants to share it with him!!

i just imagine her waking up early to make some doughy treats for breakfast and him walking in the kitchen seeing her being all cute and rolling out the pastries 🧁🧁 would he ever help her with them??

Well, the man got a whole backery, so- ACHEM. He loves a wifey that can cook! Baking is a whole other different skill that he doesn't have, not at all - he can cook very simple dishes, but anything more is a dark forest where he doesn't understand anything. He has a sweet tooth too, so whenever you're making buns or maybe some baked pretzels or even just making bread...yeah, he is taking on so many additional kilos just from your baking, he will have to get new pants because of the newly found tummy he has. He would love to help you, but he won't be much of an assistance - he often tries to sneakily eat some raw cookie dough, he eats berries and fruits when you are making pies and god forbid you ever try to bake bread, he will just steal the whole loaf from the oven before you could even glaze it with some butter! You will have to shoo him away, put him on a Chair of Shame because his ass is not helping! You're only allowing him in the kitchen because you need him to check the dough for salt and sugar balance, and you strike him with a wooden spoon every time his ass is trying to get the food from you. Konig asks you to bake some traditional Austrian sweets for him - you have to bake so much strudel(bakes apple pastry)for him, it's actually insane. He always asks you to bring some baked pastries for him to work, when he started to get more of a desk and administrative/instructor's job at KorTac - he just loves having his wife bring some home-baked cookies and cakes because he fucking won at life and everyone else can kiss his royal ass because he is not sharing.

#cod #konig x reader #konig

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cameronspecial · 1 month

Text

Traitor

Pairing: Dad!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Drew and Y/N have different tastes in food and he is hoping that Sam will have the same taste as him.

Masterlist

Drew loves that Y/N can stay at home to take care of their three-year-old. She was a little hesitant when she suggested quitting her job to do so, but she wasn’t satisfied with her work and she needed some time to think about an alternate career choice. It turns out, that being at home with their son is where she finds fulfillment and Drew is so happy that his wife is finally happy with what she is doing. It allows her to cook more which she loves to do, especially since she is a picky and high-maintenance eater. Y/N can sometimes come off as a food snob because she sometimes has the standards of food that is homemade or expensive; however, it comes with the territory of being the daughter of a chef, who insists on practically making every meal for his family. It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t let her family eat fast food or store-bought snacks; she is a victim of eating McDonald’s or goldfish in her car like everyone else. She simply prefers making her macaroni and cheese with gruyere, asiago and fontina cheese. Or she would rather eat a sausage with mashed potatoes than an American hot dog. If there is one thing that reminds Rafe of the different social classes that he and his wife grew up in, it would be the food she now cooks for him. While the meals she cooks are exquisite, he is so grateful she isn’t one of those parents who doesn’t allow the family to eat anything processed because that means he can introduce Sam to his favourite childhood snack.

Y/N has finally given Drew the go-ahead to let Sam try an uncrustable. He understands he had to wait so long to share this experience with his son because peanut butter is a choking hazard for children under four. He hopes his toddler will love them as much as he does. Drew tried to share his favourite snack with the love of his wife; however, she said they just tasted like a regular sandwich. It disappointed him a little. He even bought the Nutella version of an uncrustable because she hates peanut butter.

“Sammy, lunch,” Drew calls to his son, placing the plate with two sandwiches and vegetables onto the table. Rapid thudding approaches the dining room and the father points to the bathroom. The little boy sighs and turns to go wash his hands. After rewashing his hands while singing the alphabet, Sam jumps into the chair in excitement. His grin drops at the sight of the circular bread in front of him. He spots the same food on his dad’s plate and watches the older man eat it with a smile. Not sure what to make of the new food, the four-year-old hesitantly picks up the uncrustable and sniffs it. “What this?” he questions, holding the sandwich out to his dad. Drew takes another bite out of his food, “That, Sammy, is a peanut butter and jelly uncrustable. Try it. You’ll like it.” The boy looks uncertain, yet still does as his father advises. The smile doesn’t turn into a grin as he chews on the food. In fact, his mouth turns into disgust and he places his lunch onto the plate, pushing it toward Drew. “Yucky,” he complains, reaching to nibble on a carrot. The actor frowns, “Come on, you only had one bite. Why don’t you take another?” As Sam considers the question, his mother comes in with a brie, apple and turkey sandwich. This piques his interest and he makes a grabby motion towards the fancier food. Not one to deny her child lunch, she slides her plate over and both parents observe as he devours half of the sandwich.

Y/N can see a pout on her husband’s face and pulls him in so his head is against her chest. “He’s a little traitor,” Drew grumbles, picking up his son's unfinished snack to finish. She giggles, “I’m sorry, Baby. Maybe you can have this bonding experience with our next child.” He jerks away from her, staring her dead in the eyes to make sure he understands what she is hinting at.

“We are going to have another baby?”

“We are going to have another baby.”

He cheers at the confirmation and picks her up, spinning her around before they both get dizzy. “I can feel it. I’m going to be fighting this baby for the last uncrustable. I can feel it,” he predicts with his hand on her stomach. She brushes his hair off his forehead, “I bet they will and then you wouldn’t be surrounded by traitors.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura

#dad!drew starkey #dad!drew #drew starkey imagine #drew #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fluff

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blackopals-world · 2 years

Note

I have a silly request that you may or may not enjoy.

Fem!Yuu who came from a long line of chefs and can make just about anything. From quiche to raspberry tarts to katsu sandwiches. She of course decides to share her skills in the form of making each of her friends a different bento catering to their tastes.

When asked why, she simply states that she cares about them and wants to see them well fed. Cue the marriage proposals.

~Okay, I can do that. Not for ever character of course because I have no time. Just allow me my personal flavor.~

"The way to a man's heart"

(part 2 here) (part 3) (part 4)

Characters featured:Azul, Jamil, Ace, Deuce, Malleus, Vil, Idia, and versus staff

"Remeber sweetheart, the way to a man's heart is though his stomach. That's how I got your Baba. It's is also a measurement of love, a good dish is made with 3 cups of love and 4 tablespoons of care and 1 liter of dedication."

Yuu had those words etched in her mind since childhood. Every dish she made was filled with the TLC her family required for the perfect dish.

But being the youngest I such a line meant that she had never had many people outside of the family try her foods.

Mama, Baba, Ye ye, and Lola didn't lie; but they didn't want to hurt her feelings.

So Yuu couldn't help but tremble when she handed the two lunch boxes to Ace and Deuce. It was just before lunch time when she presented them before quickly running off.

She ran to the quad and hid behind an apple tree.

Her plan was to let them eat the lunches and later go to retrieve the boxes to get a review. They wouldn't feel pressured to say anything nice and Yuu would know how she did.

And if they like her cooking then they could be super close and eat lunch like this everyday!

But if they hate it then they might not. They might get mad and never talk to her again.

"Are you trying to poison me? What kind of girl doesn't know how to cook something so basic" Ace would say tossing away her lunch.

"It's not too bad, if it's your first time. I just don't think your cut out to be a chef." Deuce would say turning green.

Yuu managed to make herself depressed from her own imagination as she hid. Her wild imagination tended to get the better of her.

"Hey, Yuu! If you wanted to eat here just say so." Ace said standing behind her with lunch box still in hand.

"It's not a bad spot either. We should eat here more often. It's quieter." Said Deuce next to him.

Yuu internally screamed as they sat to eat. She focused on their every facial expression as they ate.

Ace had Monte Cristo sandwich with a summer fruit salad. He seemed to really like the dip for the sandwich.

Deuce had a simple fried egg sandwich with bacon, and cheese. There was a bit of blueberry jam on the side for the bread.

While the boys ate Yuu didn't notice that they eyed each others food and quickly ate theirs to see if they steal form the other. They guarded their lunch like dogs.

Yuu saw this and her eyes lit up believing they really loved her food. Eagerly she waited for them to finish so she could ask.

"Do you like it?!" Yuu asked

The boys after staring each other down heaped praise on her and asked her to make lunch again.

It became a regular thing as they were already spoiled by Yuu and she loved her first taste testers.

With Yuu reassured of her skills came another challenge. He insatiable need to share her food.

"Good food makes for good company and friends." Ye ye always said.

Food is meant to be shared and it was good for the soul. Many souls in this school needed to be fed. Maybe they'd calm down a little.

So she started supplying her friends with homemade food.

Yuu waited patiently for Jamil after basketball practice with a hefty lunch box. It was buttered chicken curry with jasmine rice. It had a side of vegetable sauté. And of course an after practice energy drink.

She had patted herself on the back for this one. She wanted to impress Jamil.

As she walked along the side of the court she offered Jamil the drink. He took it great fully before eyeing the lunch box suspiciously.

"I made you something to eat. I though you might want something to eat you didn't make yourself for once." Yuu said suddenly self conscious.

Floyd must have heard because he rudly began interrupting.

"Oh, sea snake is are so lucky! I want a shrimpy wife to cook for me too!" He whined loudly.

The "Ooo"'s that came from the other basketball club members made Jamil's ears turn red.

"Shut up Floyd!" Yuu yelled at him with her face burning.

"I'm sorry Yuu. You know how guys are. Thank you for doing this for me." Jamil said quietly trying to hid his face.

"It's no problem Jamil. I really wanted you to try this." Yuu said softly.

Just as she said this Jamil looked over his shoulder to the the boys laughing before leaning down and kissing Yuu's forehead.

"I wanted to thank you properly." Jamil said smiling before leaving to sit down to eat with Yuu.

She was an amazing cook and it felt good to be cooked for. It reminded him of when he didn't need to care for Kalim.

"I wish I could eat this everday." Jamil said absent-minded.

Yuu's eays widened before laughing. He didn't mean it. Right?

There were times Yuu casually dropped off dishes.

Korean barbecue for Epel

Ratatouille for Rook

Fresh baked pie for Silver

None of this escaped Vil's notice who wondered why Yuu never came around to give him anything. I wasn't as if he didn't eat.

Though if memory serves he has turned his nose up at certain foods around her. She probably didn't want to be told her food wasn't good enough.

To Vil it didn't matter, if she was a chef she should know her customers tastes. Never mind that he wasn't a customer nor was she being paid to cook, his feeling were hurt.

But as luck would have it Yuu didn't forget him.

"Vil-sama! Here!" Yuu practically bubbled with energy was she leaned over Pomefiore's kitchen counter.

Epel was currently face deep in a slice of apple-apricot pie. and ice cream.

Vil hoped that she wasn't expecting him to eat that as he wouldn't have that much gusto. He didn't have the heart to lecture Epel on manners with Yuu around but he had no problem after she was gone so he better injoy it while he can.

"Try some." Yuu held out a cup of green liquid.

Yuu held out a cup of green tea with a palte of fresh sushi.

"Traditional green tea doesn't go well with heavy or greasy foods so I made some simple salmon sushi to help clean your palette." Yuu said smiling.

Vil took a sip and smiled at her.

"It's good. I wish I could drink this every morning." Vil said eating a piece of sushi.

Yuu turned pink as she quickly excused herself.

Azul was the greediest of her friends. He loved trying new foods but especially fried chicken.

Azul eagerly awaited when Yuu entered the lounge with food in hand. They would eat in his office as Azul would try to trick Yuu into working hin the kitchen.

Even though he was trying to convince her to work for him the job offer was as a personal chef because he didn't want to share. Another reason she didn't agree.

"I just want to eat with you everyday." He said slyly over his Frutti di Mare. "Don't you want to eat with me too?"

Yuu bit the inside of her cheek as she turned red.

"Azul that's not funny. Don't say that unless you mean it." Yuu said stiffly.

"But I do mean it. Cross my heart." Azul said more earnestly but Yuu quickly said goodbye and fled. Azul was left confused.

The next day Yuu spent lunch hiding in the teacher's lounge. She was allowed to as Crewel's pseudo daughter and bringing lunch.

Crewel dug into his beef stroganoff as he listened to Yuu's concerns.

"I don't know what to do! Pa, I can't face them again!" Yuu panicked her hands waving frantically.

"Slow down my pup. What happened." Crewel said unfazed by Yuu's familiar. She's expressive he'll give her that.

"Jamil, Vil and Azul asked to marry me!" Yuu shouted before slapping a hand over her mouth. Blabber mouth.

(telling someone you want to eat their cooking or drink their tea everyday could be considered a proposal. I just happens that in Yuu's family that how they propose marriage traditionally.)

There was a sharp spitting sound from across the room as Sam burst out laughing making seafood gumbo splattered.

"Congratulations, sugar! I always knew you were a charmer. It's no wonder all the boys want you!" Sam laughed.

"It's highly inappropriate. You're all to young to even think of such things." Trein said stiffly as he put down his spoon and stopped eat his potage parmentier.

Divus stared blanky before asking again. Crowley would raise hell over this if he didn't do it first. His puppy can't get married. Not yet.

Yuu found herself at ease after it was explained that people don't propose that way here.

Feeling better she waited late for her nightly walk with Malleus. She made a late night snack of soft madelines and a thermos of cinnamon hot chocolate.

Malleus was more then happy to accept her gift. They sat in glen snacking before Malleus spoke up.

"I heard you are getting engaged." He said drinking hot chocolate

"No I'm not." Yuu sighed because of course he heard.

"I see, so they were all unacceptable. Please consider me an option then. I would happily marry you and eat with you everyday!" Malleus said taking Yuu's hand and getting on one knee.

Yuu almost fainted in shock.

'Papa you lied!'

(Bonus)

"Idia please come out! I brought you some Gyros." Yuu called out from behind the door.

Yuu had been working hard to lure Idia outside and was making progress. Soon enough Idia will be eating in the cafeteria before he knows it.

It was like getting a feral cat socialized as Idia cautiously opened the door. He knew to be wary of Yuu's offerings but like the call of a harpy he does as she wants. Everyday she lures him further away from his safe space.

"I made some tortoise candies last night." Yuu said holding the golden lollipop.

Idia would have to steel himself for this one.

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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 4 days

Text

"dance recital" - hotch x mom!reader!

your family attends your daughter's dance recital

1480 words, domestic family fluff

cw: none? unless u hate kids then don't read this xD

a/n: i am looking at requests and actually have a couple of them started! inspiration just struck and i needed dance dad hotch xD plz keep sending requests i love getting them

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

Lizzy had been practicing for weeks, at home, in the car on the way to school, even in the waiting room at the dentist’s office. If there was a free moment, she was up on her toes, practicing her dance routine.

When she turned four, she was so excited to sign up for dance class, and now her very first recital is later today. She takes it very seriously, and you attribute that entirely to her hardworking father.

You’re standing in the kitchen, packing the picnic lunch you’ll be sharing as a family after her recital in the park. PB&J, no crusts, for Jack. Even though he’s nearly ten and he should be eating his crusts, you can’t help but to baby him a little. He’s been such a good big brother to Lizzy. You were anxious about that when you were pregnant with her, since Jack was so used to being the only kid. And there would always be the looming presence of Haley and the family he was a part of before you came along.

But Lizzy became the center of Jack’s world when she was born. He’s so doting and always playing with her, from when she was an infant to now.

Nutella and peanut butter sandwich for Lizzy, because she has a sweet tooth just like her mother. Turkey and cheese for you and Aaron. “D’you want mayo, honey?” You call out to wherever Aaron is in the house. He was in the living room just a few minutes ago, but with your two crazy kiddos, he could have ended up anywhere.

“Just the mayo, no honey,” Aaron jokes and nearly makes you jump as he enters the kitchen, padding silently behind you despite being the largest person in the house. Must be that fancy tactical FBI stealth training.

He stops at the counter, leaning against it and facing you. Your eyes meet his and his voice is low when he speaks to you. “You need to make a big deal out of this,” he prefaces, nodding to the doorway. You don’t fully know what he’s talking about, but you understand enough, so you set your butter knife down and turn around to face the doorway. Aaron makes a drumroll on his thigh. “Come on in, kids!”

Jack enters first, in a bright orange t-shirt that is definitely a size too big. Written in blue, puffy fabric paint, no doubt by Jack himself, are the words PROUD BIG BRO. Jack’s also holding Lizzy’s hand, escorting her into the kitchen. She’s in her violet tutu and has her hair up in two haphazardly pulled-back pigtails that could only be described as the work of her father. She’s walking on her tiptoes, with her free hand arched up in a semicircle shape, mimicking all the ballerinas in her books.

You’re beaming, and take the sight in silently for a moment before bursting into uproarious (for one woman) applause. “You guys look so great!” You exclaim, grinning at the kids, and then back at your husband. He’s got this sly look on his face and you want to smooch it off. “When did you make this shirt?” You ask Jack, stepping forward and grabbing his face with both of your hands. You kiss his forehead and ruffle his hair.

“Dad and I did it while you were at the store last night,” Jack explains.

“I love it, baby,” you tell Jack, and he beams. You stroke the apples of his cheeks with your thumbs before releasing him.

Lizzy lets go of her brother’s hand and leaps for you. “My big girl is all dolled up for her first recital,” You lift her up, hugging her close. “Did Daddy do your hair for you?” you ask.

“Yes! He sang our song and I didn’t cry!” she says. You always sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star to Lizzy while you brush her hair because she’s very tender-headed. It makes your heart soar to learn that Aaron did it, too.

“I’m so proud of you!” You kiss Lizzy’s face all over until she squeals and wriggles to get away. “Why don’t you guys go play in the living room for a little bit, and we’ll get going soon,” you suggest. Jack races Lizzy into the living room, leaving you and Aaron in the kitchen alone.

“You did her hair,” you say as you smirk up at Aaron.

“Yeah, I know. It's not as good as when you do it,” he settles back against the counter and you roll your eyes. He’s holding his palms out, wiggling his digits. “I’ve got sausage fingers, and she cries if you pull the twist-tie too hard. It’s heartbreaking.”

“And you made a shirt with Jack,” you say, ignoring his self-deprecation. Your smirk has turned into a full-force, Category Five Grin.

Aaron realizes what you’re doing as you inch a little closer. He takes your wrist delicately, tugging you toward him, and you kiss his lips three times in succession, each a quick thank-you for all he’s done. “You’re the one driving her to classes twice a week,” Aaron deflects. “And Jack to school, and to soccer practice, and doing all the shopping and-“

“Aaron,” you roll your eyes in warning. You hate when he butters you up like this. You’re just doing your job, just like he is when he’s away on cases.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” he holds his hands up in defense, and you snatch them like they’re precious jewels. You kiss him again, this one longer and lingering.

You finish packing your family’s lunch into the cooler. Lizzy’s recital is at a small amphitheater in the park, and after you drop her off with her teacher backstage, you and your boys find a good spot on the green to set up your picnic blanket.

Aaron makes this small grunt when he squats to sit down on the ground and you hold back a snicker. Jack does not read the room and calls him an old man.

You’re giggling as you sit down, Aaron tugging you to sit between his legs. You affectionately run your hand through Jack’s hair a few times before the first class comes up onto the stage.

You watch the first class, and the second, clapping politely. Then, the four-and-five-year-olds are announced, and you are on your feet immediately. You hear a bit of rustling and Jack and Aaron are standing up, too. You grin when you see Lizzy with the other little kids, holding the hands of the boy in front of her and the girl behind her as they all walk in a line.

Their dance is simplistic and whimsical and joyful, set to a light, poppy tune that makes you think of spring. You’re grinning and watching Lizzy float across the stage. She’s not the most graceful, but she hits every move at the right time.

You hear rustling behind you and turn over your shoulder to see Aaron and Jack subtly performing the dance with the class. They’re not moving nearly as dedicatedly as the group on stage, but they’re helping Lizzy from the audience. It’s so sweet you want to cry.

When Lizzy’s group is finished, the three of you on the lawn explode in applause. Aaron wolf-whistles behind you and Jack is cheering, “that’s my sister!”

After the other classes go, you’re allowed to head back and pick up Lizzy. She’s giggling with the other kids in her class, but she freezes and grins like it’s Christmas morning when she sees you.

“Mommy!” she squeals, and runs to you. You lift her up off the ground in a hug and spin her around, before passing her off to Aaron. He does the same thing. “Dizzy! Dizzy!” She’s squealing, and Aaron finally sets her down.

“Dizzy Lizzy, huh?” Aaron teases, running his thumb and his forefinger down one of her pigtails. “You did so good, sweet girl!” He was never the best at baby-talking to Lizzy, but now that she’s a little girl, he speaks to her so excitedly and she always beams when she learns her father is proud of her.

“You got the leap at the right part!” Jack exclaims proudly, and you watch as Lizzy hugs her big brother.

You point out the picnic blanket with the cooler and tell Jack to take Lizzy ahead to it. Jack loves being responsible, so he takes Lizzy by the hand and leads her towards your family’s setup.

Hanging back with Aaron, you look up at him and brush his dark hair off his forehead. “You learned her dance?” you ask with a small smirk on your face.

Aaron’s dark eyes gaze into yours and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you close to him. “She was doing it every chance she got,” he shrugs, like it’s totally no big deal. “You’re telling me you don’t have it memorized?”

#criminal minds #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #hotchner #hotchner x reader #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x you #domestic hotchner

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acowardinmordor · 9 months

Text

You Left Me - You Miss Me - 4

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Hi, time for more, arguably making things better, but also arguably making things much worse.

----

There was a diner a block and a half from their apartment. Steve found it when the sky opened up during his jog one morning. Snow, he could have handled, he was dressed for it. Slushy sleet mixed with hail was another matter. He ducked inside to hide until it passed, chatted with the owner for a bit, and brought Robin with him the next day because they had an amazing spread of waffle toppings, including crumbled bacon, and Steve knew she’d go crazy about it.

He was correct, and it was their go to spot, not just for breakfast.

At the end of January, Rebecca sat down to join them, and handed Steve an application.

Steve was already working at a JC Penny in the stock room, and picked up a few hours at a roller rink filling in when someone called out. They had enough money to live. Not decadently, but they could cover all their bills, and keep gas in the car, and buy supplies for Robin’s classes.

“Uh, Rebecca, I’m- thank you? But. My memory sucks, and my hearing isn’t great, and if someone starts getting rude, I’m going to get rude back to them, and --”

“This is a diner, hun,” she stopped him, “You write the orders down, you can always tell someone to say it again, and the fact you can shut down anyone that gives you lip is why I think you’ll be good at it. Like I said, it’s a diner. We don’t have to be all sunshine and daisies here.”

“I’m working at another--”

“Over at the mall and the rink, I know. And I know you’re free Monday through Wednesday mornings. And,” she stressed, “staff gets free meals and first dibs on the day olds.”

“Dingus!" Robin gasped and grabbed his arm. "Do it, do it. Stevie. Please, oh my god, please, you have to take it. You can bring me the brioche buns. And that apple butter. And that thing with the nuts! Steeevveee, don’t you love your soulmate? Please? I cou--”

So Steve took the job, and worked a few mornings a week. By the third week of February, he stopped feeling like he was going to fuck up any second. He understood why Rebecca liked his ability to get bitchy in the face of difficult customers, and he and Robin had cupboards well stocked with random take homes.

He liked it. Starting at five in the morning took some getting used to, but he was done by one, and traded off with a middle aged mom named Susan after the lunch rush settled down. Was it a ton of money? No. But he got more tips than he expected to, and the brioche really was delicious.

The last week of February, he was working alone on a Tuesday, at the start of the lunch rush, expecting Susan to arrive soon, and an easy day.

“Be with you in a minute,” he called to whoever just came inside, bussing half a dozen empty plates from table two after dropping off more creamer at table four. He looped back, ducking behind the counter to put the plates on the pass through for Nick to grab.

He dropped the entire stack before he got there.

His hands clenched down, his muscles locked, and even though it should have made him hold harder, everything slipped, and either shattered on the tiles or banged into his feet.

Jim Hopper winced from his seat at the counter. “Sorry, kid.”

The couple of other diners glanced up to check on him, and John looked around the window from the kitchen. Steve didn’t move. Couldn't. Could barely breathe.

“Is it back?”

“No.”

His exhale shook out of him before he shoved down the panic.

“Then whatever this is can wait.”

“I’m just here to talk.”

“And I said it can wait.”

He swept up the broken dishes, shrugged off John’s silent offer to throw Hopper out, and reminded himself there was no reason to think that the Upside Down was back. That meant this was going to be more awkward and less dangerous, and he was going to hate it, but it was still the better version of the day.

“What’ll you have?”

“Kid, I’m here to talk cause I didn’t think you’d want me at your place.”

“And I’m at work, and this is a diner, so what’ll you have?”

“Steve--”

“I’ll bring you coffee. I’m not talking about this while I’m working.”

“Coffee’s good. When are you off?”

Steve gave his bitchiest smile, didn’t answer, and went to seat the couple that just walked in.

The lunch rush was a mercy. Susan handled Hopper, and gave him the iciest service anyone had ever gotten under that roof. Hopper took it gracefully, but he didn’t shift, or push, or give any indication that he wasn’t willing to sit there til midnight if he had to.

Normally, Steve would get some lunch to go and head home. If the weather was bad, he ate at the booth in the corner to wait it out. With the way his stomach was twisting, unable to separate Hopper from what his arrival could mean, he wasn’t going to keep food down. He filled a glass of water, then silently gestured Hop to follow.

“Good to see you, Steve,” he said when they sat. “You and Robin doing okay up here?”

“We’re fine. Why are you here? If it isn’t something to do with, you know, then why are you here?”

“Maybe I just came up to check on you.”

“Did you?” Steve snorted into his drink when that question made Hopper’s face twist up. “So what is this?”

“I am here to check on you. There’s something else, but I came here because I’m checking on you. Me and you weren’t all that close, but you had Mrs Buckley give me your info so I’d know where you were.”

“Yeah, in case of an emergency. And you said there wasn’t any emergency. Plus, you had my phone number, so you could have called, which would be way less weird than showing up while I’m at work, you know?”

Hopper scratched at his cheek. “It’s not an emergency compared to all the reasons you wanted me to be able to find you, but if you ask those kids, this may as well be the end of the world again.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, well. Henderson is gonna get himself arrested if he keeps trying to steal the mail and find something addressed to you. Max keeps pushing El to try and find you. The only reason they haven’t gone completely crazy is because of the Buckleys telling them that you’re fine. She gave me your address and number, and she talked for a little bit about the kids.”

Steve smiled at that. Mrs Buckley had never talked a ‘little bit’ about anything in her life. Either she was holding the line on being rude to anyone that might bother them, or Hop was pretending he hadn’t listened to a solid hour of rambling.

“Still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“Want to ask if I can -- shit, I don’t know. I can route mail back and forth so they never have your address or something. I’d rather give them your info so I don’t have to be involved, but I already know you won’t agree to that.”

Steve ignored the pause that Hopper left there. Conversation and good manners said he should concede to something so he wouldn’t inconvenience the man too much. The last month with Robin supporting his choice kept his mouth shut. She’d be pissed at him if he folded, and worse, she’d help him get through all the pain it caused if he did talk to the kids again. Then he’d feel guilty and sad.

“Alright,” Hopper grumbled, “Didn’t think you would, but you know how those kids can be. Can’t fault me for trying.”

“So, we’re done? You sat here all this time just to talk for three minutes?”

“Almost.”

“So….” At least Steve could enjoy the fact that neither of them were enjoying this. Hopper winced a bit before he spoke.

“I didn’t tell any of the kids I was coming up to see you. None of them knew, and none of them are gonna know. Didn’t even tell Joyce why, just that I was driving up to Indy. Already had a plan in case they tried to tail me up here. So, had a surprise this morning when I got to my truck. it might change your answer.”

“Didn’t know you were so dramatic about stuff.”

“Side effect of two hours with that surprise, I guess. Eddie Munson came up with me.”

Any of the kids would have hurt.

Henderson might have made him cry.

Eddie Munson? That didn’t make sense.

They weren’t friends, never had been. The Upside Down meant they were connected, but they were never more than acquaintances, even when Steve was desperately trying to keep them all close. Sure, he’d taken over as the chauffeur for the kids, and everyone’s new best friend, but that didn’t explain why he’d bother to come up to talk to Steve.

“What the hell? Why?”

“He asked.”

“And you said yes.”

“He said please.”

That was not the whole story. There was something getting skipped over, left out. Hopper tolerated Munson, but he wouldn’t do him a favor if there wasn’t some kind of monster involved.

“Wait, you’ve been here for two hours.”

“Yep.”

“Did you just leave him in your truck this whole time? That front came through overnight. The high is thirty four today.”

“Yeah, I did,” Hopper said flatly. “He told me he wanted to come up so he could talk to you. Told me a little bit about why. And I said yes and I let him come, but I told him that I was gonna talk to you first. If you said no, he was gonna stay in that seat clear back to Hawkins, and keep his mouth shut about this whole thing.”

“How’d he know what you were doing?”

“No clue.”

“What does he want to talk about?”

“Not gonna say it for him.” Hopper shifted towards the edge of the booth. “So, want me to tell him to buckle back up, or tell him to get his ass in here?”

A quick consult with the imaginary Robin in his head left him just as confused, but curious as hell. He agreed, and fidgeted with a napkin, struggling to think of any reason why Eddie Munson would want to talk to him, or what the hell he said that the kids hadn’t that convinced Hopper to drive him up.

Stuck in his head, Steve jumped when a mess of a man in denim and leather slid shivering into the seat opposite. The scars on his face and hands were less vivid than they were last time they saw each other, but they still worked as a thermometer. Steve's did the same.

“Why the hell were you sitting in the cold, man?”

Eddie blinked, and froze where he was rubbing his hands together trying to get feeling back. “Hopper took the keys.”

Steve’s turn to blink. This was the guy taking care of his kids.

“Susan?” He called, gesturing for two when she lifted the coffee carafe in a question.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here or why you care or what the hell is happening, but I’m not gonna let you sit there shaking cause you’re a dumbass who doesn’t know what gloves are.”

Steve watched packet after packet of sugar pour into Eddie’s, while he stirred a splash of half and half into his own cup. Eddie took a gulp, hissed at the heat, and clutched at the mug, eyes glued to the nicked surface of the table.

“I’m sorry.”

“For rotting your teeth out? That’s your choice, Munson.”

“No,” Eddie insisted, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry about the kids.”

Steve took a breath, took a sip, took another breath. “Look, man, that’s not on you. You play D&D with them, and you like all their nerdy shit. I was -- They grew up. We got through everything, all of that, we won, and they grew up. It’s not your fault that they like you more than they liked me. So, thanks, I guess, but--”

“Steve. No. They didn’t. They -- those kids did not suddenly grow up and decide they didn’t like you anymore. You are their favorite person anywhere, ever, you will be for the rest of eternity, and they don’t understand why no one will tell them how to reach you. They put on a really good show about being mad about it, but, come on, you know what they’re like. They want to apologize cause they know they hurt you, and they want to fix it, and just, you gotta let them try, Steve. You gotta let them talk to you. They miss you so fucking much.”

“Look, I know how they get, and I know how dramatic they are, but it’s still not your fault--”

“It is. Steve. It is my fault. That’s - That’s why you have to talk to them. Cause they didn’t grow up and get over you or decide they didn’t care about you. Those kids are crazy about you, and they never stopped, and they’re hurt right now cause they don’t understand why you left them, and you gotta fix it with them, please.”

Something pinged weird in his ear when he heard the way Munson’s voice cracked. Not just worry, not just helping, not just caring about the kids. Guilt. He was taking the blame for it, even though that didn’t make any sense. The kids were - brats, gremlins, terrors, the most stubborn people he’d ever met, and he knew Nancy Wheeler. If they wanted to be around him, they would be around him.

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, or anyone’s fault. It hurt like hell, and Steve wished it wasn’t true, but this was just life. Kids grew up, their interests moved. Friendships changed and ended.

But that crack of guilt…

“How is it your fault and not theirs that they stopped wanting to ever see me?”

Eddie’s hands stopped shaking from the cold before he got the coffee.

His hands were shaking again.

Trembled in the time between Steve asking, and Eddie managing to respond.

“I, uh, I asked them to.”

----

Don't be too mad at him yet. He has a lot more to say.

Part Five >>>

#You Left Me - You Miss Me #my writing #steddie eventually #focus on the eventually today

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hom3landr · 8 months

Note

homelander + bear hugs? 🥹

Apple Pie

A short interlude between Homelander and his favorite baker.

1 2 3

Homelander fights the urge to throttle Ashley as she follows behind him like an anxious chihuahua, yapping some nonsense about some Gala he’s contracted to show up to this evening. He can’t even remember what it’s for, just that it's more of Vought sucking its own dick while he endures hours of buttering up senators and shooting bright smiles at the ever present cameras. He’d been excited at first because he thought you might be there. He could just escape to whatever sad corner you would be working in if it all got to be too much. Except you won’t be there because someone approved your request for time off. He shoots Ashley a sideways glare.

The leather of his gloves creak as he clenches his fist. You won’t be back to work again until Monday and it is still only Friday. You’ve already been gone since last Monday. It’s driving him insane. The two of you don’t even get the chance to talk everyday normally but knowing that you won’t be there if he needs you… It makes him feel itchy and out of sorts. He misses you.

He’s so close to snapping as Ashley prattles on but the rapid sound of running footsteps has his brow wrinkling. His heart flutters in his chest as a familiar scent wafts through the hallway. It can’t be…

He turns.

Eager arms wrap around his neck, warm and soft and so so so incredibly close.

He doesn’t notice Ashley scurry off out of sight. He doesn’t notice much of anything other than you. He’s vaguely aware that he’s in a public hallway and that anyone could turn the corner and witness this. He frankly doesn’t give a shit.

He’s never been this close to you before. He can see every freckle, every pore, every imperfection and blemish. He doesn’t concern himself with any of that. As far as he is concerned, you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. He’s holding you tight around the waist, your legs dangling, heartbeat pressed against his. Your chapstick smells like warm apple pie.

It’s like he manifested you from thin air by sheer wanting. Perfect. Soft. You.

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you beam at him. He spins you around just so he can hear you giggle. He’s pathetic. He’s pathetic and whipped and fuck…He can’t fucking think when you look at him like that.

“Surprise!” You grin.

“It certainly is.” His answering smile is blinding.

He commits every inch of you to memory. You’re not wearing your typical work clothes, instead you’re in shorts and a top with straps so thin that it wouldn’t take any effort for him to grab one and tug it apart. The previously hidden expanse of deliciously smelling skin has his mouth watering.

He should put you down. He should.

But you aren’t pulling away or wiggling around. You seem perfectly content to be held in his arms, fingers shyly brushing the nape of his neck. He doesn’t know why you’re back early. He doesn’t care.

“I wanted to bring you something from my trip.” You respond shyly.

“Aren’t I the lucky one?” He winks and there it is. He’s flustered you. He loves flustering you.

He feels himself beginning to harden in his suit and it takes a second to realize that you’re pressed so closely that it won’t be long before you’ll be feeling it too. It’s so tempting to stay just like this. He wants you to feel what you do to him. He needs you to know that he wants you too.

But the timing and setting isn’t right. So with a burdened sigh, he lets you go. He laments the loss of you against him. So he reaches out to lay a steadying hand on your shoulder, although he handled you so carefully that you felt no jostling at all. The contrast between the crimson of his glove and your soft skin only serves to fuel the fire burning inside him. His suit is becoming uncomfortably tight but he’ll have to take care of that later.

“So I went back and visited my home town. Every year they have this HUGE baking contest. I’d always wanted to do it but I never had the confidence,” Your words are spilling out like water from a jug. You’re talking way too fast but you’re too cute for him to interrupt, especially when your hands start getting involved too as you gesture. “Well this time I did it! I entered my chocolate cake recipe, the one you helped me with. Guess what!!!”

You pull something out of your back pocket and happily show it off. You’re bouncing on your heels as his eyebrows wrinkle in slight confusion. You’re holding out a cheap blue ribbon. The fabric is polyester and one of the tails is already starting to fray. The plaque is flimsy plastic with a bold #1 printed on it. But you’re looking at it as though it was made of silk and gold. You gesture for him to take it and he does, regretfully removing his hand from you.

“I couldn’t have done it without you! So I wanted you to have the ribbon. Since we both kinda won it. I don’t want to take all the credit.” You beamed.

You… You came all the way back to the Tower when you still had time off to give him a shitty ribbon? He appreciates the gesture even while he looks at it with barely veiled disdain. What he really enjoys is your words. They were absolutely correct of course. Your old recipe was a stinker. He doubted you’d have even gotten an honorable mention without his impeccable palate helping you. But the real gift you brought him wasn’t the ugly ribbon. He’d just wanted to see you.

It wasn’t until later, after you’d had to leave, that he truly appreciated the ugly little ribbon. He ran it through his fingers as he lay naked in bed. It was cheap but it meant something.

We both won it.

He sits straight up as a realization hits him. He remembers painfully that stupid fake house they’d made for his fake childhood. How his bedroom had been so infuriatingly “perfect.” He remembered how much it hurt to talk about all the trophies he’d won. Well…

He looks down at the ribbon in his hands. It looked exactly like that fake shit they’d put in his room. Except this was real. He’d won this. You’d told him so. It was his, ugly as it was.

He clears off the table next to his bed, just to make a little spot for his new trophy.

Yeah he fucking was.

#homelander #x reader #homelander x reader #homelander headcanons #I missed them #bakerverse

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shapard · 2 months

Text

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

Soft Lucifer

They talk in honesty

A/n: When someone wants to request something, go on!

Eternal Sunshine

Chapter 10 > Epilogue

Saying that Lucifer got over protective is an understatement. He always was at least one feet away from you.

Lucifer created a little goat guardian for you, when he wasn’t there and able to protect you.

You named her Lammy.

Lucifer always said that it was a boring name. You should name her Shazam or something similar, which you gladly declined.

Lammy may be a simple name but it is a cute one for your cute little white-brownish goat. She had two small pairs of fairy wings and a pink bowtie.

You loved your little Lammy and hugged it 24/7 which made Lucifer a little Jealous.

When Lucifer was there Lammy wasn't allowed on the bed.

Husk and Angel dust were more than happy that you’re alive. They didn’t even let you move an inch.

And now you were crouched down to the medicine cabinet, because the pain on your back was too much.

“Luce! Where are the pain killers?” You shouted as you looked in the small medicine cabin, you couldn’t find your medications anymore.

A golden shimmer appeared next to you and Lucifer descended from it.

“They should be in here Apple pie. Why do you need them?” He asked as he crouched down to your level and helped to find the medications.

“I have pain on my Shoulder.” The pain was on your shoulder blades reminding you of your missing pairs of wings, with a disappointed sigh you sat down on the red carpet.

“Is there anything more you want to talk about darling?” Lucifer asked out of worry. Since a couple of days, he watched you closely as you sometimes looked outside with a sad expression on your face. You talked a lot less and sometimes you weren’t listening anymore to him.

“It’s nothing Important.” That was a half lie.

Even though you and Lucifer were very close and loved each other dearly, there was still a big elephant in the room.

What was that with Lilith?

And the way you thought about your wings, you missed them dearly. Now you know how Maleficent when she lost her wings from her own Lover, except it wasn’t Lucifers fault.

“I can see that you’re lying honey.” He snorted and chuckled and took your soft hands in his black clawed ones. “If you don’t want to share that’s okay. Only when you’re ready.” His voice was smooth like butter and his soft lips kissed your forehead softly.

You take a deep shaky breath, “When I was in that Playhouse. Azrael showed me something.” Lucifer slit eyes switched onto your shaking hands, no doubt was that a very Traumatic event.

He held them tight letting you know that he’s there for you and will protect you this time. “What has he shown you?” He asked carefully as he watched your eyes fill with sadness, a feeling that clenched around his heart in a hard force.

“You and Lilith, you two were kissing. Meanwhile I-“ A sob escaped your throat, and you laid your head on his chest.

A pang of guilt resides in Lucifer as he stroked your back in circular motion. “I am sorry my Apple pie. I really hoped you didn’t see that accident, but I guess it was planned."

"She forced herself on me and right after I took care of her that she’ll never show herself back here. Please believe me.” His face was pressed on your hair and he took a deep breath in.

Well, you believe him. You believe him more than you do Azrael, you don’t even know him.

Michael was dead, he was killed by his own twin brother Lucifer.

How Ironic.

You stayed in Lucifers arms a while until your cries calmed down. “Sorry to ruin your day.” Lucifer shook his head and chuckled, “You haven’t ruined anything! Besides we still have the whole night.”

You started to blush, and your body started to heat up.

A spark started to swirl on your back, and you felt something coming out. With a quick motion you grabbed some familiar soft feathers on your back and Lucifer whistled.

“Seems you got your wings back cutie.” He bit his lips and brushed his clawed fingers softly down your Humerus towards the Manus and your body grew hotter every second.

“Kinda Hot I gotta admit.”

A/n: I wanted to write smut in here but decided against it.

This is the most Pixelated image I've seen in my whole life. Neitherless a God piece.

💫

Sadly I couldn't tag you

@ayanazoldyck @marydragneell @lunaryasha @cherry-cola-100 @lxkeee @latersgaters-steven @fandom-crashlanding @cupidsgift @steadyconnoisseurnacho @crimsonflameproxy @stormz369 @wooleypeaches @fukingsad @starlitvenus @avadakadabra93 @itzabbeym @asmodeussimpnumber1 @sirenetheblogger @k1y0yo @i-have-no-life-charlie @angelicwillows @0puddleofgender0 @fallenh34art @v3r41ynn @froggybich @pank0w @roboticsuccubus83 @littlebear423 @anonymously-ominous @concentratedconcrete

#shapard #hazbin hotel #y/n #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbinhotel

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emilyprentissluvr · 2 months

Text

Matilda (Emily Prentiss x Reader)

"You can start a family who will always show you love"

Summary: In which Emily Prentiss comes home to her wife and daughter after a week-long case.

Warnings: None

EMILY LET out a sigh of relief as she walked into her house and dropped her to-go bag. After a week-long case, all she wanted to do was curl up in bed with her wife. She made quick work of putting away her gun and credentials, trying to be quiet so she didn't wake anyone up.

She was in the kitchen filling up a glass of water when she heard soft footsteps walk into the kitchen.

"Mama!" Charlotte said as she ran over and wrapped her arms around Emily's leg. Emily smiled as she put the glass down and bent over to pick up the three-year-old.

"Hi sweet girl," Emily said as she kissed her daughter on the head, the smell of her shampoo already calming her senses. She smiled as she saw Charlotte's pink onesie, ever since the two of you bought it for her, she refused to wear anything else to bed.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Emily asked as she tickled the little girl's stomach. Charlotte giggled as she threw her small hands around her mother's neck.

"I'm thirsty." She said as she looked up at the raven-haired woman.

"Well, let's get you some water, and then you can go back to bed." Emily smiled as she opened another cabinet to grab a small plastic cup.

"I want apple juice." Charlotte pouted as she looked up at her mother.

She knows she shouldn't, but she could never say no to the perfected pout of her daughter. Emily knows it's because that pout is one hundred percent inherited from you.

"Don't tell Mommy, okay? It'll be our secret." Emily says as she holds out her pinky.

"Our secret!" Charlotte giggles as she wraps her pinky around Emily's. Emily adjusts the little girl to sit on her hip as she grabs the apple juice from the fridge and pours it into the light pink cup.

After Charlotte was done Emily left the cup on the sink to clean tomorrow.

She carried Charlotte upstairs and wasn't surprised when the toddler was starting to fall asleep in her arms. She smiled as she tucked her daughter into bed and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before heading to her bedroom.

As soon as she walked in she saw your sleeping frame curled up against her pillow. She smiled as she immediately walked over to you and gently brushed some hair out of your face, not wanting to wake you but needing to feel the warmth of your skin. You unconsciously nuzzled your face into her hand. "I love you," She whispered, knowing that you were still asleep, but if she had learned anything from you, it was that she could never say those three words too many times.

She quickly changed out of her work clothes and into shorts and a sweatshirt before heading to the bathroom. When she came out a couple of minutes later she saw Charlotte curled up next to you with her small arm protectively on top of your five-month pregnant belly.

Emily's heart melted at the sight.

She never thought that this would be her life.

She never thought that love like this could come so easily.

That being loved was so easy.

"You're back." You murmured as you slowly sat up, carefully placing Charlotte's head onto the pillows without waking her up.

"I am." Emily smiled as she quickly got into bed and pulled you in for a soft kiss. Your lips tasted like home and Emily never wanted to leave.

"I missed you." You mumbled sleepily against her lips.

"I miss you too," Emily said as she rested her forehead against yours. "How's the little one?" She asked as she placed her hand softly onto your stomach.

"Good. She was hungry for a new combination this week though." You yawned and Emily raised her eyebrows. "Oh, she was?"

"Mhm. She insisted I eat tuna and peanut butter every day."

Emily wrinkled her nose at the thought, "Gross."

You just shrugged as you leaned your head against Emily's shoulder, "How was the case?" You asked quietly, knowing that Charlotte could sleep through anything but not wanting to take any chances.

"Let's just say I'm very happy to be back with my girls," Emily murmured as she rested her cheek on the top of your head. You knew this meant she didn't want to talk about it yet, so you didn't push. You remembered what it was like returning from a case, the heaviness in your heart making you want to do nothing but curl up with the people you love.

You still worked at the BAU, but after having Charlotte you decided you didn't want to be in the field anymore so you mostly worked on cold cases and consults over the phone.

"I love you." You said as you fought to keep your eyes open. You wanted to spend time with your wife after not seeing her for a week but your exhaustion was getting the better of you.

"I love you more." She smiled as she kissed the top of your head. "Why don't we go to sleep? We can talk more in the morning." Emily murmured and then immediately heard your soft snores from her shoulder.

Emily held back a laugh as she gently laid the both of you down on the bed. Your ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime had surely been passed to Charlotte.

Emily buried her face into your neck as she lazily put her arms over your stomach. She never slept well without you, so as soon as she inhaled the scent of your body wash her eyes drifted closed.

●・○・●・○・●

Emily's eyes fluttered open to the feeling of small hands on her face.

"Mama." Charlotte's soft voice whispered.

"Mhm," Emily said sleepily as she rubbed her eyes and slowly sat up. The little girl immediately crawled into the brunette's lap and looked up at her excitedly. "Pancakes!"

Emily chuckled as she brushed wild hair off her daughter's forehead. "You want pancakes?"

"Yeah!"

Emily happily agreed, knowing that the two of them could surprise you with breakfast in bed since you were still fast asleep.

By the time they got downstairs, Charlotte was already chasing Sergio around the kitchen. The black cat had taken a long time to warm up to the little girl, but now he was at least tolerant of her antics.

Emily put on soft music as she got out all of the ingredients. She easily whipped together the batter in minutes and then went to find Charlotte so she could put in the chocolate chips.

"Char! It's chocolate chip time!" Emily called out as she walked into the living room.

As soon as she saw the two of them she couldn't help but laugh. "Very pretty, Serg," Emily said as she looked at the pink crown Charlotte had put on his head.

"He needs a dress!" Charlotte said excitedly as she bolted from the living to the playroom and came back with a pink, doll dress less than thirty seconds later.

"Why don't we play dress up after breakfast, okay?" Emily said as she scooped the little girl up, giving Sergio time to knock the tiara off with his paw and scamper upstairs.

"Okay," The toddler sighed dramatically, another thing that Emily claims is all you.

By the time they get into the kitchen, Charlotte has already forgotten about the dress and is squirming in Emily's arm to reach the chocolate chips.

"Remember, not too much," Emily says as she hands the bag to the little girl.

"Not too much," Charlotte repeats before dumping almost half the bag in.

"Well, it's a good thing you and your mommy love chocolate chips." Emily chuckled as she took the bag from her. Before she could put it away Charlotte stopped her, "Do the trick mama!" Charlotte says excitedly as she claps her hands.

The trick was just Emily seeing how many chocolate chips she could throw into her mouth but Charlotte was insistent that she do it every time they make pancakes.

"Okay, let's see if we can break the record, Char!" Emily smiled as she placed the toddler in her high chair next to the counter.

"Yeah!" She cheered. Emily's current record was 27 consecutive chocolate chips thrown into her mouth. It would have been more if they hadn't run out of them last time.

"Alright," Emily said as she grabbed one out of the bag and then tossed the chip high and easily caught it in her mouth.

"One!" The mother and daughter counted at the same time. The game went on for another three minutes, Charlotte had stopped counting at 20 but right when Emily threw the 27th one into the air, Sergio scurried passed Emily's leg causing her to fall backward and land right on her ass, missing the chocolate chip.

"Ow," Emily grumbled as shot a glare at the cat who looked smug as he ran away. The brunette could have sworn that was the cat's payback for letting her daughter dress him up.

"Mama hurt?" Charlotte asked as she looked down at Emily with sad eyes.

"I'm okay, sweet girl." Emily smiled as she ignored the crack in her knees as she stood up. "We'll beat our record next time, yeah?" She said as she gave her daughter a high five. "Yeah!" Charlotte giggled.

Thirty minutes later, all the pancakes were done and Emily had cut up some fruit and made you tea. She put everything on a tray as she and Charlotte walked up the stairs to surprise you.

"You want to wake up Mommy?" Emily asked and Charlotte nodded excitedly.

"Surprise!" Charlotte said as she ran through the room and jumped onto the bed, shaking your shoulders with her small hands.

"Mmm, good morning Char," You mumbled as you rubbed your eyes.

"We made breakfast!" She said excitedly as she pulled on your arm for you to sit up.

"Oh, you did?" You said as you looked over and saw your wife holding a tray with a big smile.

"Mama let me put in the chocolate chips!" Charlotte said as Emily gently placed the food onto the bed and then crawled next to you.

"Wow, they look good, Char! You and your mama are the best!" You said as you gave her a quick kiss on the head before turning to your wife.

"Thank you." You smiled, giving her a quick kiss on the lips before carefully pulling the tray onto your lap.

"Always," Emily said as she placed her chin on your shoulder. She watched lovingly as Charlotte burrowed into your side, stealing fruit from the tray as you cut the pancakes.

The three of you spent the rest of the morning in bed rewatching Charlotte's favorite movie for probably the fifteenth time. But neither you nor Emily would have had it any other way.

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x female reader #momily #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss is a girl mom

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mouschiwrites · 7 months

Text

Creepypasta/MH - Doing Halloween Stuff With Them :)

(Characters: Tim/Masky, Eyeless Jack, Jeff the Killer, Nina the Killer, Jane the Killer, Ticci Toby)

Tim/Masky

Hear me out... corn maze

I believe that Tim enjoys a good puzzle every now and again

He loves trying to figure things out (specifically when there's nothing at risk)

Getting to show off his navigational skills is also a major plus

He just likes to impress you, even if it comes off as annoying sometimes

"See? What'd I tell you? The exit's right there."

Though he does like the satisfaction of completing the maze, what he really treasures is that time you spend together figuring it out

Once you finally find the exit, you'll celebrate with hot cocoa :D

Eyeless Jack

This man LOVES carving pumpkins

He goes all out; definitely one of those people who makes the crazy intricate designs that look like they take hours

He'll love it if you help him!

If you have a steady hand, he'll let you do the details

If you don't, he'll task you with gutting the pumpkin/handing him tools

You guys collaborate on multiple pumpkins throughout the month, setting them in random locations for everyone to see

If there's a design you want to do, just show it to him, there's no question he'll be down

If it's too simplistic, he'll try to add more details

"Ooh, Jack, look at this one. Can we try to re-create it?"

"Of course! Though I do have some ideas on how it can be improved..."

Jeff the Killer

Another pumpkin carving enjoyer

But for a different reason... a very different reason

He loves the goriness of gutting the pumpkins

He couldn't care less about making actual designs, he just wants to get messy stabbing the pumpkin and gouging out its insides

That being said, he'll 100% gut your pumpkin if you ask him (he'll probably end up doing it even if you don't ask)

It's honestly a little disturbing watching him work

He just gets this look in his eye...

"You, uh... you doing okay there, Jeff?"

"Hm? Yup! Never better!! Say, can you grab the big knife from the kitchen for me?"

Nina the Killer

You best bet she's the costume queen

Spends the whole year planning matching horror-themed costumes

She'll settle for no less than creativity and perfection

High-quality props and articles only!! She'll even make them herself if she has to!

You can expect to spend at least an hour in front of the mirror while she does your makeup/adjusts your clothes

She's an SFX makeup legend, loves incorporating as much gore into your costume as possible

Don't ask why it's so realistic (it's not like she knows how the wound would look if it was real or anything)

"Wow, Nina... It's almost like I can feel it! It's so real!"

"No, no. If you were feeling it, you would be screaming pretty loud right now."

You can also expect to attend multiple parties where you show off your costumes

You guys dominate costume competitions

Jane the Killer

Horror movies!!

Specifically, making fun of them

You both pick apart the plot, the characters, the dialogue, the special effects, everything

No horror film is safe from your scrutiny

If you're the type to get scared during horror movies, her snide comments will help distract you

"Ooh, I can't look!"

"Oh, come on. Look—I bet they used corn syrup for that fake blood. It's way too thick."

When the movie ends, you're both feeling more amused than scared

She doesn't like to see horror films in theaters because she doesn't get to make commentary, plus she doesn't want to "waste" money on a "stupid tryhard-horror flick"

She'd much rather dig up some old indie DVD/VCR and have a home movie night with you

Ticci Toby

Halloween sweets are his bread and butter

Candy apples, fun-sized candy bars, candy corn, pumpkin bread...

He would perish if you made anything homemade for him

Spends the whole month gorging on sweets almost as fast as he can get his hands on them

He will not share with anyone but you

And even you only get a small portion of his goodies

Robs at least one child on Halloween night, mostly for the candy but also because he likes scaring little kids

"Where did you get all that candy?"

"Got it from a little birdy. By that I mean a kid in Falcon cosplay."

"Toby! ... save me the (favorite candy)."

Thank you for reading! Have a good day/night my spooky pookies <33

(divider by saradika)

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #masky x reader #eyeless jack x reader #jeff the killer x reader #nina the killer x reader #jane the killer x reader #ticci toby x reader #masky #tim wright #jeff the killer #nina the killer #jane the killer #ticci toby #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader

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emmyrosee · 2 years

Text

“Dadda?”

Naturally, you were the first to stir, the pitch of your toddlers voice being something you’d been able to recognize even before it slipped from her mouth. It’s muffled slightly behind a pacifier, but it’s still loud enough for your Keiji to wake beside you.

“Mei, my love, light of my life…” there’s a pause. “Why are you awake?” The bed shifts next to you, and it’s plenty hard to cover your laughter as it is, let alone with the causality in Keiji’s asking.

“Snack time?” The small voice peeps. There’s another pause, and this time, Keiji’s trying not to laugh, and he tries to mask such a reaction with a cough.

“N-No, baby it’s uhm…” he looks over at the clock. “It’s two in the morning, snack time’s not for a few hours now.”

“But I’m hungryyyy!” Mei whines, prompted by a ‘shhhh,’ from your husband. “Okay, okay baby, just don’t wake mommy up.”

Too late. But you appreciate the effort. With a yawn, you feel the bed lighten next to you as Keiji stands up. He grunts softly, and you assume he’s picked Mei up to speed up the process.

The rest is fairly quiet, save for the occasional laughter from your three year old and the deep voice breaking through of Keiji. You sigh and follow Keiji’s example, toeing on slippers and finally making your way out to the kitchen, shivering slightly at the cold.

“…that’s why we go to bed every night,” a drowsy voice hums from the kitchen, and you can’t help but chuckle softly at yourself.

“But that’s not what uncle Bo says!” She gasps, and you watch from the doorframe as Keiji drops his head with a defeated sigh, “yeah. Remind me to stop letting you hang out with him.”

Your hand physically comes up to cover your mouth in an attempt to keep yourself unknown, you just want to soak in the scene a little more- Keiji’s arms flex as he balances his fatigued frame against the counter, arms caging Mei while familiar blue eyes blink up at him. It’s something he does commonly to prevent her from falling, but now he just looks like he’s doing it for himself than anything.

“Uncle Bo says you n’ mommy used to be fun, but I think you’re lots of fun, daddy!”

You hear a husky chuckle slip out of Keiji’s lips, and he offers her a shrug and a sigh of exhaustion, “I appreciate that, princess. But please, finish your cereal.”

“I think you’re fun too,” you say, stifling your laughter when Keiji absolutely buckles his knees from fright, nearly collapsing to the floor while your daughter cackles with her mouth full of dry cereal. When he finally is able to recover from his folded knees, he sends you a playful glare and a shake of his head, “oh you’re such a biiii…” he stops himself at the remembrance that his child was right there, and when you cock your brow in challenge, he clears his throat. “-beautiful, loving soul, who I’m proud to call my wife.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” you grin, stalking into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around Keiji’s waist. He’s still warm from the sleep he was robbed from, and you nudge your nose against the dip in his back. “Do you want a snack too, my love?”

“Nah,” he yawns. “If I eat now, I’ll be up the rest of the night.”

“Babe,” you snort, watching your toddler put the tiny marshmallows in her cereal to one side, the actual part of cereal to another, her feet swinging softly as she does. “I think we will be, anyways.”

He sighs and drops his head in defeat, “an apple with some peanut butter, please.” You snicker again as you place a kiss to the back of his neck, finally parting to go make his snack.

And sure, tomorrow morning, when Keiji has to snooze his alarm four times, you’ll both regret this. And when you and Mei go to the grocery store, you might fall asleep on your feet as you wait in line, but that doesn’t matter now.

Because right now, there’s a little bundle of joy sat on the smooth countertop sorting her marshmallows from her cereal, and the man who helped make her so perfect stands just a few feet away, sweatpants low on his hip while he forces himself to stay awake.

And there’s not one thing you’d do to change the memory you’re making.

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luveline · 6 months

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i am in love with the way you write kbd!steve and would love to see more of him being enamoured w reader and the way she is with the girls if you’re up to it😩🥺🤍 love you all smooches for you 😙😙

kisses before dinner ♡ mom!reader

Steve watches through the slice of open doorway. You do it all in relative silence, a moment's peace between you and the second oldest, Bethie sitting prim as a doll on the countertop you've put her on as you clean her face with a damp hand towel. You take the stain of her peanut butter and apple slices off of her lips in gentle strokes, drying her off with the other end of the towel. Your hands (like Beth's hands, the same fingers and the same shaped nails) are sweet as you trace your pinkies from her temples to her chin in unison.

“There,” you say finally, “perfect again.”

“Thanks mommy.”

You lean down for a kiss, which you get, but Beth wraps her arms around you before you can think about escaping, whispering something Steve can't hear.

“I love you too,” you say a touch louder. “You okay?”

“I'm okay.”

“You're happy?”

“Yeah, mom, I'm happy! I'm amazing.”

“Amazing?” you ask, your fondness for her filling every syllable. “You are amazing, that's true.” You peel back to smile at her, turning into her touch and obscuring Steve's view. He hears the soft smack of another kiss, almost jealous, until Avery comes to attention where she's laid up at his side to ask why he's holding a sock.

“It's your sister’s,” he says.

“Which one?” She giggles. “I have too many.”

“What? You do not, you have the perfect amount of them.”

Avery's shoulders shake next to his arm as she laughs at his mock-outrage. She kicks her leg over his thigh and he squeezes on instinct, sock and all in hand.

You and Beth make your return to the living room hand in swinging hand. Beth's polka dot pyjamas are trailing behind her on the floor and her hair is a little wild, but her face is pristine, and her smile is even better.

“You look happy,” you and Steve say at the same time. You to Avery, and Steve to Beth.

The girls laugh. Dove, playing with blocks that don't fit together by Steve's feet, looks up suspiciously at the commotion. “What?” she asks.

You laugh more, “Just me and daddy sharing a brain,” you say, wiggling your fingers at her.

“Yucky.”

“Mm,” you agree, collapsing on the couch next to Steve's open side. Beth climbs into your lap and he'd think you hadn't noticed if it weren't for your arm wrapping immediately around her. You've been great at this whole mom business since the very first baby, not because you're a natural, but because you always tried so hard to be as loving as you could be.

When Steve met you, he fell in love with you for a multitude of reasons. You were interesting, beautiful, with a penchant for taking care of people and falling asleep in the sunshine. He'd come calling and find you knocked out in sunbathers or elbow deep in washing up. You wanna help make dinner?

“You're looking at me funny,” you say. For a few moments, Steve had been looking at the version of you he met almost ten years ago.

“Am not.”

“Are too. You were looking through me. Now you're doing fake googly eyes.”

“They're not fake,” he says, indignified. “They're so real. Look how real they are.”

“Don't give yourself an aneurysm, I believe you.”

“What's an aneurysm?” Beth asks.

Avery nods agreeably with her sister's line of questioning, eyes flicking between you and Steve in wait of the answer.

“It's a bad joke,” Steve says dismissively.

“Ouch.” You lay down against his shoulder. It's not an especially romantic nor affectionate touch, but it doesn't have to be. His skin thrums with your nearness every time. “So mean to me, Stevie.”

“Did you always call daddy Stevie?” Avery asks.

You rub your cheek against his sleeve. “What do you mean?”

“‘Cos, like, his name is Steve.”

“His name is dad,” Beth says.

“Daddy!” Dove says.

Steve gestures for the littlest to come forward and sit with them. She climbs up with help onto his knee and gives him a hug, but no sooner has she sat than she's climbing back down. “No, mom didn't always call me Stevie. She used to call me Harrington, or H when she was feeling nice.”

“And plain Steve,” you say.

“Yeh, but why Stevie?” Avery asks.

“Well, why Avey-bear? Dovey?” you point out gently. “It's nice. Like you wanna keep saying someone's name, even after it's done.”

It's why Bethie’s called Bethie, and not Bethany, Bethan, or Beth. Her legal name is Bethie, and that ‘ie’ at the end, while having been a name Steve adored, is a little tribute to love. Your love for him.

He forgets sometimes, but now he's remembered he might start crying. Dad hormones, he decides. Having kids makes you more emotional for sure. It's definitely not because you're amazing, and lovely, and everything he ever wanted day in, day out, every second of every hour—

“I just love him,” you say, kissing the top of Steve's arm. “Same way I love you guys. He's my family, he has been since we met.”

Bethie’s lips curve just like yours when she smiles, and Avery has hints of you in hers, too. “That's nice, mom,” Avery says. “I'm glad you met him.”

“Yeah, me too!” you say, a breathless cheer as you throw your arms around Steve and Dove's soft tummy to hug him tightly. “I wouldn't have him or my pretty girls if I didn't.”

Beth worms her way into the hug and Steve gets an arm around Avery's shoulders to include her, not sure who's forehead to kiss first. You reach over his lap to rub Avery's arm softly and he decides you should probably get the first one, on account of being the world's biggest, sweetest sweetheart.

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