#but I *could* put maple syrup in it if I wanted to and that is just a beautiful fact about life

[sweetdispatch]

Hi darl ❤️❤️

Can I order 8 cinnamon buns with coconut and maple syrup from the bakery? 🥰

Storm - M. Rempe

v' bakery pairing: Matt Rempe x fem!reader summary: Your relationship with Matt looked like a fairytale but when you two finally moved together, everything started going downhill warning: swear words

You and Matt have been friends since kindergarten. During playtime, you two were always playing wife and husband. In primary school, you ended up in class together with him. You were attached to each other, nothing could change it. You’ve been growing up together all the years and became a family for each other. 

When you were 15 years old, Matt asked you to be his girlfriend and since then, you’ve been a couple. Even when he moved to America to play hockey, you’ve been together and going stronger than ever. 5 years later, Matt proposed to you and when you two turned 21, you were married. Everyone was concerned that it might be too soon but you’ve been madly in love and never had doubts about timing. 

After all those years, Matt finally landed in New York and felt stable enough to rent an apartment and not live with others. That’s when you finally moved with him. You were currently searching for a job after graduation so timing looked perfect for both of you. 8 years of relationship and you finally had been capable of living together. 

At first, everything was perfect. You and Matt had been living in your own bubble, excited to finally be able to spend every free minute together. But every month that you spent together was getting harder and harder. You noticed how much difference there’s between living a long distance and living together. 

Matt was a messy person and this was annoying you. His hockey gear was always laying on the floor and you were the one who had to clean it because he was forgetting about this. He was leaving plates and glasses on the coffee table always having an excuse that he’s tired. You hated that you needed to do everything for him. 

You weren't a saint either. You were always leaving lights on in rooms because you kept forgetting to turn them off. The bathroom and closet were a mess because you never put your things back on the place. Matt was tripping over your clothes and never had space on the sink because of your makeup. 

This started small disagreements between you two. With time, they escalated and almost every day you had arguments. It became normal for you and Matt to go to sleep angry at each other but later, you moved into the guest bedroom because you couldn’t stand him. 

It felt like you two were living a long distance again. Maybe you were living in the same apartment but you’ve become distant from each other. In front of everyone you were looking like a perfect couple but behind closed doors, you were barely talking because every conversation was ending up as an argument. 

It was another fight between you and Matt. You didn’t even know when it started but you were tired. You felt exhausted that the man you love is a victim of your anger. Matt was fed up with everything. Something that was a perfect relationship turned into a nightmare. The worst was that none of you knew how to save it. 

“You know what, fuck you” You told him and turned around to leave the living room.

“Very fucking mature from you to run away” Matt said with sass in his voice.

“Call whatever you want but I’m done. I love you but this isn’t working. We’re not working. I would say let’s get a divorce instead of ruining each other” You sighed. 

“Are you for real now? You prefer to get divorce than fight for us?” Matt asked you. 

“Matt, when did we have a proper conversation? Every time we tried to talk about it, we ended up in tears and with sore throats from the screaming” You told him defeated. 

“Look at me” You raised your head to look at his face. “Said again that you want a divorce and I’ll get you” Matt said and waited for your response. 

You looked into Matt’s eyes and you couldn't say any word. You saw in his eyes the man you used to play, study and be with him. You saw the man that made you fall in love and you rock for your whole life. You noticed that he was on the verge of tears and that he wants to fight for this marriage. 

Without a word, you hugged him. Quickly, Matt embraced you with his arms. You were standing in the living room, hugging each other. It was the first time in months when you shared a genuine hug and not forced one. It was an intimate moment for both of you. 

“I love you and I want us to be good” Matt whispered. 

“I love you too and I want the same thing but I know that we’ll figure it out” You told him without leaving his side. 

For the first time in months, you and Matt were sleeping in the same bed. It was a quiet and peaceful night. The next day you two decided to search for a couple therapist to help you two. This felt like a new start for both of you and this marriage. Love won over all the arguments you’ve had. After every storm, the sun comes out.

[moniquill]

One of the socialist things I’d like to see ALONG WITH UBI (not instead of) is a government option for all basic neccesities. I am aware that the government option would -suck- and as long as it’s survivably functional, I’m fine with that. When I was a kid, we got monthly commodity food boxes. They’d be filled with food that looked like this:

And in lean months, it would be that and whatever we could get from the garden, or forage/fish, or trade with friends and neighbors. My mom had this awesome recipe for peanut butter balls that utilized the powdered milk, shit-quality peanut butter, and maple-flavored corn syrup that we routinely got in our box and actually made it good. 

I think that these things should be available for purchase at every supermarket, and that the prices should be fixed with relation to the minimum wage. All brands should have to compete with the government option - if SPAM is going to be more expensive than LUNCHEON MEAT in the silver can, then it needs to justify that cost by being better quality.

I want the same thing for housing. I want fucking Commie Blocks to be an option.

This would combat runaway inflation by putting a price cap on survival needs. It would guard against shrinkflation, because a consumers could compare the Government Standard portion to the brands. UBI ought to be such that it covers The Government Option for food, housing, clothing, transit etc. with generous wiggle room for emergency savings and little joys in life. 

Everyone should get their own UBI account in their own name at birth, along with their social security number. It should follow the individual regardless of guardianship. Parents/guardians should have incrementally less and less control over said funds as the child gets older, and should have to provide itemized receipts of how money taken from a child’s account is spent (Similar to what you have to do if you’re in control of an elder’s social security money).

https://www.ssa.gov/ssi/text-repayee-ussi.htm

'Each year, we will ask certain representative payees to complete a Representative Payee Accounting Report showing how they spent and saved the money they received for you during the 12-month report period.'

These are steps that would could easily institute tomorrow be reallocating funding, and they’d have a huge impact on cost of living for everyone.  

This rant brought to you by the fact that store brand canned luncheon meat in my local grocery held fast at a dollar for the better part of two decades but now costs $2.18.

[nightingale-prompts]

Just your average coffee shop AU-DCxDP prompt

What do you do when you've been blacklisted from every coffee chain in Gotham?

You have to find other sources.

That is Tim's current predicament but he put out a few messages out and an informant got back to him about a new café that opened on the outskirts of the city.

There wasn't much else on it other than the fact that it was located in an old cemetery. No details or anything.

Desperate for the black icker that made up his blood by this point Tim went.

Walking down the cobblestone path Tim began to doubt if the shop was real. The decrepit tombstones seemed to be the only people here but as he passed the mausoleums he saw a single stone crypt that had a sign.

Hours:

Tues-Saturday 12pm-3:00 am

Sunday: All day

Mon: Closed

(Vlad Masters is banned)

Tim opened the stone door and heard the faint sound of violins and saxophones. A staircase led deeper to an aged wooden door.

The rusty door henge screeched as he opened the door like a doorbell. The room was a lounge with plush seats and smooth wood tables. A dance floor was in the center currently occupied by well dressed patrons. The scent of fresh dark roast coffee filled the air. A band played live music, it was a blend of gothic folk and Jazz. The booths were filled with a few patrons cheering for the performers as they drank coffee and played cards.

The counter where he could order his drink was a bar. Despite what you'd assume they weren't selling alcohol at least not yet. The man behind the counter beckoned him over.

The barista dressed in a white dress shirt and a black buttoned vest embroidered with a ribcage design. He had fingerless gloves with matching skeletal hand design. The man's face was a pale bit warm tone with a blueish green hue on his cheekbones. His lips were a dark ashen black with a subtle shine. It was probably just the aesthetic.

"Evening, traveler." His voice practically purred as he greeted the weary young man"The rhythm's alive, and the spirits are waiting—how can I make your afterlife?"

"Coffee. Black." Tim said gruffly despite to get it in his system.

"Oh, you got it bad, don't you? Let me get you something that will actually help." The bartender said turning to brew a cup.

Tim's eyes scanned the chalkboard menu that hung above the bar.

Hot Coffee Drinks:

Graveyard Brew – A rich dark roast with a hint of smoked caramel. (Tucker's pick)

Phantom Flat White – A smooth flat white with ghostly foam art. (Danny's pick)

Latté of the Damned– A spiced pumpkin latte with black cinnamon dust. (Jazz's pick)

Eternal Espresso– A bold, double-shot espresso.

The Velvet Casket – Mocha with dark chocolate and a touch of vanilla.

Sepulcher Spice – Chai-spiced coffee with a hint of nutmeg. (Val's pick)

Necromancer’s Nitro – Nitro cold brew with a dash of maple syrup. (Dan's pick)

Iced Coffee Drinks:

Cold-Brew Crypt– Smooth cold brew with a splash of sweet cream.

Chilled Cadaver– Iced coffee with coconut milk and a shot of hazelnut. (Dani's pick)

The Frosted Requiem – Blended mocha with chocolate drizzle.

Soulful Swirl– Iced latte with caramel and a swirl of blackcurrant syrup.

Moonlit Macchiato– Vanilla macchiato with activated charcoal. (Sam's pick)

Tim definitely sensed a theme here.

"I added a few shots of expresso and some dark chocolate liquor. It should get you right and some minor heart palpitations. I think I'll call it 'The Black Veil'." The barista smiled very cat-like.

"Am I getting my name on the board?" Tim quipped without thinking as he sipped the hot coffee. Actually, it was cooler than he thought it would be. It was the perfect temperature. And the taste was amazing.

"Only if you're a regular and I think your drink might be too much for anyone else." The barista laughed softly.

"So...this place is pretty um...gothic?"

"This place used to be just for the dead but we've recently over up to the living."

"Heh, I get it."

"Get what?"

Tim coughed awkwardly. He didn't want to stop talking to the goth barista yet and the quality coffee was convincing. Maybe it was the environment. It was like walking into a different world.

"So what's this place called? So I know what Im coming back to." Tim tried to sound cool but let's face it, he's been beat.

"This is the Catacomb Club. Where the spirits swing and the night never sleeps. You should come again soon, cutie. I think I got a good surge of inspiration just looking at you." He purred in delight as he leaned over the bar tapped Tim's cheek.

Tim felt his face burn, the touch felt like electricity tickling his skin. A string of babbling seemed to come out of this mouth as he tried to respond.

"Heh heh, don't keep me waiting dear," he laughed "Oh, and by the way. My name is Danny. Catch me in the early shift. My brother works the late shift mixing the alcohol. But if you want you can catch me on the stage or on the dance floor. I might even make you an extra cup or two." Danny said.

Tim found his footsteps on the way up lighter and only when he made it back the cematary gate did he notice.

He never paid.

[cherrygirlfriend]

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW 🍓

…or rafe realizing he wants to marry you.

🍓 pairing .ᐟ boyfriend!rafe x farmer's gf!reader

🍓 summary .ᐟ how rafe knew he wanted to propose to you.

🍓 warnings / tags .ᐟ none! fluff

🍓 author's note .ᐟ this is a part of my farmer’s wife au! just from when they were just dating.

FARMER'S WIFE MASTERLIST 🍓3K MASTERLIST

you and rafe didn't get much private time, and when you did, your father always told you to keep your bedroom door open; so it didn't give you much time to cozy up to one another, but after having dated for one year, your parents finally agreed to letting you go away with him for the weekend.

"we're almost there." rafe said, your hand intertwined with his, his calloused thumb stroking your soft skin. he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, and a few minutes later, the two of you stopped in front of a bed and breakfast.

"this place looks adorable!" you squealed, scurrying to get out of your seatbelt and out of the car, and the moment you got out of the car, you were prepared to throw yourself at rafe.

the building in front of you was a two-floored brown-painted victorian house, a friendly couple stood in front of the door with a small smile, "you're right on time!" the woman called out. rafe got out of the car, a similar smile on his face. he walked up to you, intertwining your fingers as you walked to the door. "welcome, mr. and mrs. cameron."

rafe was about to speak up, only for you to interrupt him, "thank you." you smiled, intertwining your fingers with rafe's, causing his eyes to widen. he could tell by the movements of your lips that the words "could you show us to our room?" left your lips, but the buzzing in his ears was so loud and the smile on his face so wide that he couldn't hear you, not until you were a few steps ahead of him, smiling at him, "are you coming, honey?"

the interaction still stayed on his mind the next day as the two of you were sitting next to one another on the diner booth, rafe tracing the lines on the palm of your hand. your attention was on the menu you were holding, but your boyfriend's attention was on you, watching every gesture you made, every twitch of your nose and every blink of your eyes.

"okay, i made my choice." you smiled, turning to rafe, "i think i'm gonna get some blueberry pancakes. of course, soaked in maple syrup. what about you? let me guess. bacon?"

rafe let out a soft huff of a laughter, nodding his head. he put his hand on your waist, tugging you closer to his side. "and eggs. you know me so well." the man nuzzled his head into the side of your neck, making you roll your eyes.

"of course i do." you pushed his head away jokingly. the waitress walked to your table, a smile on her face and a notepad in her hand, "so, y'all decided yet?"

"yes!" you exclaimed, putting down the menu and looking up at her with a smile, "i'll have some blueberry pancakes, and my husband will have eggs and bacon. oh, and two cups of coffee."

as you were finishing up the order, you missed the ridiculously wide grin on rafe's lips, his heart beating against his chest as he looked at you, the adorable smile on your lips and the way your eyes glistened under the diner lights. as the waitress walked away, you turned to look at rafe, your brows furrowing as you let out an adorable chuckle, "what?"

"nothing." rafe shook his head, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing them to his lips, pressing a kiss on the back of your hand, his stubble tickling your skin.

that day, he knew he'd have to start looking at engagement rings.

[sp0o0kylights]

Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset. 

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it. 

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud. 

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.  

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds. 

Still.

 Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink. 

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations. 

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say. 

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’ 

Nope. 

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’ 

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure. 

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake. 

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them. 

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through. 

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing. 

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.  

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse. 

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something. 

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here. 

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may. 

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?” 

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house. 

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.  

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him. 

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.” 

Likely a lot of things. 

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it. 

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

 ‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give. 

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.” 

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice. 

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked. 

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle. 

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat. 

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth. 

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.) 

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?” 

Wayne nodded once, slow-like. 

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again. 

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?” 

“I did.” 

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say. 

Wayne took advantage. 

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.” 

“‘Bout trust.” 

Eddie blinked at that. 

“Trust.” He echoed flatly. 

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--” 

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.” 

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him. 

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.” 

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway. 

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with. 

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.” 

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like. 

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns. 

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.” 

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.” 

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had. 

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.” 

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.” 

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.” 

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through. 

Wayne sat with him as he processed. 

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did. 

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked; 

“What if he finds out?”  

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home. 

It took Wayne  a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret. 

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over. 

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly.  It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself. 

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved. 

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’ 

“He won’t.” Wayne said. 

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.” 

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side. 

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other. 

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest. 

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose. 

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine. 

Hurt, absolutely, but alive. 

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body. 

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol. 

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door. 

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch. 

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.  

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible. 

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup. 

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him. 

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely. 

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior. 

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.) 

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!” 

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it. 

Wayne rolled his eyes. 

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door. 

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries. 

“I think I promised you a game, son.”  Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall. 

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

[musaslullaby]

Busy days

grid x fem reader

p1 p2 p3 p4

Summary: You have a week off from racing and you spend it with your favorite drivers.

Face: people on Pinterest and the driver

Warning: Most of the grid has a small weakness for you. It's a series

Masterlist

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Yn.official

Description: Busy week ahead, but we're starting with an intense gym session with @.georgerussell63

liked by charles_leclerc,Yn.official , and other 9384934802

Georgeismylife: Guys, look at the smile George gives Yn

user34: Crazy in love

f1lover: I want a special session with George too

Formula_1: The beauty of this couple

georgerussell63: We should train together more often

❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Yes, your advice is very helpful

danielricciardo: You’re too young to go to the gym with a man

Yn.official: Dad, don't be boring and old

georgerussell63: Exactly, dad

landonorris: The sexiest picture I've ever seen

❤️ Like to author

carlossainz55: Can’t deny it, you look beautiful, mi vida ❤️ Like to author

oscarpiastri: For once, I agree with these two ❤️ Like to author

maxverstappen1: Don’t tire yourself out too much with them

charles_leclerc: I’m sure she has more fun with us than with you

maxverstappen1: Wait until the next race, and I’ll crash you into the barrier

Yn.official: Guys, stop, you know I enjoy being with all of you

f1gossip: Drama fans, grab your popcorn and chips

charles_: The guys are fighting over Yn

Hotchili: Amidst all this, I’m still a Lestappen fan ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Who isn't?

Yn.official

Description: Guys, he kept his promise, and those pancakes were delicious. Gracias, Carlito

liked by Landonorris, Yn.official, and other 73672388

Ynlove: What did you put on them?

Yn.official: Maple syrup and blueberries

user2: It’s true, in an interview you said you loved blueberries

carlossainz55: It was a pleasure having you with me, cariño

❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: You need to give me Spanish lessons because I need a refresher

oscarpiastri: Yn, do you know Spanish?

Yn.official: I studied it for three years in school, but I don't remember it very well

carlossainz55: I’m always at your disposal, mi vida ❤️ Like to author

charles_leclerc: Tell me something you can't do

georgerussell63: You’re perfect, you can do everything

Yn.official: Unfortunately, I can't speak French. I just can't get the accent right, it's too complicated

charles_leclerc: I could teach you

Yn.official: Trust me, there’s no hope for me, I’m terrible at it

charles_leclerc: It would be fun, please? ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Alright, but if you go crazy after two seconds, it's not my fault.

charles_leclerc: It won't happen, moun angel ❤️ Like to author

user12: Charles is lovesick

Carls: Who's team Carlos?

F1lover: Guys, let's not bet on Yn's love life

charles_leclerc

Description: When she said she was a disaster, she wasn’t kidding.

liked by carlossainz55, Yn.official, and other 623623762

Race: Charles' face is priceless

Formulaonelife: Those professor glasses make him look even better

Ynllife: Yn, how do you resist Charles???

QueenYn: Please teach us!!!

Yn.official: It takes self-control, guys ❤️ Like to author

landonorris: Dude, you look like you've seen a ghost

oscarpiastri: It can't be that bad

charles_leclerc: That’s what I thought too

Yn.official: At least I enjoyed a nap with Leo ❤️ Like to author

carlossainz55: Yn, come back to me, Spanish suits you better

Yn.official: Only if you invite me to your house in Madrid

carlossainz55: You’re always welcome, mi vida

danielricciardo: I don't agree with these nicknames and all these visits to strangers' houses

landonorris: We’re not strangers, we see each other almost every day ❤️ Like to author

danielricciardo: And that’s not enough for you???

Leo_lec: No, guys, but how beautiful is the last photo

user1: I’m so jealous of her

Charles_fan: I want a nap with Leo too

oscarpiastri

Description: Beach during the day and restaurant at night

liked by Yn.official, georgerussell63, and other 293932892

danielricciardo: Oscar, I’ll cut off your hands

❤️ Like to author

maxverstappen1: You just marked the day of your death

landonorris: Since when do you have the muscles to lift someone?

oscarpiastri: I didn’t even know I could do it either

carlossainz55: I can’t believe it

georgerussell63: I’ll forgive you only because you didn’t drop her

charles_leclerc: You didn’t get hurt, right? ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Still perfectly alive and walking on both legs

f1lover: YN, DO YOU NEED TO TELL US SOMETHING???

race: What happened after the restaurant???

Vroom: Spicy night?

Ynqueen: Guys, she clearly didn’t mean that

Ynmylife: Poor thing, always judged and with all eyes on her

Osc81: Instead of focusing on Yn’s private matters, let’s focus on the fact that the grid wants to kill Oscar ❤️ Like to author

op: I swear I’ll pay you if you don’t kill him

Yn.official: Confirming I need him alive

Olliebearman: I agree with Yn, I’m against violence ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official

Description: I hate you for ruining my photo.

liked by Landonorris, maxverstappen1, and other 83494829

osc_lan: What are you saying, Yn? The fact that Lando is in it makes it even better

mclaren: We can confirm the photo turned out well despite the intruder ❤️ Like to author

Landonorris: McLaren is always on my side.

Yn.official: This time I forgive you.

Landonorris: You'd never stay mad at me for more than an hour, admit it.

Yn.official: 😒😒😒

Ylqueem: Oh my god, now even McLaren has fallen in love with Yn

Lifeisf1: Oh no, we have another suitor

Lando_: Imagine Yn at McLaren

op: I think I’d go crazy

georgerussell63: If I were Lando, I’d sue you for that last picture

Landonorris: That’s exactly what I’m going to do

charles_leclerc: Wait, I’m joining too

Yn.official: Everyone is teaming up against me

maxverstappen1: Let them hope, they wouldn’t even get close to the police station

danielricciardo: For my daughter’s safety, I need to ask why ❤️ Like to author

Yn.official: Don’t worry, Dad, I got the meaning of the sentence

oscarpiastri: Are you agreeing with him?

Yn.official: They stabbed me in the back, of course I’m siding with Mad Max

maxverstappen1: After that nickname, I’m switching to the enemy’s side

Yn.official: No, don’t leave meeee

user6: The best interaction I’ve ever seen on Instagram

Laando: Everyone’s focused on YN, but no one noticed how good-looking Lando is

f1lover: That’s a given

Vroom: Yeah, but in the first photo, he’s really handsome

maxverstappen1

Description: Calm day

liked by Yn.official, oscarpiastri, and other 84783728

Redbulllove: Max, a man of few words

mv1: No point in cropping out half of Yn's face, we still recognize her

Yn.official: I adore Jimmy and Sassy

❤️ Like to author

maxverstappen1: They adore you

Yn.official: I love them so much! ❤️ Like to author

charles_leclerc: Now Leo is jealous

Yn.official: Are we sure it’s Leo who’s jealous?

danielricciardo: What should I do with you, Yn?

Yn.official: Nothing, just love me a lot

Ynqueen: How I love these interactions

f1lover: They should make an entire Netflix series about this

Race: They should add all of this to Drive to Survive

Vroom: I completely agree

radbullracing: We approve of the last photo, have fun

❤️ Like to author

user1: Oh no, after McLaren, now Red Bull too

maxverstappen1: There's no shortage of fun with her.

Yn.official: I'm the life of the party. ❤️ Like to author

User87: Has anyone wondered how the cat got stuck in the hole?

User1: Dude, I really don’t know.

Yn.official: They’re too cute, right? ❤️ Like to author

maxverstappen1: Like you

user32: Omg this is not max

Catvroom: Yn is clearly a cat person.

For_mula: Guys, I don’t know about you, but it bothers me how Yn is with every driver

user66: Honestly, it seems like she’s just playing with them

Ynlife: Maybe you’re just jealous

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Tag list

@barcelonaloverf1life

[cursedyuri]

a lil summertime blurb for y'all <3

18+ only! minors dni.

Summer is easily your favorite time of year in Jackson. The sky is a constant, brilliant blue, stretching out for miles in every direction, only interrupted by the craggy peaks of the still-snowcapped mountains in the distance. The air is sweet with the scent of wildflowers and drifting pollen, and the trees and hip-high grass in the fields is the prettiest shade of green, leaves whooshing with every gust of wind. This kind of weather makes you look forward to going out on patrol - it’s a task you dread in the winter, a permanent scowl fixed on your face when you’re forced to brave the bitter cold. But when it’s warm outside like today? You’re practically itching to mount your horse and bathe in the endless sunrays.

And, even better, Ellie’s your patrol partner today. 

You’re clad in a faded pair of jeans and a cutoff tank top, your scuffed boots knocking gently against the sides of your horse as you follow Ellie through the woods. Your skin is warm from the sun, and each time there’s a break in the trees, you tilt your head toward the sky to let the sunshine melt over you. 

Ellie catches you in the act, eyes shut, facial expression likely one of pure ecstasy - she can’t help the laugh that bursts from her lips. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Ellie asks, biting at the inside of her cheek to hold back a grin. She watches you open your eyes, dazed for a second before you process what she’d said. You let out a laugh of your own.

“Can you tell?” 

“A little,” Ellie says, shrugging. “You’re like a lizard on a warm rock right now.”

You snort. “A lizard?”

The path broadens out enough for you to bring your horse up beside Ellie’s, the soft padding of the hooves on the soil a constant, calming background noise. 

“Hey, lizards are cute,” Ellie says with a faint smile. “And they like the sun. You’re cute and you like the sun, so…”

“You trying to flirt with me?” You mean to give her a hard time, to poke fun at her strange way of complimenting you, but it’s working. Your heart flutters in your chest. 

Ellie catches your eye, still smiling. “Maybe. What if I am?”

You turn your gaze back to the path ahead, fingers toying with the reigns in your hands. You can’t even pretend the suggestive tone of Ellie’s voice isn’t doing something to you.

“I’d say we should stop for a minute,” you tell her, “I think we could use a break - you know, to enjoy the weather.”

“Right,” Ellie affirms. She looks over at you, and your eyes are already on her, your gaze heavy with want. Something similar flashes in her eyes. “To enjoy the weather.”

Ellie can’t fucking believe the lizard comment worked.

It only takes a few moments to find a good place to stop - the forest is full of meadows and grassy alcoves, perfect places to let the horses graze while you and Ellie wander through the vegetation for a spot to, er, enjoy the weather. When you finally do, Ellie’s hands are on you as if drawn in by some kind of magnetic force. Her calloused palms find every inch of exposed skin she can touch: your arms, your hips, your satin-smooth neck. She slips her hands under your tank top, fingertips sending shivers up your spine as she leans in to bring her lips to yours.

You could never get tired of the way Ellie tastes - she’s addictive. Her lips are soft and smooth against yours, her taste just as tantalizing as every time before this; there’s remnants of coffee and maple syrup from this morning’s breakfast, but beneath that is a flavor distinctly her. You couldn’t put it into words even if you tried… And you’ve tried.

With only Ellie’s flannel spread out on the grass as a blanket, you lie down beneath her - but not before you’ve undressed one another, peeling layers of sweat-damp clothing from your skin, breaking between hungry kisses and shuddering breaths. Ellie’s cheeks are even more freckled in the summer, and you find freckles elsewhere, too, scattered over her shoulders and arms from long days spent in the sun. She breaks out into goosebumps when you trail kisses over her sunkissed skin, your hand slipping between her legs to find the wetness soaking her bush.

“So wet,” you murmur in awe, fingers venturing further. Ellie just moans, soft and sweet, hips canting forward as if to beg for more.

She straddles your waist to spread herself further apart for your wandering hands, your fingers dragging through her slick - you can smell her like this, sweet as honeysuckle in the summer breeze. Ellie murmurs your name like it’s a plea, and you shush her before you slip your middle finger into her silken walls. Here’s another sensation you’ll never get over: the way Ellie feels from the inside. Warm, soft, tight, and absolutely soaked. She throbs around your finger as you slide in up to the knuckle, curling your finger to brush against her sweet spot. She takes in a ragged breath and nearly collapses over you, catching herself with both palms against the grass. 

“Fuck,” she hisses. “That’s - you’re so good…”

Your palm grazes against her clit as you sink another finger into Ellie’s heat, and though her bangs have fallen to obscure some of her face, you can still see the way her eyes roll back at every sensation; the way her brows knit together when your fingers graze her insides just right.

“Doing so well for me,” you coo, voice syrupy. “Such a good girl, Ellie.”

Your voice only pushes her closer to an orgasm, her hips thrusting to rub her clit against your palm. You’re sure your fingers are pruning by now from how wet she is - you can’t wait to lick off the remnants. In the meantime, you focus on pumping your fingers inside her, fingers crooked just right. Ellie’s moans become more fervent, more breathy, until you’re sure she’s going to burst - and she does. Your name leaves her lips amidst a string of incoherent curses, her cunt clamping around your fingers as she rides out her orgasm. When she throws her head back and moans, the sunlight glints on her exposed skin, which glows with a thin layer of sweat - a sight that takes your fucking breath away.

When the post-orgasm haze fades, Ellie latches her lips to yours, and you kiss until her hands start to wander your body again - the wetness at your center is hard to ignore. 

Ellie lets you bask in the sun with your thighs around her head, her mouth slick between your legs. You’re warm and dizzy with lust as you ride her face until you reach your own peak, letting her grip your hips and ass so strongly she’ll surely leave marks.

Another reason you love summer? You couldn’t have done this on a winter patrol.

[lovesick-desires]

Could I request the following?

Character:Yandere Caitlyn

Fandom: Arcane

Concept: yandere Caitlyn with a darling on hunger strike(bacically refuses to eat unless freed)

Ty 4 reading my request!

MASTICATE

YANDERE!CAITLYN KIRAMMAN X READER — SHORT ONE-SHOT

ABSTRACT: After being kidnapped by Caitlyn, you decide to go on hunger strike to try and get her to bend to your wish for freedom. However, it does not go the way you intended... CONTENT WARNINGS: yandere behavior, dark themes, force feeding, dubious kissing, sensual touching, mentions of suicidal ideation, unhealthy eating habits, mentions of kidnapping TAGS: gender neutral reader, first time writing Caitlyn so probably ooc, (N)SFW?: slightly NSFW WORD COUNT: 1.1k+ CAITLYN'S YANDERE ARCHETYPE: possessive, protective REQUESTED BY: an anonymous user

Hunger.

It was all you could feel at this point. It tugged at your internal organs like a leash, making you yearn to consume the beautifully-curated breakfast Caitlyn brought up to you this morning, long gone cold due to its abandonment. Your eyes were unblinking as you stared at the food, wondering if the hunger strike you went on really was worth it. Your mouth watered over the fluffy pancakes besides you on a literal silver platter, a delicacy many people would fight over back in Zaun. Yet, here you were, refusing such a luxury as you cradled your rumbling stomach.

You could hear footsteps coming up the stairs towards your room that was shared with you and your captor. You knew it was her. The way her boots clacked against the finely polished tile stairs was unmistakable.

The door to the shared quarters squeaked open as Caitlyn stepped in, her icy blue eyes raking over your starving form then to the discarded breakfast. A sigh escaped her lips as she began to approach you, pulling her faded sapphirine locks back into a ponytail as her cape billowed with a purposeful flutter.

"Again?" She queried coldly, her thick brows knitted together in a soft scowl. You couldn't even look her in the eyes as she picked up the plate, hearing her scoff softly. "How long are you planning to keep this up?" She derided, looking down at the breakfast she made you before her eyes flickered to yours.

You go to turn away from her as you usual do; however, a firm hand grabs your shoulder, her nails digging into your flesh.

"Answer me. You've been doing this for a week now." She demanded, her voice cold yet holding slight empathy.

"Until you let me go." You uttered, your voice crackling from lack of use. To this, Caitlyn scoffed before putting the plate aside on the bedside table.

"That's not going to happen. You'd starve."

"So be it."

Your response seemed to snap something in her. With a firm yet gentle touch, Caitlyn grabbed you by your jawline, forcing you to look at her.

"Do you want to die?" She asked with total seriousness in her eyes, her hand trembling slightly under your chin.

No. You didn't want to die. You wanted to be free. Yet, those words couldn't leave your mouth as if they were failing you.

Caitlyn took your silence seriously as her glaucous eyes held a glint of determination.

"That will not happen." Caitlyn declared, her gaze dancing over your exasperated face. The dictator soon joined you on the bed, her thighs hovering around yours as she straddled you. Shocked by her effervescent movements, you sit up to pull away from her only for her to push against your sternum, pinning you to the headboard.

"What are you doing?" You asked as she kneeled on your hands which were by your sides, pinning them in place. She leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed the plate of cold pancakes.

"You are going to eat." She stated matter-of-factly, using the fork to slice a segment out of the pancake stack.

"N—" Before you could protest, Caitlyn inserted the fork of cold pancakes in your mouth. The taste was stale and chewy, only accentuated by the sticky, saccharine maple syrup. You tried to thrash you head away from the fork, but Caitlyn grabbed you by your hair, pain raking your scalp.

"Chew. Thoroughly." She demanded, her eyes glaring into yours. Her knees dug into your hands as you were kept effectively pinned to the mattress. She slowly pulled the fork from your lips only for her other hand to move from your hair to your mouth, keeping it pressed over so you couldn't spit out the cold, soggy pancakes. You tried to pull away, to find any way to get out of this. To this, Caitlyn dug her knees further into your hands as she leaned forward, causing mild pain and numbness in your palms. You whimpered at this only to reluctantly start chewing, your teeth mashing the food inside. To this, Caitlyn's curved into a small smile.

"Swallow." She decreed, her intense eyes watching you. You looked up at her with pleading eyes only for her to grab your face tightly, keeping her palm securely over your lips. With great reluctance, you swallowed the mashed-up pancakes, feeling them travel down your throat. Caitlyn slowly removed her hand from your mouth, smiling softly. The smile could be perceived as heartwarming if not given the current circumstance.

"Good job." She praised, brushing some of your stray hairs out of your eyes. You grunted softly at this, her fingers gently dancing against your forehead.

"You got what you wanted... Happy now?" You questioned curtly, only for Caitlyn's hand to freeze as her eyes locked on yours. Her smile slowly withered away as she looked neutral once more.

"No, no I am not." She replied as her hand slid down the side of your face, cupping your cheek. "You are going to eat the rest of the pancakes, okay?" She continued, making your blood run cold.

"N-No—"

"Yes, yes you will." She interjected, getting another forkful of pancakes ready. You pursed your lips, keeping them sealed shut between your teeth as Caitlyn raised the fork of food up to you. You shook your head vehemently only for Caitlyn to grab your jaw once more, this time more forcefully. Caitlyn kept applying pressure until it got to be too overwhelming, causing you to open your mouth. This immediately led to Caitlyn stuffing your mouth with more cold pancake bits.

This seemingly went on for what felt like hours but must have only been about fifteen minutes. You were held down and forcibly fed bite after bite of the pancakes you discarded this morning. Soon enough, all that was left on the silver platter was crumbs and cold syrup.

"Good, very good." Caitlyn praised once more as she watched you reluctantly swallow the last bite. You sighed pensively as Caitlyn finally moved her knees off your hands, leaving them red and numb in her wake. Your brows knitted together as you looked up at her as she beamed with pride.

As you went to speak, her lips passionately collided with yours. While the kiss was full of an animalistic fervor, it still held a delicate undertone to it as if she was kissing something delicate and priceless. With great reluctance, Caitlyn pulled away from the kiss, her breathing coming out in soft pants. Her eyes once again met yours as a soft smile spread across her lips.

"Next time, eat your damn food."

All Fanfics Taglist: @imhappy1299

Want to join a taglist? Click here!

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

“𝙄𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙣, 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣' 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙧-𝙛𝙧𝙮!”

synopsis: LADS men and how he’d react to your cooking+ recipes w/ links!

tags: sfw fluff nothing suggestive, pet names (cutie, sweetie)

wrd cnt: 0.7k

a/n: i loved writing this request omg ALSO the foods have links to recipes for anyone interested!

Rafayel

What are you making him…? Coconut Crab Curry!

Of course the merman is begging and begging for you to make this for him. He’s used to personal chefs and kitchen staff, but it’s more special when his cutie makes him food. Also because he’s not very adept to it….but he trusts you.

This recipe is made with lots of love and patience….emphasis on the patience. This wouldn’t be a problem, except after waiting and waiting, when you finally finish making your curry in Rafayel’s huge but barren kitchen, by the time you come back from an emergency grocery run for some lemon juice to finish it off with- he’s already cracked into half the crab legs.

“Okay Okay- Wait! I’ll go catch more by myself-!” He shouts as he’s running away from you as you chase him down with one of the few legs of crab he left in the pot. It’s safe to say he enjoyed your cooking.

Xavier

What are you making him….? Shepards Pie!

When You offered to make him a chicken pot pie- you accidentally mentioned the crust topping.

“Crust? Like Bread? No…that’s okay”. Your flatmate declined.

That’s when you offered to change it up…without the added “bread-like” top.

He was a little more excited than he thought, but he’s used to you cooking since he’s the one who put a hit on your apartment with how often the fire department had to intervene when he plays chef….

When you finally gave him a plate to enjoy with you on the couch, you ask him how it was but you’re too little too late. 2 minutes in- and he’s knocked out on the couch in a food coma. Comfort food is a little dangerous for him.

Zayne

What are you making him….? Pancakes!

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? Even if it’s full of sugar…? You side eye Zaynes breakfast requests, but you don’t complain, that much. It could be worse- at least Dr. Zayne doesn’t eat exclusively spinach smoothies and oatmeal bars for breakfast. Instead, he waits patiently as you make pancakes from scratch and load them up with chocolate chips and strawberries with whipped topping and maple syrup.

He’d gladly indulge with you, in moderation.

You’d catch him adding extra sugar on top…but when you try to interject he’d act like you’re the nagging doctor instead.

“If you’re going to enjoy something you should enjoy it to the fullest, no?” He’d say, shutting you up with a playful smile as he presses out the whipped cream.

Sylus

What are you making him….? Casoulette!

Rich, Verstile, and Classic. A dish like your partner- You wanted to make Sylus something new and special….especially when he gives you his card to go wild with at the market.

You know the duck fat and hearty nature of the dish would certainly please him… but he’s especially glad you gave him a break from all the spicy food.

You spend your afternoon making sure it tastes as good as can be, plating it up and putting it on the dining table- trying to make it as extravagant and romantic like Sylus always does for you.

When he comes home, he’s got a deep chuckle to let out once he sees the display.

“I just got a possible fraud warning call from my credit card company. I’m glad you took advantage, sweetie.” He says with a smirk, impressed with your ability to run his pocket dry with a single meal.

Caleb

What are you making him…? Tomato Egg Stirfry!

This is a special recipe from both of your childhoods. The first time you even had it, was when Caleb made it for you after you both got soaked in the rain walking home from school. The warmth and aroma was a core memory for you. This time, you decided to feed him instead.

Except you’d actually follow the recipe…instead of throwing things in a pan and gambling on it like Caleb would usually do. Somehow it would always taste good though…

When you finally make the simple but nostalgic dish, Caleb is eager and waiting as you bring a spoonful to his mouth, blowing in it for him before he take a big bite. He’d let out a long “Mmmmm” and take a few more bites and plant soft kisses on your cheek to thank you.

“Look at you, my little chef, aren’t you? It’s good.” He’d say, cheesy as ever.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[promenadewithme]

Twelve Days of Christmas - Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem! reader Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: slight angst (i swear the fluff is coming), sexual content (not sex, but mentions of it), food (sweets, coffee), established relationship (marriage and divorce), motherhood, not proofread and i'm sick so there might be some screwups along the way a/n: i swear I planned on writing a chapter a day and I'm so so so sorry for taking longer than that, but I'm really sick and can't think straight most of the day (I just finished writing this at 1am). I promise I'll try to finish this until Christmas. I hope you all like it, though <3 pls tell me if it sucks.

part 1 part 2 part 3

The rich vanilla scent of something sweet, the empty bed beside you, water running, Liv’s giggles, James’ footsteps. Any one of those things could have woken you. Even though you knew there were a few more minutes before your alarm went off, the noises were a comfort, ones you hadn’t heard in a long while. Ones you did not know if you would hear again after this holiday season. So, you sat there and absorbed it, every little crumb you could catch through the door.

As your daughter’s giggles got closer, you closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep. Liv loved waking you up, so you always let her think she did. Whispers were exchanged before the door to your bedroom opened.

“Mommy” she whispered, caressing your face “wake up, we have a surprise for you.”

Your eyes opened to a pair identical to your husband’s, the same kind, melancholy, piercing steel that reached your soul. Leaning against the door frame, food tray in hand, James watched you both. There was uncertainty in his eyes. Can I come in or not? They whispered. You didn’t know the answer, so you looked back at Liv.

“Good morning, angel” you smiled and pulled her onto the bed, hugging her tightly. Her giggles filled the room as you tickled her sides “What surprise do you have for me?” you asked once she calmed down.

“Show her, daddy.” She jumped on the bed and James finally came in, slowly and unsteady, to his side of the bed.

After lowering the tray with a tight-lipped smile, he clasped his hands behind his back. Waiting. His military training never quite leaving him. To others, it might seem like a residue habit, but you knew he acted like this when he wanted to keep his shield up. He was upset.

He has no right to be. That voice resonated in your head. And it was right. He was the one who never showed up, the one who stopped touching you, loving you. The one who walked away from this marriage, from his own family, the second things got hard. He was like a ghost, you knew he was there in the dead of night and sometimes left tracks behind, but you never actually saw him. Now it felt like you were being haunted, seeing him in broad daylight, close enough to touch. When was the last time you gazed into his eyes? The last time you saw the light stroke his hair to reveal auburn streaks? The last time you both stopped for long enough to actually look at each other?

“We made pancakes with maple syrup and coffee” Olivia said, and you realized just how long you and James had been staring at one another “Mommy, do you like it?”

Peeling your eyes away from your husband, forced the most natural smile possible “I love it, sweetie. Thank you so much.” You kissed her forehead before looking back at James “And thank you, daddy.”

“You’re welcome.” He nodded, a faint blush painting his cheeks.

God, he was beautiful. You missed this, you missed him. There was so much you wanted to say. You wanted to yell at him, and kiss him, and ask so many questions, then hit him, but then kiss him better again. You wanted any excuse to put your hands on him.

Maybe I’m making a mistake. You thought gingerly.

But then his phone rang, and he said he had to take it outside. Then he left. Again. For what most probably was a work call.

Or not, the anxiety whispered, what would he have to hide from work?

Forcing yourself to believe it was paranoia, remembering that his clients were confidential, and that Liv had school, you brought yourself back to the present. It didn’t even matter anyways, in twelve days you would start the divorce process and all of this would be over.

“Have you eaten?” you asked Liv.

She gave you a sheepish grin and you already knew she had eaten the batter while they were making it.

“What?” you poked, matching her smile. You couldn’t help it, she was just too cute.

“I ate the batter.” She whisper-shouted and hid her head in the pillow.

You stifled a laugh and questioned whether or not she was still hungry, the answer being no. Hand in hand, you took your daughter to her room, leaving her to pick out her outfit of the day while you grabbed her lunch from the fridge and filled her water bottle. After a few minutes, she walked out with her still- tangled hair, a hideous Christmas sweater and pink leggings. Nothing matched, yet it was so authentically Olivia.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

Her answer was running back into her room. No, then. You were leaving her things by the door when James came back in.

“Do you want me to drop her off?” he asked quietly, putting his phone back into his pocket.

“No need, I’m taking her then meeting Wanda for coffee after she drops off Billy and Tommy.” You say, rushing into your room to change into something presentable. Since you were already off work, there was no need to dress business, so you picked out the first gym set you saw. Navy pants and jacket, along with a white top, that hugged your curves perfectly. You remembered James saying he loved how it made you look months ago. He also showed you how it made him feel. It had been a particularly good nailing. To the counter, then against the wall, the bed… You wondered if he still remembered, if you still turned him on.

He was staring at it like maybe he did, but you couldn’t be sure. You were never sure when it came to him these days. The silence was getting far too loud, him just standing against the door looking all gorgeous and delectable, looking at you. It made you feel like when you met him all over again. Not quite certain if he hated you or wanted to fuck your brains out. It always made you say the most awkward things, like the phrase that came out of your mouth before you could help yourself.

“You could tag along if you want” you offered a smile “Though I don’t know if Wanda would want to say certain girl things in front of you, so maybe we could get you a seat by the window, a few tables away from us. I could still get you a macchiato, though. Maybe even something with cinnamon, I don’t know if they still have it, but it would be quite festive, right? I might just get myself a tall glass of Christmas. Christmas in a cup. What rhymes with Christmas?”

You couldn’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth, you usually couldn’t when you were nervous. And you were. This was your best friend, your husband, but also a stranger you weren’t sure you recognized, someone you would soon only have one tie left with.

His eyes gleamed as he looked at you, looking almost in awe, an almost smile creeping in. That is, before he remembered his phone call.

“I wish I could, doll, I really do. But that was Stark on the phone”

“Right.” You nodded curtly, tongue against your front teeth, trying your hardest not to pick a fight over the same topic over and over again. Walking into the bathroom, you slammed the door and started to change.

There it was, the reason you were unhappy in the first place. Your husband was a workaholic. He had a problem, and he did not know how to set boundaries when it came to his boss. He was supposed to be home, with his family, and there he went back. Couldn’t even wait a whole day before giving up on giving his daughter a happy holiday.

“I’m sorry.” He said against the door.

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” You spat out, wiping a stray tear and zipping up your jacket.

“I mean it. You won’t even notice I’m gone. I’ll be back before you know it, before you’re home. I promise”

You opened the door, revealing your husband leaning against it with those same kicked puppy eyes. So unfair considering he was the one doing all the kicking. You should be the one with the adorable puppy eyes. Fucking unfair that you couldn’t stay mad at him when you looked at them. So, you didn’t, you looked anywhere but his eyes. You wanted to stay mad. You couldn’t back out, especially now that you knew he would never change.

“I really don’t care, James. Stay, go, never come back for all I care” You tied your hair in the best ponytail you could muster to keep you busy “You’re never here and we’re doing just fine without you anyways.”

You knew it hit a nerve and you were too scared to look at just how sad he was, so you grabbed your things and met Liv, who waited patiently on the couch. You truly hoped she hadn’t heard anything. You were, after all, doing this for her. With both your jackets, gloves, and scarves on, Liv waves goodbye to her father, who wished her a good day. When she just smiled and grabbed your hand to lead you out the door, you knew everything would be okay. Even if you weren’t.

You relied solely on muscle memory to drop her off since your head was miles away.

“Why was daddy home today?” she asked when you were nearing the school.

Pondering your choices, you glanced at Liv. Should you tell her or not? Would James keep up his end of the bargain or would you both be disappointed again? The last thing you wanted was for your daughter to be sad. He did promise, though…

“Your dad is going to be working a little less during the holidays.” You decided was good enough “He wants to spend more time with you.”

“Really?” she beamed “Oh, we could go ice skating, make gingerbread cookies, watch the grinch, and put up the tree. It’s going to be so much fun.”

You hoped so, you truly did.

“Why don’t you make a list of things you want to do with us before the holidays end and give it to me after school?”

She nodded profusely, grin never leaving her face, and you couldn’t help but smile along with her. Being a mother wasn’t always easy but seeing that you managed to make your child happy made it all worthwhile.

 “Alright, time to go” you said, putting your car in neutral and handing Liv her lunch “Have fun, be nice, and learn a lot, okay?”

“Okay, mamma.” She blew you a kiss as she left and you drove off to meet with Wanda for your weekly coffee date.

Wanda was an unexpected friendship, one of those who came out of the blue. She had just moved into town with her husband and twins, but the other moms apparently thought she was ‘too weird’ and someone heard rumors she was a witch. You happened to think there was no such thing as too weird and that witched were quite cool. She turned out to be an incredibly sensitive soul and amazing friend. So, their loss.

The sweet aromas of ground coffee bean, vanilla, caramel, and pastries filled your nose as soon as you stepped into Sweet Tooth, the town’s renown bakery. Known for their amazing seasonal beverages, fluffy cakes, litany of focaccia flavors, and Peggy – the owner and best baker this town has seen. It also helped that the place was a cozy little slice of heaven. You could choose a seat by the window and watch the snow fall as the coffee went cold, or maybe you preferred a place on one of the burgundy couches, the mahogany counters were also nice when you were in a hurry. Either way, there was always a place for you, and Wanda had already found yours for the morning.

“Hi.” She waved you over with a smile, scrunching her nose in delight “It’s so good to see you.”

“You have no idea how good it is to see you.” You said, bringing her into a tight hug.

“What’s going on?” she asked, sitting down on the couch.

Should you tell her or was it too personal? Your mother always did say that a couples’ business was only their own. But she was miles away and your marriage was falling apart. You weren’t even sure if you could be considered a couple anymore. Everything was so confusing.

“It’s a long story.” You settled with.

“I’ve got nothing but time.” She smiled warmly, caressing your hand “Besides, the coffee will be here any minute and I ordered some cinnamon rolls to go with it as well as some Parma focaccia. We’re in for a Christmas brunch here.”

You nodded, gathering your thoughts, but nothing came out except for “James and I are getting divorced.”

“What?” She gasped “Oh, sweetie, what did he do? Did he cheat?”

“No.”

“Did he hurt you? Oh, I swear I’ll end him if he did.” She said, rage in her eyes.

“No, nothing like that.” You were sure he never could.

She turned her head to the side “Then, what?”

“Well, it sounds kind of silly now…” you admitted, sudden tears brewing in your eyes.

“(y/n), sweetie,” she held both your hands, scooting closer “nothing that makes you feel bad is ever silly.”

“I just…” you looked at the ceiling trying not to cry “I feel so alone, like there is only one person in this marriage. He’s never home, we barely even talk anymore, he hasn’t touched me in months, and I just feel like… Like maybe he fell out of love with me a long time ago but is too afraid or too stubborn to tell me and end this once and for all. To let us both be free, be happy. So I told him yesterday night that I wanted a divorce.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said that he’d sign the papers after the holidays were over. We’re giving Liv one last Christmas as a family before we have to share her between Christmas, New Years, Easter, birthdays and god knows what else.” Leaning forwards and resting your head between your hands, you wondered what you could have done differently “This is a mess I never wanted.”

“No one ever wants to be divorced,” she stroked your back “But it’s his loss. I know it’s a cliché to say it, but it’s true. You are a remarkable woman. You are smart, kind, incredibly beautiful, and, in the time I have known you, proved to be a beautiful soul with a heart of gold. If he can’t see that, if he doesn’t want you, then he truly is losing the most amazing woman he could have ever asked for. So, his loss.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you hugged her tightly. Wanda held you, hand running up and down your back in an attempt to warm up your soul.

“If there is ever anything I can do to help, you tell me, okay?”

You nodded against her hair, that shined copper in the daylight. “Thank you for being here, for helping me through this.”

“Of course,” she smiled and rubbed your shoulders “that’s what friends are for.”

Wanda walking into your life was a blessing you didn’t know what you did to deserve, but you would be forever grateful for her. Good or bad days, she was always here. Gossips sessions, crying sessions, trauma dumps, – and now divorces – there was no theme she could not cover, no day she couldn’t brighten with a nose scrunch and an open heart.

“I think that’s us” she said before the barista called out her name “Stay put. I’ll be right back, and we’ll start planning a girl’s trip for next year. God knows we both need a rest from men and cleaning up toys.”

Ain’t that the truth. You thought. A girl’s trip to somewhere with no men, the peace of mind that comes with not having to worry about your husband… maybe even a new vibrator. Something with lots of fancy functions that promises the best orgasm of your life. Yeah, you could get used to that. Maybe being single again wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

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[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER FINAL PART | MV1

an: i bet you guys thought i forgot about this, i didn't. i just didn't want to say goodbye to them just yet because this is officially the end of our favourite couple. i'm defo going to miss them a lot and i hope you enjoyed them as much as i did.

wc: 3.6k

previous part

THE HOUSE WAS QUIETER than it used to be. It wasn’t silent—there was no such thing in a house with three kids, even if they were teenagers now—but the chaos had mellowed into a rhythm.

Theo, now eighteen, had shot up like a weed and was nearly as tall as Max. He spent most of his time tinkering in the garage with his dad, learning the ins and outs of engines and dreaming about rebuilding the motorbike Max had never fully let go of.

Mary-Ann, sixteen and the spitting image of her mother, had inherited her sass and determination. She was perched at the kitchen table, headphones on, doing homework—or pretending to, judging by the way she was doodling flowers in the margins of her notebook.

And Daniel, their youngest, now twelve, was sprawled on the living room floor with a pile of Legos, determined to construct the "coolest car ever" and occasionally asking Max for design advice. 

Max leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee. The years had been kind to him, though there was a little more grey in his beard and a few more lines around his eyes. He wore them well, a testament to a life lived fully.

His gaze drifted to his wife, who was standing at the stove flipping pancakes. She hummed under her breath, her hair tied up in a loose bun, a familiar warmth radiating from her. The sight of her, even after all these years, still made his heart skip a beat.

“Need a hand, angel?” he asked, setting his mug down.

She glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “I’ve got it. You just make sure Daniel doesn’t eat the syrup straight out of the bottle again.”

Max chuckled, ruffling Daniel’s hair as he walked past. “You hear that, buddy? No syrup until the pancakes are on the plate.”

Daniel groaned but nodded, his focus back on his Legos.

Once the pancakes were ready, the family gathered around the table, the smell of maple syrup and butter filling the room. Theo and Mary-Ann bickered over who got the last pancake until their mum intervened, splitting it in half with a raised brow that said don’t push your luck.

Max leaned back in his chair, watching his family with quiet contentment. They weren’t perfect—there were still squabbles, slammed doors, and the occasional teenage attitude—but they were his. They were hers. And they’d built this life together, brick by brick, from nothing.

Later that day, Max and Theo were in the garage, going over the specs of a carburetor Theo had salvaged from the junkyard.

“Think we can make it work?” Theo asked, his voice filled with the kind of excitement only an eighteen year old with a dream to take over his dad’s garage could muster.

Max grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “We can make anything work if we put in the effort.”

Mary-Ann wandered in, rolling her eyes, hands glued to her phone - something Max realised she was doing more often. “Mum said you two need to stop talking about car parts long enough to eat lunch. Also, Daniel wants to know if he can use the drill.”

But Max chose peace and never mentioned it as he snorted “Absolutely not.”

Mary-Ann smirked. “I told him you’d say that.”

When dinner rolled around, Max watched as her phone lit up and she smiled. All of this had started innocently enough. Mary-Ann had come home from school, cheeks pink and a slight bounce in her step, and casually mentioned during dinner that a boy had asked her out on a date.

She might as well have set off a grenade.

Theo, who had been lazily poking at his mashed potatoes, froze mid-bite. His eyes snapped up to his sister with the kind of intensity usually reserved for critical engine failures. “I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel, sitting next to him, dropped his fork entirely. At twelve, he wasn’t entirely sure what “dating” entailed, but he knew enough to side with his older brother. “Nope. Not happening.”

Even Max, who had been chewing a piece of chicken, paused. He set down his knife and fork, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms. “Who’s this kid?”

Mary-Ann groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my gosh, this is why I didn’t want to say anything!”

Her mum, sitting at the head of the table, was trying—and failing—not to laugh. She sipped her water to hide her grin, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let the poor girl live, you three.”

But the boys were relentless.

Theo, the self-appointed enforcer, turned to Mary-Ann with a raised brow. “What’s his name? Is he in your grade? What’s his deal?”

Daniel piped up, his brows furrowed in a stern expression that would have been intimidating if he weren’t still twelve. “Does he know we’ve got a garage full of tools? And Dad has a hammer?”

Max nodded sagely, playing along. “Big hammer.”

Mary-Ann threw up her hands. “You guys are ridiculous! It’s just one date!”

Theo leaned forward, fixing her with a deadpan stare. “And that’s how it starts. First it’s one date, and then he’s calling you all the time, and then—”

“—he’s asking you to marry him!” Daniel chimed in, clearly pleased with his contribution.

Max smirked, glancing at his wife. “We’re just looking out for her, angel. Can’t have some punk kid messing with our Mary-Ann.”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “She’s sixteen, Max. Let her figure it out.”

Mary-Ann crossed her arms, glaring at her family. “You’re all the worst. Mum, do something!”

But her mum just shrugged, biting back another laugh. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re on your own. This is way too entertaining.”

Mary-Ann groaned, pushing back from the table. “I can’t believe you guys! I’m going to my room.”

As she stomped off, Theo called after her. “You’re not leaving this house until we meet him!”

Daniel added, “And I’m bringing the hammer!”

Max, unable to resist, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “BIG hammer!”

Her mum finally burst out laughing, shaking her head as she looked at her husband and sons. “You three are unbelievable.”

Max grinned, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? We’re a protective bunch.”

Daniel puffed out his chest. “Yeah, Mum! We’re protecting her honour.”

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it one day. Maybe.”

Max winked at her. “Just doing our duty, angel.”

And that day did roll around.

The atmosphere in the head teacher’s office was tense—at least, it was supposed to be. Theo sat in the chair next to his parents, arms crossed, chin jutting out defiantly like a boxer after a victory. His knuckles were still a little red, and there was a faint smudge of what could only be described as "evidence" on his school blazer.

The head teacher, a middle-aged man with a thin mustache and a receding hairline, sighed heavily as he glanced over the disciplinary report in front of him. “Mr. and Mrs. Verstappen, I’ve called you here because your son, Theo, punched another student today. Quite hard, I might add.”

Mary-Ann, sitting to the side with her own chair, looked both embarrassed and secretly pleased as she avoided her brother's gaze.

Max sat back, trying—really trying—not to crack a smile. He’d been biting the inside of his cheek since they arrived, but the mental image of Theo landing the punch was too much. His lips twitched dangerously, and he coughed to cover the beginnings of a chuckle.

His wife shot him a sharp look. “Max.” Her voice was low, a warning in one word.

Theo, sensing the opportunity for backup, jumped in. “It wasn’t my fault! He called Mary-Ann a...a...” He hesitated, glancing nervously at his mother.

The head teacher cleared his throat uncomfortably. “A ‘church freak,’ I believe, was the term used. Followed by...other comments.”

Max’s lips pressed together tightly, his shoulders shaking as he fought the laugh bubbling up. He turned his head away, trying to disguise it as clearing his throat.

Theo, emboldened by his dad’s silent support, added, “Yeah, so I punched him! Right in the mouth.” He demonstrated with his fist, making a swooping motion like a dramatic action movie. “I didn’t even miss!”

Max lost it. A short laugh burst out before he could stop it, and he quickly turned it into a cough. His wife’s head snapped toward him. “Max Emilian!”

Her tone was scolding, but there was a flicker of amusement she couldn’t quite hide.

Max held up his hands in mock surrender. “What? The kid’s got good aim!”

The head teacher looked horrified. “Mr. Verstappen, this is hardly something to celebrate. Violence is unacceptable under any circumstances—”

“He started it!” Theo interrupted, glaring at the head teacher.

Max leaned forward, his voice mock-serious. “Way to go, buddy.” He reached out and fist-bumped Theo before his wife could stop him.

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Max, you’re not helping.”

Mary-Ann finally spoke up, her voice small. “He only did it because he was sticking up for me. It’s...kind of sweet.”

Her mum sighed, turning her attention back to Theo. “Theo, you can’t just go around punching people, no matter what they say.”

Theo blinked at her, his face scrunching up in confusion. “But Dad did. He punched your dad, and no one told him off.”

Max froze, wide-eyed. “Whoa, whoa, let’s not drag me into this.”

But his wife turned to him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Oh no, you’re definitely getting dragged into this. Theo wouldn’t be punching anyone if you hadn’t decked my dad in front of him.”

Max rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I mean...to be fair, your dad deserved it.”

“And that’s exactly what Theo thinks about this kid!” She gestured at their son, who looked increasingly smug.

The head teacher cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “Mr. and Mrs. Verstappen, while I understand the context, the school has a zero-tolerance policy for violence. Theo will need to serve a two-day suspension.”

Max shrugged. “Two days? That’s not bad. Maybe we can—”

His wife slapped his arm lightly. “Stop encouraging him!”

Theo grinned, clearly unrepentant, and looked up at his dad. “Can we go home now?”

Max ruffled his hair. “Sure thing, champ. You earned a break.”

His wife threw her hands in the air, muttering something about boys and her fate of living with three of them. Despite her frustration, though, there was a small smile on her face as they walked out of the office.

As Max and Theo bolted out of the school building, laughter echoing in the hallway as they raced each other to the parking lot, she shook her head with a small, amused smile. Mary-Ann stayed by her side, clutching her school bag as they walked together at a slower pace.

Her daughter’s quietness didn’t go unnoticed. She looked down, noticing how Mary-Ann stared at the floor, her brows furrowed in thought. Gently, she placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“You okay, baby?” she asked softly.

Mary-Ann shrugged, hesitating for a moment. “I guess. Just...what that kid said about me at school.”

Her heart sank. She crouched down a little to meet Mary-Ann’s eyes, pausing in the hallway. “It’s okay if it upset you, you know. What he said was mean, and he was wrong.”

Mary-Ann chewed her lip, looking conflicted. “He called me a ‘church freak.’ I guess I don’t really know if I am one. Is it...bad?”

She felt her chest tighten at the vulnerability in her daughter’s voice. She took Mary-Ann’s hand and gave it a squeeze, guiding her to sit on a nearby bench where they could talk.

“I know how you feel,” she admitted after a moment. “When I was your age, I got called things like that too. Kids made fun of me for going to church, for praying, for all the little things I believed in. And it hurt.”

Mary-Ann blinked, her curiosity piqued. “Really? You got made fun of too?”

She nodded. “I did. A lot. But you know what? It doesn’t matter what they think. You don’t have to go to church just because I do. If you don’t like it, or if it makes you feel weird, you don’t have to keep going.”

Mary-Ann looked up at her in surprise. “You mean that?”

Her heart twisted as she nodded. Christianity was such a core part of her own life, something that had anchored her during her darkest moments. Letting go of the idea of her children growing up in the church wasn’t easy, but she also knew she couldn’t force it. Faith had to be their choice.

“I do, baby. What’s most important is that you feel comfortable. It’s not about what Dad or I want for you—it’s about what you want for yourself. Okay?”

For a moment, Mary-Ann said nothing, her little face thoughtful. Then she smiled, small but genuine. “I like going to church. I like Sunday school, and singing the songs. And I don’t care if kids at school think it’s weird.”

She felt a wave of relief and pride as she pulled her daughter into a hug. “That’s my girl. You’re so brave, you know that?”

Mary-Ann grinned against her shoulder. “Thanks, Mum.”

The sound of Max and Theo shouting in the distance broke the tender moment, and she shook her head as she helped Mary-Ann up.

“Come on. Let’s see if those two actually waited for us at the car or if they’re already halfway through that oil change.”

Mary-Ann giggled. “Dad’s definitely winning. Theo’s fast, but Dad’s faster.”

“Let’s go find out.” She smiled, holding Mary-Ann’s hand as they walked toward the parking lot.

Later that day, when the sun set and all of them had packed up the dinner table, Max found himself curled up on the sofa with his wife. His arm was draped around her shoulders, her head resting on his chest, their legs tangled as they relished a rare quiet moment. The kids had been unusually calm after dinner, and they’d taken full advantage of the lull.

But the calm didn’t last.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the peace, and all three kids came bounding into the room. Theo was leading the charge, with Mary-Ann and little Daniel trailing close behind, their faces lit up with excitement and mischief.

Max groaned, shifting slightly but keeping her close. “There goes the quiet.”

She smiled, sitting up just as Theo hopped onto the armrest of the couch. Mary-Ann plopped herself between her parents, while Daniel crawled up onto Max’s lap, nestling in without hesitation. At his age of 12, he just got away with it.

“What’s up, guys?” his wife asked, amused by their sudden energy.

Theo spoke first, his voice laced with curiosity. “How did you guys meet?”

She exchanged a look with Max, one eyebrow raised. “Where’s this coming from?”

Mary-Ann piped up, clearly eager to share. “We were looking in Dad’s office—”

Max’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Wait, wait. You were snooping in my garage? What were you doing in there?”

Daniel, ever the bold one, looked up at his dad with an innocent expression. “Pictures! We saw pictures!”

Theo nodded, practically bouncing now. “Yeah, pictures of you two when you were younger! You looked so different, Mum. And Dad didn’t have any grey hairs!”

Max snorted. “Gee, thanks, bud. Remind me who gave me these grey hairs.” He shot a mock glare at Theo, who grinned unrepentantly.

Their mother, who was laughing now, shook her head as she ruffled Mary-Ann’s hair. “You guys found the old photos, huh?”

Mary-Ann nodded, her eyes wide with wonder. “Mum, you looked so pretty in your dress, and Dad looked cool with his jacket and helmet.”

Max smirked, leaning back into the couch. “Cool, huh? You hear that, Angel? They think I’m cool.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “You’re inflating his ego, guys. So, why do you want to know how we met?”

Daniel, still snuggled in Max’s lap, whispered conspiratorially, “Was it like a movie?”

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around Daniel. “Sort of. It started with a Church and a bit of my chivalry. And maybe a little bad timing.”

She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with fond memories. “He was as stubborn as he is today, kept offering to carry some boxes for me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Max teased, brushing a kiss against her temple.

Theo leaned forward, his curiosity insatiable. “So, you just saw Mum and were like, ‘She’s the one’?”

Max pretended to think for a moment. “Pretty much. Your mum was gorgeous. Still is. But it wasn’t just that. She had this thing about her—strong, determined, kind. She made me feel like maybe I could be a better man.”

She rolled her eyes but was clearly touched. “Oh, stop. You’re making me blush.”

Mary-Ann sighed dreamily. “That’s so cute. I want a love story like that one day.”

Max groaned dramatically, covering his face with a hand. “No. Absolutely not. You’re staying single forever.”

Mary-Ann smacked his arm lightly, laughing. “Dad!”

Daniel, trying to stay on topic, asked, “Then what happened? After the parking lot?”

She smiled, pulling her kids’ attention to her. “A lot happened. We fell in love. We got married. And then we had you guys. And that’s the best part of the whole story.”

As the laughter faded and the kids began settling down, she found herself staring at the curious, innocent faces of her children. Their questions had slowed, but the warmth of the moment lingered, leaving her with a quiet space to think.

The memories came rushing back—the hurried whispers in the dark, the rumble of Max’s motorbike as they fled the life she’d desperately wanted to escape. The fear, the uncertainty, and the overwhelming relief when she finally felt free.

They deserve to know, she thought, her gaze drifting to Theo, who was fiddling with the hem of his shirt, and Mary-Ann, who was resting her head against her shoulder. Even Daniel, with his sleepy eyes and little fingers clutching Max’s sleeve.

But how could she tell them? How could she explain the life she’d left behind without tainting their view of the world? Of family?

Her chest tightened at the thought. What if knowing changed how they saw her? Or worse, how they saw Max?

She bit her lip, glancing at him. He was leaning back on the couch, his arm resting along the backrest, his other hand absently ruffling Daniel’s hair. His eyes caught hers, and his brow quirked slightly, a silent question: You okay?

She nodded subtly, offering him a small smile.

No, she decided. Not now. Not yet.

They were still so young, their world so pure. If she told them the truth, it wouldn’t be to satisfy curiosity or ease her own conscience—it would have to be necessary, something they were ready to hear. And she would know when that moment came.

For now, she tucked the thoughts away, sealing them behind the same mental door she’d locked so many years ago.

And that’s how life was for the Verstappens.

Years passed, but the heart of their family never wavered. She and Max, once two young souls bound by circumstance and love, had built a life that was both imperfect and extraordinary.

The children grew, each carving their own paths in the world. Theo, ever protective and headstrong, went on to study engineering, inspired by the hours spent in the garage with his dad. He eventually took over the family’s repair shop, rebranding it with a sleek new sign that read “Verstappen & Son’s Auto.” He still teased Mary-Ann mercilessly but remained her fiercest defender.

Mary-Ann, with her gentle strength and quiet faith, became a teacher. She carried her mother’s warmth into the classroom, where she guided and inspired children from all walks of life. Her love for the church endured, but she carried it as her own, unpressured by anyone. She often joked with her parents that her students were easier to handle than her brothers.

And Daniel—sweet, clever Daniel—emerged as the family dreamer. With a heart as big as his father’s and a mind as sharp as his mother’s, he pursued a career in writing, crafting stories that captured the chaos and beauty of family life. His parents swore they recognised pieces of themselves in his characters, though he always denied it with a smirk.

She and Max grew older, their once fiery love mellowing into something deeper and even more unshakable. The garage was still Max’s domain, though he worked less and spent more time tinkering for fun. She often joined him, still the same girl who’d fallen for him in that tiny trailer all those years ago.

The white picket fence eventually aged, its paint chipping in places, but it stood strong—just like them. Sunday dinners became a cherished tradition, with laughter filling the house as their children and, later, their grandchildren gathered around the same worn dining table.

In the end, their lives weren’t perfect. They had their disagreements, their challenges, their moments of doubt. But they always had each other, and that made all the difference.

And as they sat together on the porch in their twilight years, Max’s hand in hers, the memories of their wild, beautiful journey were enough to fill a lifetime.

Because that’s how life was for the Verstappens—a story of love, resilience, and the kind of family you fight for, cherish, and hold onto forever.

the end.

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt @hellowgoodbye @maximuminfluencerstarlight @lottalove4evelyn @piceous21 @ladscarlett @leclerc13 @linnygirl09 @labelledejourr @cmleitora @fortunapre @felicityforyou @isagrace22 @bookishnerd1132 @formulaal @mastermindbaby @daddyslittlevillain @inmynotes63 @litllefox @hollstopia @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[spidercatweb]

Pancakes ★ Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: gn!bau!reader, no use of y/n, pure fluff and cuteness!! they are soooo in love, domestic Spence and reader.. ouuugh. my beloveds. r plays sudoku because r is me for real.

Description: You spend a slow, quiet morning w/ Spencer and you make pancakes for breakfast. <3

Word Count: 862

A/n: i NEEEEEED this i need him. i need to wake up next to him so so bad.

Calm, quiet mornings were rare while working at the BAU, but today, miraculously, the team wasn’t called in at 5am. You lay on your back next to Spencer in his bed, basking blissfully in the sunlight peeking through the curtains. His arm is draped over your stomach, Spencer is still fast asleep. For a while, you just lay there with your eyes closed, listening to your boyfriend’s calm, steady breaths.

You turn carefully on your side to face him, lifting his arm off of you then placing it back down. You look over to him, his brown curls messily sprawled out on his pillow. You move a few loose strands out of his face, lightly brushing the side of his face as you do so. Your hand lingers, caressing his face. His breath stutters slightly, but he stays asleep.

***

You must have fallen back asleep, because when you next open your eyes, you’ve somehow tangled your legs with Spencer’s, and he’s wide awake. You startle slightly at his open eyes so close to your face. 

“Good morning.” His voice is still laced with sleep. He slides a warm hand up and down your side.

“Morning, Spence.” You smile, squeezing your eyes shut while you stretch. “No call from Hotch yet?”

“Mm-mm.” He shakes his head. “It’s 8:30, by the way, we should probably eat something.”

You sigh, “I guess you’re right.” You sit up against the headboard, still not entirely awake. Spencer moves with you, sitting up beside you, he presses a kiss to your shoulder on his way up. After that, you gently grab his face, giving him a real kiss, which elicits a surprised squeak from him.

“What do you want for breakfast?” You ask, still holding his blushing face.

“Umm- Wait, what? No- this is my apartment, I’m not going to make you make breakfast for me.” He huffs out a small laugh in disbelief.

“But I want to. I like making things for you.” You pause to think. “Do you have pancake mix?” A grin spreads across your face, your eyes glimmer.

He giggles, immediately giving up on the idea of not letting you make breakfast. “I think I still have some that you brought over here, actually.”

“Perfect.” You peck his cheek before rolling out of bed. You head to the bathroom before the kitchen. You brush your hair and teeth, and wash your face. Spencer goes in after you when you head to the kitchen. You don’t change out of your pajamas, why would you waste a nice outfit when you could be cozy? Spencer doesn’t change either.

As you grease the frying pan, Spencer is still in his room. He sprinkles some fish food into his tank filled with various types of differently striped fish. He stays and watches them for a few moments before joining you in the kitchen.

You hear his footsteps behind you as you pour some batter into the pan. “Hi.” He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Hi.” You brush a hand over his. “How many do you want?” You point to the sizzling pan with the spatula.

He hums into your shoulder. “Two is good.” 

“Okay. There’s probably going to be extra. That’s perfect though, we’ll have leftovers.” You flip the pancake on the pan, revealing the golden-brown underside.

***

You set your plates down on the kitchen table, two pancakes each. You leave a plate with the extra pancakes on the counter to cool before you put them in the fridge. Spencer grabs the maple syrup and forks. He places them on the table as well.

“Oh, do you have any frozen fruit?” You ask, wanting to add a little something else to your breakfast.

“Uh, yeah. Strawberries. I use them for smoothies.” He nods. 

You return to the kitchen and open up the freezer, grabbing the bag of frozen strawberries. You pour some into a bowl. “Do you want some?”

“Yes please.” He smiles

You microwave the strawberries until they’re warm and syrupy, perfect for pancakes. You pour half of the bowl onto your stack of pancakes, along with a generous amount of syrup, handing the toppings off to Spencer when you’re done.

***

When you’re both finished eating, Spencer insists on cleaning up, which you let him do. You’d feel bad not helping, so you put some things back in the fridge. He tells you about the history of pancakes while you lean on the kitchen counter, out of his way.

***

You spend the rest of your morning in the living room, having quiet, calm conversations with Spencer as he reads, and you fill out puzzles in your sudoku book. You make sure to keep the puzzles out of his sight, because he’d be itching to help you as soon as he saw them. You only ask him for help when you need it, and he appreciates it every time, giving you little hints to help you see which numbers go where.

Of course, as usual, your peace is interrupted by a call from Hotch. At least you got to spend your morning with your favourite person in the world.

Thank you for reading! <3

Feedback is very much appreciated!

My requests are open!

🪻

[luveline]

Hii

Whenever you have time could you please do more single dad!Spencer. It’s just too cute and it really warms my heart how you write it.

tysm ♡ dad!spencer and his daughter amanda find their reunion unexpectedly interrupted when you need a place to stay the night. fem!reader, 3.4k

Spencer doesn't mind how tactile Amanda is. If anything, he loves it, content to have her sitting in his lap or on his hip, anywhere he goes and anywhere she wants to be. He tries to get in as much affectionate time with her as he can when he's home to make up for his days away. 

He doesn't like missing her, but he loves coming home. Amy sits on his stomach while Spencer lays on the couch, using his thighs as a backboard while they both fail to pay attention to the kids cartoons on their TV. 

"Were you good for Mrs. Gomorrah?" he asks, though he knows she was. He had to live through the agony that was teaching Mrs. Gomorrah how to text on a cell phone he bought for her years ago, but it was worth it to get those incremental updates that he relies on every day to get to the next without catching a flight home.

Amy had pizza 

Amy misses you. She said she is kissing you through my phone

Wants a new dress for school party tonight, emergency money OK to use? said she loves you 

Aaskkk k k o 

Sorry, accidentally texted you, Amanda made dinner tonight [photo]

The text messages help being far away feel less like torture. Spencer loves his job but he wonders if he should love it less, sometimes, when Mrs. Gomorrah remembers how to send photos, or when he can make it back to the hotel before bed time and call Amy.

But here she is in the flesh. Spencer doesn't worry about work when she's holding his hand. 

"I was good," she confirms, wiping hair from her face with a blue sleeve. She's in her pyjamas at three thirty. Spencer's in his matching set, blue long sleeve t-shirts with two dogs —a grown up and a puppy, seemingly a dad dog and his daughter— on the shirt and miniature dogs on the pants. "Promise. We did fruit kebabs last night." 

Spencer saw photos, but he still says, "Yeah? What fruits did you have? You know, strawberries will be extra yummy again soon because they're back in season." 

"We had strawberries, and bananas, and the green one, kiwi." She puts one of her feet up on his chest. He makes wide eyes at it to hear her giggle. "And with chocolate and maple syrup, it was really yummy." 

"We should make Tanghulu." 

This is a new word for Amy. "Tanghulu?" 

"It started with a berry called Chinese hawthorn, but now people use lots of different fruits. You make a fruit kebab, but instead of chocolate, you dip the fruit into hot sugar and it goes hard as it cools like rock candy, and you have good strong teeth, so you could eat it no problem." 

"It turns the fruit into candy?" she asks, wiggling her toes. 

"Kind of." Spencer covers her foot with his hand unthinkingly. She looks tired already though it's only the afternoon. She gets very tired when Spencer comes home, like she'd been waiting. "Do you want to have a nap with me, sweetpea?" 

"No, I don't think so."

Spencer made a mistake when she was younger. He thought leaving while she was sleeping would make it easier to say goodbye. It was for him, but Amy didn't sleep or eat right for days, and Spencer had to come home before the case was over to stop her from making herself sick. They've worked on it, Spencer never ever leaves without saying goodbye, but she still gets scared to sleep when they're together sometimes. 

He ushers her forward. "Come here," he says, "quick, give me a hug." She flops forward and Spencer arranges her into a cuddle, hand against her hair, his nose pressed to her forehead. "I missed you." 

"Missed you more," she says. 

"Not true. I missed you so much." 

"Don't go away again for a day," she says. 

"I'm staying home for a whole week. Maybe longer, okay? But I promise you, seven whole days no matter what." And he means it. The only thing that could change his mind is a mass murder situation, but otherwise, they'll have to make it work without him. He hates to say that kind of thing, but he has to say it, because Amy is his first priority. 

She relaxes into his arms. "Okay." 

His phone rings, because of course it does. Amy frowns her displeasure with tears shining silver in her eyes. Spencer shakes his head at her, "I'm not going, Ames. I promised. I won't answer anybody, this week is just going to be me and you." 

She glares at the phone and rests her chubby cheek on his chest. Spencer wonders if it's uncomfortable considering his lack of padding and sits up with an arm behind her seatbelting her to his front. "Let's go watch TV in bed." 

Her hands grab at the back of his shirt. "Bring your phone, dad," she says. 

Spencer kisses the side of her head. "No, I told you already, I'm not going." 

"What if Mrs. Gomorrah wants to come for dinner?" she asks, her voice smaller, sleepy. She rubs her face into his front. 

It's a good point. Spencer picks up his phone to check if it was her and frowns at the missed call. It's you. You've texted him too. 

"It's Y/N," he says. 

Amy knows you because whenever he's had to bring her with him (not often, but occasionally on regular work days when there's school reset days), you're very, very kind to her. You're not sure of yourself around kids but it doesn't matter, you let Amy sit with you if she wants to and you always talk to her with care, offer her snacks, anything that you can share. 

It's why he calls you back. That, and you're a nice friend. 

— 

You're feeling about as ashamed and sheepish as a girl can be as you take the elevator up to Spencer's floor. You don't want to impose on anybody, but you'd rather have died than ask Hotch, JJ's taking a vacation in Santa Monica, Penelope's on a conference with Kevin, Emily chose to use her week on an undisclosed trip, and Morgan was similarly off the radar. 

And you know Spencer has Amanda, you know they've been apart for longer than they've been together this month, and you hate interrupting their time together, but… you couldn't stay home no matter how badly you wanted to. Stupid landlord. Stupid cockroaches and stupid fumigation tents.

You carry your go bag with nothing but a week's worth of dirty clothes and your wallet. Your phone is about to die and you'd really wanted, more than anything, to crawl into bed and sleep the daytime away. 

You've never been to Spencer's apartment despite knowing him well, and liking him more. You knock on the door, apartment 305B. You're dead on your feet at this point, exhausted by the jet ride home, the commute to your apartment, the subsequent ten minutes spent crying on the sidewalk, and the next half hour debating if you could bother Spencer. Maybe you should've got a hotel, but it was already getting late and you just needed something familiar. Selfishly, you needed someone you knew after such a shitty case. 

"Hello," Spencer says, opening the door with a familiar girl held in his arms, "don't mind my jacket." 

Amy's clearly sleeping, tiny snores echoing from near his neck. It's cute, but it makes you feel much worse. "I'm sorry–" 

He doesn't let you apologise, "Are you kidding? What were you gonna do? We're excited to have you." He's kind of talking to you like Amy's still awake, enthusiastic whisper-shouting as he pulls you inside. 

"It's just for tonight, I promise. They said I'll be able to  back in by evening tomorrow," you say, holding your bag to your chest. You blink at him as you follow him to the kitchen. "Are you wearing matching pyjamas?" 

"You came over last minute!" he defends with a laugh. 

Spencer opens his hand for your bag and puts it behind a steaming bowl of soup. "Oh, were you guys eating dinner?" you ask. 

"No, that's for you. I'm gonna put Amy in bed and then I can do your laundry. Did you need a hug?" 

"What?" 

Spencer smiles at you. "I thought maybe you're having a bad day." He offers his empty arm and you don't know how to say no, don't want to, careful not to bump into Amy as you curl your arm behind his back. "We're happy to have you. You could stay all week and that would be fine. Did they really give you no warning?" 

"I called my landlord and he laughed and then kind of got quiet. I think he forgets that I live there." 

Spencer pulls away and puts a hand on Amy's back. She's very slight like Spencer but if she were any older he'd struggle to carry her for as long as he has. You can see the fatigue trembling in his left arm. "It's not legal for him to leave you with nowhere to stay, and without any notice. You could ask Hotch–" 

"It's okay." You gesture to Amy's face. "She's getting so big." 

"And heavy. Be back in a few. Eat on the couch if you want to." 

You wouldn't. Spencer takes Amy into one room off of the main room, and then comes back to grab your laundry before disappearing into another. His apartment is a fun but odd layout, the door leading into a living room slash kitchen with a dining table, then opening out left and right, bedrooms toward the back of the apartment and a bathroom behind. It reminds you of a flower, that central hub of life and the petals curling outward. 

You pick up your spoon cautiously. He definitely said the food was for you, but it's so strange to be greeted with a meal, you can't remember the last time someone made sure you had something to eat. 

Spencer doesn't attract your attention until he's pulling up a chair next to you with two glasses set on the table. "I put your pyjamas on quick wash. And your, uh, your grey bag." 

Your grey bag is a little net bag full of delicates. You try to be adult about it, but it's so super awkward that you end up laughing aloud, "Oh, shit, I'm sorry." 

"Don't be. It doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you. I just put the entire bag in, like, intact." 

You believe that, but you infer from the tightness of his voice that he's worried you'll think he's weird. Honestly, he's just nice, even if it's awkward. Everybody wears underwear. "That's what it's for," you say. 

"Do you think they make those in a bigger size? Amy's vests get tangled sometimes because the straps are skinny, that would be useful." 

"I'm sure they do," you say, toying with your spoon. "I… really don't know how to say thank you. I know we're friends, but it's different. To let me stay."

"When I was a kid I didn't have many friends. By high school I didn't have one. So I never got to have sleepovers until Amanda. And she's my best friend, but she's six, so…" 

You both laugh suddenly, beaming at one another in your wrinkled, mismatched clothes. 

You finish your meal through lighthearted conversation. Spencer takes your dish for the sink and you both move to the couch to watch TV. 

Clifford the Big Red Dog plays on mute. "I know you're thrilled to watch something this intellectually tantalising, but maybe we should watch a movie. There's a guide under the cushion," Spencer says. 

You dig for the guide but wherever he thinks it is, it isn't. 

"Doesn't matter. Mrs. Gomorrah will have one, I'll take her some dinner at the same time. Would you keep your ear on Amy? She might wake up."

He makes a tray for Mrs. Gomorrah, a neighbour and good friend of his. You've met her once when she brought Amy into the office, an Italian-American woman who's black and silver hair bounced when she talked. Beside his mother living in a sanitarium in Nevada, and his small daughter, Mrs. Gomorrah is Spencer's only family. He treats her accordingly. 

The washing machine starts to beep a few minutes after he's left. You spring from the couch and track down his washer and dryer, transferring your damp wash into the dryer and frowning at the machine's strange settings.

"Daddy?" a small voice calls. Sharper, unhappy, "Daddy?" 

"Amy!" you say, moving from your crouch to stand in the doorway. "Hi, honey! Your dad just went to give Mrs. Gomorrah some dinner." 

Amy squints at you. "Miss Y/N?" 

"Hi," you say tentatively. "My house is kind of broken for a bit and I asked your dad if I can stay the night." You bend to meet her eyes properly. "Would that be okay with you?" 

"Yeah," she says, smiling. "Yeah, please stay. Daddy's friends never come over." 

"Did you need something, honey? I can help." 

"No… You're sure he's at Mrs. Gomorrah's?" 

"Definitely one hundred percent positive. He can't go to work without me, can he?" 

Amy shrugs little shoulders. "I guess not." 

You can't help laughing at her. With the sound of the dryer bumping behind you, you meet Amy near the dining table and touch her shoulder gently to prompt her toward the couch. She jumps up onto the seat with the most cushions and you sit beside her. You and Spencer never managed to pick a movie, so the kids channel still plays on mute. 

"How do you turn it up?" you ask, offering her the remote hopelessly. 

Amy sidles against your side and points. You click the small white speaker button, greeted by the barks of another episode of Clifford. 

"Is this one okay?" you ask. 

"I love Clifford."

It can't be two minutes before she rests her head against your arm, her hand locking over the crook of your elbow. 

You're not sure what to do. She's Spencer's kid, so she probably does. "Do you want a cuddle?" you ask her. You'd be happy to give her one, but you don't know what's okay with her. 

"Please." 

You hang your arm across her shoulders and behind her back, stroking a tentative and short line into her arm, just once. "These are nice pyjamas, Amy. I saw your dad has the same ones." They're soft under your arm. Her hair brushes your wrist as she turns her head to crinkle her nose at you. 

"Thank you. Me and dad have all matching pyjamas," she says proudly. 

"All?" 

"Well, maybe not all. But lots." 

She hums and shuffles closer to your chest. It felt odd at first —although Amy has sat in your lap at your desk at work, and even given you a hug on her birthday to say thank you for the books and candies, you're not used to children or the things that they want. But it feels less foreign the longer she sits there, and you find yourself relaxing for the first time that day. 

Spencer comes back with a shiny TV Guide Magazine and a bundle of Amy's clothes under his arm. His eyes light up as her head peeks over the back of the couch. 

"Sorry, I was just at Mrs. Gomorrah's," he says, quickly putting everything down to take her into his arms. 

"I know," Amy says into his shirt. 

He kisses her head. You almost miss it, the affection quiet and swift. "Was your nap okay? Or do you need another one?" 

"Dad! Y/N's here." 

"Y/N doesn't care that you take naps, she takes naps too." Snoozing up against his shoulder with drool running down your chin. 

"No, I can't sleep because we're having a slumber party!" 

"We are?" he asks. 

"But she needs matching jammies." 

"Well, I don't have anything matching, but it won't be long for all my clothes to dry. I can wear jammies, then, at least," you assure her, sending Spencer a squinting smile that says, She's the cutest thing on planet Earth. 

He smiles back, as if to say, She really is. "Maybe Y/N wants a nap." 

Amy's concern lands on you. She climbs out of Spencer's arms, pressing her hand to your shoulder. "Please don't nap, I want to play games." 

"I'll play games, babe," you say. "Any game you want." 

"Yes! And, and maybe we can make, um–" Puzzled, Amy quirks her mouth into a frown and bounds back to Spencer. He rounds the couch and leans down at her gesturing. "What's it called, the fruit candy?" she whispers.

"From earlier?" he whispers back. "It's tanghulu. Tang-who-loo." 

She whispers a sweet thank you, spinning on the spot with her hands held behind her back. "We can make tanghulu, it's fruit kebabs turned to candy! Do you want to?"

Spencer smooths her hair back from her face. "You don't have to," he mouths, already squeezing her arm like he's prepared to talk her down. 

"Well, if it's okay with your dad I'd love to."

She gasps happily, jumping down off the sofa to race into the bathroom. "I'll wash my hands!" 

Spencer snorts and sits on the couch arm. "Notice how she didn't even ask me?" 

"You know that's a good thing." Spencer's probably read every parenting book there is. "She's so smart, Spencer. So smart, it's incredible. You're amazing." 

He scratches the collar of his sleep shirt, his curls moving as though woken by a gentle breeze as he nods to one side, "She shows some signs of an eidetic memory. Not like mine, but most children who have eidetic memories don't have them like I do. I can't take the credit for that, you know, beyond genetics." 

"Of course you can, someone had to teach her these things for her to remember them. You're never as nice to yourself as you should be, Spence. Everybody knows you're a great dad." You slouch back into the couch. "And I'm not just saying that because you're letting me stay for free." 

"There's no version of this situation where I would ever charge you. Thank you, Y/N. Having her by myself has been hard– it's hard. She's easy and I love her and she's better for me than she probably should be." He winces, his talking rushed, like he's listing statistics. "I haven't really been by myself. Mrs. Gomorrah. The team. We've known each other for a year but you act like Amy's family whenever you see her, and that means a lot to me. That's why I'm glad you called. You can always call me if you need help." 

"You can always call me," you murmur back. 

Spencer bumps your thigh with his knuckles. "I'm glad we're friends. Are you sure you're not too tired? Tanghulu isn't easy if you've never made it." 

"Says who?" 

"East Asian Eating, issue 78. We have to find the sugar, water, glucose syrup sweet spot or the candy doesn't harden."

"We can do it. You're the smartest guy I know, and I've been known to be resourceful. Plus, we have a world class assistant." 

Spencer stands up and offers you his hand to help you come with him, his fingers brushing yours for a moment that seems to stretch for minutes. "Just curious," he says softly, to your heart's clear delight, "when was your last check up at the dentist?" 

Right. He isn't about to tell you something you want to hear. This is Spencer —you should've guessed an odd question was on the horizon. 

"I'll have to think about it," you say.  

Amy bounds out of the bathroom and paints a trail of water droplets from the table to the kitchen. "He thinks you have weak teeth!" she explains. 

"That is not what I think." 

[the-mpreg-guy]

(today in the bunker parody)

Dean wakes up feeling nauseous for the third day in a row and spends an hour throwing up in the toilet. Meanwhile, Sam goes to town to get Dean some travel sickness pills and gatorade. Dean asks Cas to use his mojo to make the stomach bug go away but when Cas puts his hand on Dean's forehead his eyes widen and says he has something important to do before poofing.

"Dude," Sam's face scrunched like he was the one dying of vapors, "again?"

Dean waved one hand floppily in his direction. Right now the cold, kitchen floor looked appealing enough to sink down onto and lay his cheek against. Unfortunately, Sam would probably freak out and drag Dean to the hospital or Jody's.

The last thing Dean wanted right now was to be in a car.

Instead of becoming one with the aluminum floor, Dean dropped into a chair, tucking his chin behind his folded arms. "Wh'as for breakfast."

A single raised eyebrow. "You think I'm cooking breakfast? Do you have a fever too?" A giant hand smacked against his forehead in a bad parody of checking his temperature.

Dean jerked his head away indigently "Ge 'off. I'm fine."

"You're clammy, this is the third morning in a row you've puked, and you haven't even complained about the table being dirty yet."

He looked down. There was a sticky residue trapping cheez-it crumbs to the wood. Dean was going to have to talk to Cas and Jack about cleaning up after their midnight snacks.

"Syrup? That taste's good to them?"

Sam shrugged in a what can you do sorta way. "I guess when everything tastes like molecules-"

"Flavor combos hit different?" Dean imagined Cas and Jack pouring maple syrup over cheese crackers while their trueforms lit up a bunch of different colors. Like that scene in Ratatouille.

Gross.

Dean's stomach turned. He pushed the bile down and ignored Sam's constipated face as he grabbed a wet washcloth from the sink. "That missing hiker thing turn out to be a case?" He nodded over his shoulder to Sam's open laptop, perched on the counter next to the industrial toaster.

"Oh yeah, get this. Both victims shoelaces were found strung up over the street sign where they lived."

Dean's stomach cramped. "Could be a serial killer. Don't look excited by that," he said, threateningly brandishing his washcloth at Sam.

His brother rolled his eyes. "Whatever it is, it's killing people. So-"

"So saddle up in five?"

"Are you good to leave in five?"

Dean gave his prettiest little eyelash bat. "Sammy, I'm golden."

-- --

Dean was hunched over the toilet, watching with disgusted fascination as juice from his stomach that he didn't even know had been there flushed away.

There was nothing left to vomit, but his stomach still cramped like it wanted to spit more up. Christ.

A soft knocking on the doorframe alerted Dean to his very giant, worried, baby brother staring down at him like he was dying. "We're out of pepto, I'm heading over to Casey's."

Dean pressed his cheek to the seat. The sickening wave that dipped and swayed inside of him silenced the usual voice that would be screeching germs! in his ear. "'kay."

"What Gatorade flavor sounds good?"

Dean's stomach contracted. He rolled his head, not that it mattered because all that happened was more dry heaving.

"Jesus, Dean, breathe." A large hand placed itself between his shoulder blades. "I'll grab whatever, just don't choke while I'm gone. Actually," Sam said, unaware that Dean wanted nothing more than for him to leave and stop yapping in his ear, "I'm calling Cas."

The last thing Dean wanted was Cas's concerned puppy eyes on him, while he sicked himself up on the bathroom floor.

Then again, Cas had been juiced up ever since Dean and Jack played bait-and-switch with the Empty and accidentally recharged his batteries. It had been a while since Dean asked the guy to waste his grace on something like a little 'ol stomach bug, but desperate times. Dean wasn't a fresh faced twenty year old who could walk off a hangover or stomach bug with a shot of pepto and a diet coke.

"You do that," Dean said, body letting out a sigh of relief as the worst of the nausea began to finally let up. "Faster you get back, sooner we can leave."

A pause. "Right," Sam said. "Okay, hang tight."

-- --

Sam must've sent up a prayer or something, because within moments of his footsteps fading down the hall, there was the tale-tell flap of wings in the corner of the room.

"Whas' up," Dean picked his head up off the floor. He maybe crumpled a little bit after Sammy left, but in fairness he didn't know that Cas was going to show up that quickly. "Did you get taller?"

"Dean." Cas's face was scrunched in concern as he knelt down to eye level. Ah, good, Cas was still short than. "You look terrible."

Rude. "Thanks, buddy. Help me up." Somehow, between the two of them, Dean found himself propped up against one of the sinks. "Did Sam-"

"He said you weren't feeling well. He didn't say that you were this ill." Cas's face was disapproving, which made Dean's chest do weird things. It was always funny when Cas got pissed at Sam on his behalf, but lately Cas's attention was-

Well, it made Dean feel hot and cold all over.

"Think you can-" Dean mimed Cas's two finger "I'm going to zap you with my power and you can't do anything about it" move. "Sam's gonna pick up the yellow Gatorade, because he sucks. Also, dead hiker."

Cas's head tilted. "Sam already passed the case off to Jody."

That little shit.

"Dammit, Sam." Aaand, the nausea was back. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "Look, dude, you know I wouldn't ask for stupid reasons." Lie. Dean loved volunteering Cas's grace for shit. He just rarely asked for it for himself.

There was a pause. When Dean opened his eyes, Cas was looking at him considering. "Of course," he said, after a moment, in a tone of voice that implied that healing Dean had been a given.

A large warm hand touched his forehead. It was nicer than when Sam had done it earlier. Dean resisted leaning into it. Maybe.

Cas's eyes widened and Dean got to watch an angel's pupils dilate for possibly the first time.

"Fuck," Castiel, Dean's best friend and contemptuous little nutheaded dork, swore for possibly the first time in the decade or so that Dean had known him. It came out all gritty and low, sending twists to Dean's stomach that had nothing to do with the nausea.

Before Dean could panic or do something insane like get hard, there was a flap of wings and negative space where his dumbass angel was a second ago.

Dean stared at the empty spot next to him for a moment. "At least tell me if it's cancer!" he screeched.

Dean shook his head, wondering if he should break out the holy oil next time he and Sam managed to lure Cas back into the bunker. Idiot was allergic to answers still, after a decade.

Still, at least his stomach was feeling better. What kind of fuckass stomach bug only made him feel like shit at eight in the morning?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Does Logan make the first move?

Starts in my Toes

Sequel to this and this

Logan's tired. He's been tired for more than a century. Another mission, another dint of fatigue in his brain. He just wants to lay down and shut the world out.

Until Bubbly floats by. Quite literally. The rush of bubbles flows over his shoulders and she appears before him. She cradles her hands and a translucent wolverine-shaped bubble wriggles there.

"I've been practicing all day," she raises the odd shony creature. She nudges it with her hands and it crawls through the air toward him and critters over his shoulders. "Isn't it cute?"

"Sure, bub," he rasps. "That all you been up to?"

"Ah," she beckons and the bubbly creature disappears with a pop. "Not saving the world like you."

"The world? Nah. Just chasing off goons," he sniffs.

"You saved someone. Always do," she argues. "And I saved you some parfait!"

"Parfait?"

"I made it. Butterscotch. No one else wanted any."

He frowns. He doesn't get it. She's sweet as a tooth ache but she doesn't get along with anyone but him. That's another wonder. He's an ass and she doesn't even seem to notice.

"Butterscotch?"

"Didn't have any maple syrup so I couldn't do a Canadian one."

"Canadian... er, well, ain't been there in a while."

"You can tell me if you don't like it," she spins and bounces ahead of him, a scatter of bubbles in her stead. They hit his chest and roll over him but don't pop.

"Sure I will," he mutters as he follows.

She sweeps into the kitchen but stops short. "You again? What do you want, Bozo?" Logan narrows his eyes as he overhears the snipe, "nice clown makeup but you need redder lips."

He comes closer as Bubbly turns back and her eyes round, as if she forgot him. He sidles past her as she touches his arm in a weak effort to deter him. He snarls as her surveys the room.

"What'd ya say?" He approaches the tall blonde he saw playing with buckets of water. Another of those.

"Um, oh, Wolverine," she gulps as her pulse picks up. He could grin at the sound of her fear. "Nothing."

"Ya know I can hear ya three halls down so don't lie to me," he approaches her with his shoulders set. "No room for your attitude in this house."

"It was a joke," she titters nervously, "please don't tell the Professor."

"Charles? Nah, I'll drag you out myself," he sneers. "Go."

She scrambles away and through the far doorway. He scoffs. He turns back to find Bubbly rocking.

"You didn't have to... it's a joke. Cause I make bubbles. Like a circus clown," she murmurs.

"A joke? Don't seem like you find it funny."

She stares at the wall and shrugs.

"You're not a clown," he insists.

She turns evasively away from him as he nears and she goes to the fridge. She takes out a cup of layered pudding and brownie, topped with cream. She puts it on the counter and finds a spoon.

"You don't think she's right, do you, bub?"

She shakes her head, "it was just... nothing." She faces him and holds out the spoon. "Mr. Wolverine, you don't have to keep pretending either. I know I'm strange."

"Ya kidding?" He grabs the spoon. "Every damn mutant in here is strange." He twirls the spoon then lowers it, "Bubbly, you're not strange. You're special."

She flutters her fingers and sways, "you should try the pudding."

He tuts. She's avoiding the point. The same way she's always by herself. She's staying away from conflict. Not all those in the mansion are meant to be like him, they're not all fighters. But they need more like her. They need the peacekeepers.

He watches her as she eludes his gaze and a bubble inflates and deflates from her fingertip. He shifts and moves closer. He just wants her to see what he does. To feel those things she made him feel. Things he didn't think were for him.

"I'm sure the pudding is sweet," he reaches for her chin, gently but firmly turning her face, "not as sweet as you though."

He could cringe at his own words but he's made up his mind. His lips meet hers before she can stop him. Before he can stop himself. He feels bubbles in his stomach and he feels them rolling up his chest. That moment smells like brown sugar; warm and soothing. She tastes even better.

He's awake now. Or maybe he's dreaming.

[icyminghao]

made with love

pairing: dad!joshua x fem!reader genre: fluff warning(s): food mentions

requested by @notarshia: Heyy I really like the father's day fic with mingyu I was hoping if you could do a father's day fic with joshua :))) thankyou so much<33

summary: joshua wakes up to quite the commotion, and you’re not by his side.

A resounding bang that reverbrates through the house and a series of hisses following that is what rudely wakes Joshua from his peaceful slumber.

Groaning, Joshua rolls over and tries to drape his arm over your figure, only to be met with nothing. His eyes shoot open to see your side of the bed empty, and he sighs. Joshua hates waking up without you beside him. Joshua strains to listen for any more sounds outside, and briefly hears his daughters’ harmonious giggles. He sighs again and gets up to investigate the noise, a smile creeping up his face.

“You’re supposed to put the syrup first!” he hears the older twin, Jiyoon, as her loud complaint booms through the kitchen.

“It doesn’t matter! I want to put the blueberries first!” Jihyo whines back with the same energy, and Joshua chuckles, the kitchen now in full view.

In front of him are his two daughters struggling to prepare a plate of what Joshua can only assume to be pancakes from their earlier conversation. Towering behind them is a very amused you, who make no move to quell the possible argument breaking out between your twin daughters.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, stupid! These pancakes are for daddy!” Jiyoon tells her sister off in an annoyed tone, and Joshua can’t help but feel his heart swell at how they’re taking this so seriously.

“Hmph! Do whatever you want, then!” Jihyo huffs and turns around, meeting eyes with her father.

“Daddy!” Jihyo screams, running into her father’s open arms. Joshua grins widely at his daughter, picking her up and spinning her around. “Hey, you.”

Jiyoon notices her father, too, and bolts out of the kitchen to wrap her arms around his leg. “Daddy! You’re supposed to be sleeping…”

“Sorry, sweetheart, Daddy decided to wake up earlier today,” Joshua smiles, picking Jiyoon up with his free arm. “what were you guys making?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jihyo makes a big gesture with her hands, and Joshua beams at her in endearment.

“Daddy, can you go back to sleep? We want to surprise you,” Jiyoon tugs at her father’s shirt, making her best puppy eyes at him.

Joshua chuckles in disbelief and turns to you, who shrugs with the most lovesick expression written on your face.

“Okay, girls, whatever you say,” Joshua sighs, gently putting the girls back down before going back into your shared bedroom, not missing the way his girls scramble into the kitchen to continue preparing the ‘surprise’.

Joshua lies on your side of the bed and starts scrolling through his phone, and the door opens soon after. In pops Jiyoon and Jihyo, both holding a plate of pancakes together. The pancakes in question are look too good to have been made by a pair of four-year-olds, but Joshua pushes the observation to the back of his mind. It’s drizzled with maple syrup and littered with blueberries just how Joshua likes it, and his heart swells with pride.

“Happy fathers’ day, Daddy!” Jihyo and Jiyoon exclaim in unison, presenting the pancakes to Joshua. His expression turns soft at the sight of his two daughter standing in front of him, clearly nervous to see their father’s reaction towards the surprise.

“Thank you, my little princesses, I’ll enjoy the meal well,” Joshua chuckles, patting both of their heads before taking the plate of pancakes from them. The girls squeal in satisfaction at Joshua’s reaction.

“Okay, girls, it’s time for you to take a shower now,” the girls turn around at your familiar voice to see you leaning against the doorframe with the biggest smile on your face, and they scramble out of your bedroom after giving you and Joshua a kiss on the cheek, one twin in charge of one cheek.

“Did they plan this on their own?” Joshua asks as you sit down beside him on the bed, taking in your exhausted features with a slight frown on his face. “What time did you wake up for this? You had a long day at work yesterday,”

You smile softly, tucking Joshua’s hair behind his ear. “It’s okay, I wanted to do it. The girls got the idea from Jeonghan and bugged me to help them with it last night.”

“Jeonghan, huh?” Joshua cocks an eyebrow in amusement, proceeding to dig into the pancakes.

“He’s their favourite uncle, for sure,” you chuckle, “so, are the pancakes good?”

“It’s really good,” Joshua says with food stuffed in his mouth, and it takes you a while to understand what he said. Smiling brightly once you realised what he said, you poke his cheek adoringly.

“Of course, babe,” you pinch his cheek softly, “don’t tell the girls I told you this, but they only decorated the pancake with syrup and blueberries.”

Joshua simply chuckles. “Well, I’m incredibly touched that the women of my life pulled this together for me.”

You beam at him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Happy fathers’ day, baby.”

a/n: i am aware that fathers’ day is well over but every day is fathers’ day okay

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua @belladaises @xomingyu @pepperonidk

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