#like butter scraped over too much bread.”

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

This work week was just... 😵‍💫 😵 😓

How this week left me:

[frodo-with-glasses]

I have question!

So have you seen this tumblr post about Merry and Pippin's memory of Frodo beginning to fade as they get older after he leaves for Valinor? Okay, now you have.

So now in the Magnolia AU, what do you think their relationship would look like with Frodo choosing to stay in the Shire, in Middle Earth? How often do they see each other? Do they feel sort of distant from him, wanting to reach out and help him but knowing there's nothing they can really do for him, since they don't really know what he went through, not the way Sam does? I just- OUGH I get emotional about this either way 😭

“Of course we did not get so far as they did, but we have heard the stories. We know something of what they saw. Merry helped to slay the Witch King, after all, and I…well, I…”

“And Pip met Sauron himself, in the Palantir. We’re not ignorant. Of course Sam was with him the whole way. That has well earned him his place as Frodo’s dearest friend. But after Sam, no one else in the Shire understands what he’s endured as well as we do. And we do what we can.”

“That’s right! We’ve our own business in Tuckborough and Buckland, after all, and we cannot go to Hobbiton as often as we’d like. But we know Frodo will be ill in October and March, and we put forward our best efforts then. And—and they do the same for us, when they can.”

“I—er. Well, it’s not…”

“Speak up, Mer, they can’t hear you.”

“I…I recall that last year, Sam came to visit Brandy Hall just before the anniversary of Pelennor, and he saw to it that Estella and Theo were cared for while I was ill. I feel I’ve yet to repay him that debt. That is what it’s like. We four Travellers, we look after one another.”

“Precisely. If Frodo is thin during his ill spells, it is not for the lack of food or drink in Bag End. I shall always see to that.”

“Perhaps our memories shall falter as we age. Such is the lot of old-timers. They have much to remember, and cannot keep it all in, sometimes. But we are not yet old, and we shan’t forget a friend. Not one for whom we have sacrificed so much.”

“That’s right! We love him dearly, don’t we, Mer?”

“That we do.”

- - - -

MAGNOLIA AU ASK GAME!

[nearlydark]

A coworker asked me to work Saturday and I said no I already have plans!!!! Boundaries bitch!!!!!!!!!!

[rosehipandroots]

sometimes the writing is actually going! and sometimes you wanna bash your head through a wall & lay on the floor & presumably die

[ravenkings]

honestly, my mood rn is that i just wish literally everyone in my life would leave me alone and not ask anything of me for like 3 days

[aerodaltonimperial]

Ah, the sweet despair of missing yet another show appearance because your toddler has turned into a walking nightmare and you are stuck sitting on the top step of the staircase next to her room as bed time has become an anxiety-filled shitshow of over an hour and you haven't slept more than 5 hours since you got back and you just wish things were not quite so FUCKING SHITTY RIGHT NOW but there's nothing else you can do except power through it and crawl into bed and try to eke out another 5 hours before she wakes up screaming again and repeat the whole day over while trudging your way through your day job because someone has to put a roof over all your damn heads.

[allianettemie5]

Trick, or dare I say, treat? :D

No matter what anyone could think, Platy wasn’t a rule-breaker. Breaking rules meant getting into all sorts of trouble, which led to experiencing a high amount of stress.

And Platy was a chill guy. He long since abandoned a try-hard playstyle and cared more about having fun with his friends.

However, the situation he got himself into neither was fun nor had his friends by his side.

The potions homework kept him up late — when he wrote the last word in his essay and looked at the clock, it chimed eleven hours. The Common Room was empty, the light of the lamp on his table was the only thing illuminating the room. Quite authentic, if someone were to ask Platy.

He gathered his papers and was about to go up the staircase to the dorms, when something bumped into him, descending from the upper floor, and everything in his hands went flying all over the carpet.

That something was none other than Hermione Granger herself, dressed in a pink bathrobe, her hair even more messy than usual.

“What are you doing up this late?” she demanded from him. “Are you going to go to that ‘duel’ as well?” That sounded more like an accusation than a question.

“Wow, wow, coming in hot, are we?” Platy tried to calm her down. “I was finishing my Potions assignment, that’s all.”

She looked at him skeptically, as if doubting his words, and glanced over at the scroll at her feet. She picked it up — it was, in fact, the scroll that he had been working on for the last three hours.

“If you help me to stop Harry and Ron from going out tonight, I will return this to you in one piece.”

To say that Platy was perplexed was an understatement. “Did you just blackmail me?”

Hermione looked at him with a grin, that in the dim light appeared very much evil.

He took a deep breath, then let it out. “Fine,” he grumbled at her. “If Chilled finds out, I won’t hear the end of it…” he added quietly to himself.

“Who’s Chilled?” Granger asked immediately.

“Don’t worry about it!” Platy blurted in panic.

[voidsentprinces]

I hope Destiny 2 gets the ending the fandom deserves it to have. Just like we got Endwalker as a victory lap, Destiny 2 deserves its Shadowbringers expansion. And I hope one day WoW gets the same. I mean, WoW has clearly been having a good expansion. When BFA and Shadowlands hit, it was like weekly to bi-weekly bullshit that reminded me of WoD of just bad things implimented for the sake of it. But since Dragonflight hit? There was the initial hype and silence. Silence is a good thing really, sure its not perfect but its good enough not to warrant 18 videos a week on my youtube feed talking about the devs failing in some way or another. So I hope Dragonflight continues to give a good experience to its fandom. Like...Activision's Board of Directors and CEO is a piece of shit but its devs aren't, Destiny has always felt very touch and go from expansion to expansion, but I have no interest in throwing stones when my own enjoyment comes from the glass house of SquareEnix. Whose previous CEO was all about the NFT game and whose current CEO also supported it at the time. I just want Guild Wars 2, SWTOR, D2, and WoW to get the same really good stuff FFXIV has been getting the last four to six years, you know? I want people to also be really happy and enjoying the games they play. The world is getting worse and worse and people should be allowed to cling to their little sparks joy.

[maya-tl]

"One Ring to rule them all,

One ring to find them;

One ring to bring them all

and in the darkness bind them."

[bee-whistler]

Man, you didn’t even need to offer a reason. The endless beating of a dead horse in the form of the ever drawn out franchise was reason enough. If there’s a genuine issue with it, fair enough. I’m not familiar with the character in question or the issues involved.

in light of the trailer for the new captain america movie dropping, a reminder that bds has asked people to boycott this film specifically due to marvel's refusal to remove the character of sabra.

[ghoulphile]

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’d be easier if they were.

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

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

Then came the separation.

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

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

See, war’s something he understands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

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

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

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

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

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

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

At first, he kept his distance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

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

Shit.

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

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

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

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

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

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

“... Then pancakes it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

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

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

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

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

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

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

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

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

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

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

“No, that’s not what I --”

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

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

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

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

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

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

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

Hell, you even cook and clean!

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

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

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

If he wasn’t so captivating…

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

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

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

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

Waiting to see what you'll do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

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

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

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

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, be honest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

part 2 dropping soon

[alicebeckstrom]

[Bilbo cont. to answer Gandalf] “‘I am old, Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed!’ he snorted. ‘Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change, or something.’“ ~ The Fellowship of the Ring, A Long-expected Party (FOTR screenshot) 

[puckinghischier]

I’m deprived from domestic/soft Nico thoughts. Please help me feed my delusions 💭💭💭

so due to the mountain of snow that’s still plaguing where i live, i have a very specific, basic, and lowkey mundane thought about nico being all soft and lovey

maybe it’s the fact i’ve had to walk up and down my half mile driveway the past week just to get to my car and go to work, but the thought of nico shoveling snow for you is making me warm n fuzzy rn

like, he’s so busy. he’s gone all the time, constantly at the rink, playing in games, at the gym, or doing events for the team. but to think about him getting up before you have to be at work, even after he got home from a roadie well into the early hours of the morning, is making me hyperfixate.

because he knows how cold you get and how much you hate getting out of your warm bed on a normal day, much less when you have to get up earlier to allot time for scraping and defrosting your car. so even if he only crawled into bed with you a couple of hours ago, he’s up and outside before your alarm—which he reset back to your normal time—goes off.

he bundles up and grabs the ‘snow broom’ that stays perched outside for occasions like this, and gets to work. first he shovels a small path to your car, making sure your feet stay warm and dry in the snow boots he bought you last christmas. then he starts brushing off every bit of snow he can off of your car, starting it and letting the inside warm up while he works.

after he gets every flake of snow he can off, he turns your seat warmer on high and heads back inside. he gets to work brewing your coffee—no matter how crazy he thinks you are for drinking it iced in this weather—and making a quick breakfast for you to eat on the run. he’s halfway through achieving the perfect fried egg to go on top of your bagel when he hears your shrieks, feet thumping towards him.

“nico! i’m gonna be late! my alarm didn’t go off on time m! i have to go clean my car off. oh my god i’m soooo gonna get in trouble!”

you come into view, covered in only a t-shirt (nico’s) and otherwise bare legs, stumbling as you try to slip a boot on one foot while balanced on the other.

“you gonna go outside like that, müsli?” he smirks, looking at you over his shoulder, not wanting to mess up his egg masterpiece.

you look down, almost like you’d forgotten you weren’t wearing pants, then back up at him.

“why are you awake?” you suddenly remember his late arrival, rolling over long enough to give him a kiss and snuggle into his warmth before slipping back into oblivion last night.

nico turns the stove off, slipping his perfect egg right on top of the plate on the counter next to him before turning to look at you.

“thought i’d be a nice boyfriend today and clean your car off before you got up. should be nice and warm for you by now,” he beams, loving how frazzled you look in his clothes. the toaster dings, throwing the bagel inside into view, stealing his attention. “oh, and i almost have your breakfast ready. your coffee, too.”

you watch him in awe as he walks over to grab the heated bread out of the toaster, spreading butter on both pieces before laying half of a perfectly cut avocado on one side. he grabs the plate with the most delicious looking fried egg on top of it and slides the egg right off onto the bagel, salt and peppering it before placing the other half of the bagel on top, completing the sandwich.

he turns to you with a smile, amused at the expression of surprise on your face.

“better hurry and go get dressed. don’t want you to be late, now, do we?” he winks, wrapping your breakfast sandwich in aluminum foil to conserve some of its heat.

once the sandwich is securely wrapped and set aside, he walks over to your frozen figure, placing a finger under your chin to tilt your face up to his as he looks down at you.

“i love you, you know that? every day. all the time. forever and ever,” he repeats the phrase you two share anytime he leaves to go out of town, placing a delicate, loving kiss to your lips.

you still haven’t spoken a word, too consumed with him and your shock at how you ended up with someone like him, when he places his hand on your shoulders, turning your body around to face the hallway you just came from. you don’t expect the smack to your ass that comes, jolting you forward slightly, forcing you to take a few steps paired with the small push from nico at the same time.

“go on now, woman. go get dressed. your coffee will be waiting when you get done.”

you turn around to give him a middle finger, but the moony, lovesick smile on your face as you retreat back to your bedroom, the fading sound of nico’s laughter ringing through your ears, reveals how you really feel about the god-send of a man standing in your kitchen.

[swordsandholly]

Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn’t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

John Shelby Vs. Breakfast - A John Shelby/Reader Short.

I haven't written for any of my Peaky lads in a hot minute, so I thought I'd do a little fun, fluffy piece for my fave ginge <3 Enjoy!

Words - 792

Warnings - None, just John being John!

Clattering. Swearing. Burnt toast. Those are what greet you after descending the stairs, coming into the kitchen to see perhaps the most unnatural sight in the world; John cooking. Or rather attempting to.  

“Bastard, bloody thing!” Yes, the cast iron pan handle heats up while cooking eggs and bacon in it, not that he’d realise, being a man. Naturally, he’s had a woman perform these tasks for him all his life, so why would he know that? “Oh, shit, shit, shit, not again!”  

At least this time when he reaches for hot metal, he has the sense to cover the end of the toasting fork with a kitchen towel, pulling the slices of bread from in front of the fire. “Fuckin’ hell!” 

You stand and watch it, the sexy, ginger ball of stress whirling like an agitated tornado around the space, John much too predisposed by messing up the preparation of breakfast to notice you there, his entertained audience of one.  

“Alright, I can save that. Scrape the burnt bit off. Right, kettle’s almost done. Sodding hell! How the fuck do women do this and make it look so bloody easy?” 

“Because we’re magicians,” you finally speak, watching him jump before he spins around, pointing at you through the chaos of his own making. 

“You should be in bed, still!”  

Shrugging, you approach, stroking his bare forearms, his sleeves all rolled up. “I was wide awake, so I thought I’d get up.”  

He bustles, waving his arms. “No, no. Ain’t supposed to be like this. I had a plan! Bring you breakfast in bed and now it’s all bloody going wrong!” 

Casting your gaze over his shoulder, your eyebrow flutters upwards. “I don’t think that has anything to do with me coming down the stairs, John. The pan is smoking, by the way.”  

His face falls. “Fuckin’ hell!”  

“Do you want a hand?” you offer, watching him move it from atop the range, scraping the slightly overdone eggs and bacon out onto two plates. 

He waves his hand towards the table. “No, you sit down.” 

“I can do the teapot, at least?” 

More hand gestures are directed. “Sit down, bab!”  

He’s adamant to do this, so tucking your dress, you take a seat, picking up the morning paper as he butters the toast. Finishing plating up the breakfast and pouring the tea, he brings it to you, everything a little crispy and haphazardly presented, your new husband looking at you from under a few furrowed brow.  

“Don’t look nothing like when you make it, but I hope it tastes alright, at least.” 

Digging your fork in, you take a first mouthful. “It’s lovely, darling. Thank you. What made you want to cook for me in the first place, though? You always denounce it as woman’s work. Not that you should. We’re in the twenties now, us women are to have our equality.” 

“Oh, not you an’ all!” he groans, rolling his eyes. “You and bloody Pol and your women’s lib!” His little wink indicates he isn’t a hundred percent serious, picking up a slice of toast and taking a huge bite, crumbs collecting at the corners of his lips. “And I did it because I wanna make amends. Ain’t proper that we’re married and I can’t take you on honeymoon. Nah. Even a weekend up the seaside would have been nice. Got all this fuckin’ shit round me neck, though.” 

Indeed, he has. You know well who you married, and the life of a prolific gangster is seldom easy. Or, in this case, flexible enough to allow for time away from Birmingham with his new bride.  

Reaching for his hand, you stroke the freckled flesh, cocking your head. “You’ve no amends here to make, love. I know, I understand. It is what it is.” 

“Yeah, but it bloody shouldn’t be, cos’ you deserve more!” he fumes, forehead creasing. “And I can’t give it to ya right now. Feel like a right bloody joke of a husband, I do.” 

“You know what you can give me, though?” you tease, John not immediately picking up on the connotations. “A bloody good seeing to.” 

He pauses his chewing, an eyebrow arching. “Get that scran down your neck sharpish, bab. I might not be able to take you away even for a weekend, but I can take you to bed instead.”  

To be honest, is seeing a lot of time pressed against a mattress beneath your new husband not the point of a honeymoon? You’ve always thought so, at least, therefore it matters not where that mattress happens to be. Whether further afield or Birmingham, as long as John is there, it’s all the honeymoon you need.  

A slightly cremated breakfast is an added bonus, too.  

[albertasunrise]

Work Wife - Six

Masterlist

Summary: Working as a Secretary at Miller & Sons Construction, you fall hopelessly in love with the eldest son Joel. What you don’t realise is that Joel’s completely in love with you too. What will it take for the two of you to realise whats’s right in front of you?

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to give any so the plot isn’t spoiled. This fic is 18+ (sorry this took a while… had a poorly baby to deal with! Hope it was worth the wait ♥️)

Series Masterlist - One Two Three Four Five

You sat with Sarah perched on your lap, the 9-month-old clapping as you sang along to Barney. The little girl was obsessed with the Giant Purple dinosaur, grunting and wriggling whenever he graced the TV.

She did not like Bananas in Pajamas or Elmo, finding them all rather alarming. Her face would crumple and she’d cry inconsolably until it was turned off and Barney was turned on.

“Not that damn dinosaur again baby girl.” Joel chuckled as he walked into the lounge “Haven’t you seen this episode before?”

“Probably.” You chuckled as you kissed the baby’s crown, humming at the feel of her settling against you.

“You okay, baby?” Joel asked and you smiled and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah I am.”

…

4 months earlier…

You hadn’t moved from your couch in days. Joel and his mum had been taking turns to take care of you, making sure you ate, bathed… breathed. You were a shell of your former self and Joel was losing his mind with worry.

He didn’t talk about Sarah with you. Didn’t bring her by despite your mum telling him it might help. He was just too terrified of losing you that he kept that side of his life away from you. Not knowing how you might react.

“Here.” He said softly as he placed some food on the table opposite you “Mum’s famous pumpkin soup and I got the sourdough bread you like. Drowned in butter just how you love it.”

“Thank you.” You whisper, allowing him to help you sit up and then gratefully accept the tray that he hands you. “You don’t have to keep coming here.” You say after taking a few bites of the delicious food he’d given you “Sarah needs you more than I do.”

“Mum’s with Sarah.” He says sweetly as he sits himself down beside you and digs into his portion of food.

“But she needs her dad.” You argued, “You should make the most of every moment with her.”

“Pip-“

“I don’t need your pity, Miller!”

“Pip, we’re worried about you!” He sighed “I’m not here because I pity you… I’m here because I love you and I swore to you that we’d get through this together.” He paused a while, scraping a hand over his face as turned to look at you.

“I’ll be okay, Joel.” You squeaked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Yes, you will be." He agreed as he continued to eat his food "But in order for you to be okay... You need to eat." He finished, motioning at your bowl of food.

You didn't argue then. Returning to eating your food together in silence whilst the TV continued to play in the background. You truly, appreciated the help Joel and his mum were giving you. You knew that you weren't taking very good care of yourself. You didn't have the drive to do much more than wallow.

"How is Sarah?" You asked a little while later, your hands shaking a little as you placed your tray down.

"She's good." Joel answered with a smile "She's started to fake cough for attention which is hilarious. Keeps givin' mum a heart attack."

This brought a chuckle out of you and Joel tried not to look too excited about it. He hadn't heard you laugh in what felt like forever. You had a whistful smile on your face and it gave Joel hope.

"If you want to bring her here that would be okay." You said softly, and Joel gave you a sweet smile as he nodded.

"Thanks, Pip."

...

It was two weeks later that Joel finally brought Sarah around to see you. He had been anxious about how you would react to seeing her and so had decided to leave it a little longer before he did. You were sitting on the couch nursing a mug of coffee when he let himself in, Sarah's head whipping around as she took in her surroundings with her large brown eyes. Eyes she'd definitely inherited from her dad.

"Knock knock." Joel called out and you looked up and smiled at him, your eyes growing round and filling with tears as you saw Sarah in his arms.

Joel instantly started to panic when he noted the tears begin to trail down your cheeks but then you were at his side in an instant and pulling Sarah from his arms.

"Oh baby girl, I've missed you." You sobbed as you placed a long kiss on the crown of her head.

"I'll go make us more coffee." Joel said then, knowing you probably wanted some time alone with the baby.

You nodded, smiled at him then carried Sarah to the couch so you could sit. You rested her on your knee, grinning even harder when she gave you the sweetest little gummy smile.

"Look at you." You choked as you took her in "You've gotten so big."

Sarah screeched in delight and you let out a wet chuckle, knocking another few tears loose.

"God you're so beautiful." You uttered as you stroked Sarah's plump cheek with your thumb.

"Yeah, not quite sure how that happened." Joel chuckled and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Well her mum was gorgeous for a start." You grumbled, eliciting a smirk from Joel "But she looks so much like you."

"Poor kid."

"You're very handsome Joel." You stated so nonchalantly and Joel's cheeks heated at the compliment.

"Schucks." He chuckled, trying to wave off the compliment.

"What shall we do today?" You asked and Joel gave you a look of surprise before looking at Sarah who was happily snoozing on you.

"Well, what would you like to do?" He asked sweetly and you hummed as you thought about it for a moment.

"Did you take Sarah to the aquarium in the end?" You asked and Joel shook his head.

"No, I... I wanted to do that with you so it didn't feel right." His answer made your heart swell and you smiled sweetly at him.

"Okay. Then I say let's go to the aquarium today."

"Perfect!"

.

"You ready to see some fishies, Sarah Sue?"

Joel grinned at the silly nickname you had given his daughter.

"Do you want me to take her?" Joel asked and you shook your head.

"Nah I'm good. You stick to snapping the pictures, Daddy." You finished, winking at him.

Joel's length twitched in his jeans at your statement. He nodded, hoping the dim light of the aquarium hid his burning cheeks. He threw Sarah's baby bag into the pram and pulled out his camera.

Sarah was instantly taken with the fish. Giggling and smiling at the creatures as they flitted around their tanks. She would screech at the bubbles and grin at the sharks as they swam overhead when you walked through the glass tunnel and you smiled brighter than Joel had seen you in months. He took so many pictures of the two of you as you walked through the aquarium, grinning at how mystified Sarah looked as she watched a giant sea turtle swim overhead.

"Hey, want me to snap a picture of you and her together?"

"Oh, it's okay." Joel said nervously but you rolled your eyes and walked to his side.

"Here..." You said handing him the baby then taking the camera you took a few steps back and looked through the viewfinder to square up the shot "Say fishies." You grinned as you snapped a few photos.

"Thanks." Joel said as he handed Sarah back to you and grabbed the camera.

"You're welcome, Miller."

By the time you got to the end of the aquarium, Sarah was out for the count in her pram. Joel suggested lunch and you dragged him to an English pub you'd been wanting to try since Simon had mentioned it a few months ago.

"That burger looks incredible." You stated when Joel's food was placed in front of him and he nodded in agreement before eying up yours.

"Your chicken burger looks pretty damn good too."

You both took a bite of your food and hummed as the delicious flavours assaulted your senses.

"Good?" You both asked in unison before chuckling together.

"Wanna try some?" You asked and Joel nodded, leaning forward so he could take a bite.

You watched him as he did, thinking it was the most sensual thing you'd seen in months then chuckled when a little garlic mayo dribbled onto his chin. Quickly swiped it with your finger, you jumped when he grabbed your hand and wrapped his lips around the digit.

"That's good." He said and you came back to your senses, nodding in agreement "Wanna try some of mine?"

"Definitely."

You leaned towards him, biting into the juicy burger he held in front of you and hummed at the different flavours that hit you. Leaning back, Joel chuckles and you look at him with wide eyes as he leans toward you.

"Got a little something..." He trails off, cupping the back of your neck and pulling you towards him.

You get so caught up in his eyes that you don't see what's about to happen, but the moment his lips touch yours the trance is broken and you're pulling away.

"Don't." You say as you pull yourself out of his grasp and shuffle along the bench seat you're sitting on "Don't do that."

"I'm sorry I..." He's instantly panicking, his eyes wild as his eyes started to fill with tears "Shit... I completely misread this." He choked "Fuck..."

"Joel." You said but he continued to ramble and continued to panic. Sarah chose that moment to wake from her nap and scream bloody murder.

"Fuck." He growled as he pulled a premade bottle of formula from her cool bag.

"Let me sort it, Joel."

"It's fine." He said "Can you watch Sarah please." he pleaded before getting up and running to the bar.

His hands shook as he waited for the bartender to bring the hot water he requested. His heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his chest. Why had he thought kissing you was a good idea? He had got so caught up in the moment that he had just gone for it and now you probably hated him.

How the hell was he going to get himself out of this mess?

When he made it back to the table, you’d managed to calm Sarah down and you were singing to her sweetly as you rocked her from side to side. He watched you a moment with his daughter and his heart crumbled to dust. He couldn't lose you. If keeping you meant forcing himself to fall out of love with you then that's what he'd do.

It was for the best.

When he sat back down again you looked at him and opened your mouth to speak but his eyes morphed into those of a sad puppy and you stopped yourself.

"Can we just please forget it happened." Joel pleaded and your heart sank a little but you nodded.

"Sure."

You knew your reaction had hurt him but you just weren't ready yet. Your heart was still bleeding for the baby you had hoped to raise with him and the life you'd dreamed of sharing with him. You wanted to open yourself to him and today was the first time you'd felt at peace in what felt like a lifetime but you didn't want to skip any steps.

Joel handed you the bottle after checking the temperature on his wrist and you started to feed the ravenous Sarah, smiling sweetly at her as she watched you whilst she fed.

"Today's been wonderful." You said, breaking the tense silence "Thank you for this Joel." You finished as you looked at him and smiled.

"You're welcome Pip."

...

Joel smiled at you as he brought over your usual morning coffee. You had been back at work a week and each day you seemed to be a little brighter.

"How is my favourite secretary this morning?" He asked and you chuckled as you graciously took your coffee from him.

"She is good." You replied honestly and he grinned at you.

Not a word had been said about the incident at the pub and though it hurt you both not to discuss it, neither of you wanted to hurt the other. So the subject had been pushed to the side and forgotten. Or so each of you thought.

"I have a favour to ask you." Your eyebrow quirked at this but you said nothing as you waited for him to elaborate.

"Could you watch Sarah for a few hours this evening?"

Your interest was piqued.

"Hot date?" You asked, trying your best to sound unaffected by the idea.

"Yeah." He answered and your heart sank "With a 70-year-old woman and her son." He continued and you felt your lungs fill with air again "Guy's looking to do a huge refurb that includes a granny annexe extension. Dad was supposed to go but it's his and Ma's anniversary so he's asked me to go instead."

"That's huge Joel!" You gushed and he nodded as a smile crossed his lips.

"If I can win the contract it will be a really great payout."

"You will knock 'em dead." You said with a surety that made his heart skip a beat.

"So is that a yes?"

"You know I love an excuse to spend quality time with my girl."

"You're a life, saver." He said, leaning down to peck your cheek "Thank you."

You blushed, touching your cheek and remembering how his lips felt against it. You watched as he walked away, ducking into his office and grabbing the phone as it started to ring.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

Simon speaking beside you made you jump and you looked at him with an expression similar to a dear in headlights.

"I don't know what you mean." You replied, trying to brush his statement off.

"Oh come on hun..." He chuckled, leaning against your desk "I see the way you guys look at each other."

"We're friends."

"Friends who are in love with each other."

"Simon." You pleaded but he carried on.

"I know for a fact that he told you he loved you so what's the issue?"

"How?"

"How what?" He asked and you growled in frustration.

"How do you know that?"

Simon looked at his hands a moment before answering.

"He told me." He confessed and your brows drew together.

"When Sarah was sick, I went over to the hospital to see him and the baby." Simon's expression grew sad "His mum came and told him to get out for a bit. Clear his head so we went for a drink... six in his case."

You could see where this was going but you let Simon continue.

"He was heartbroken. Telling me how he'd confessed how he felt and you'd told him that you were no good for each other, which is bullshit by the way."

"We worked through that."

"Okay... so why aren't you guys together?"

"It's complicated." You answered.

No one knew why you'd been off work for a month and you weren't sure you wanted to share it around the office.

"How can it be?" He pushed "You love each other. So just be together... Something happen?"

"Simon please stop pushing this." You pleaded "It's between Joel and I."

"Look... I care about you both and I want you to be happy. And y'all are both happiest when you're together. So whatever it is that you or he did... fix it."

"I lost a baby." You said suddenly and Simon’s expression started to resemble that of a fish out of water "I got pregnant but I lost it."

"Was it...?"

"Joel's?" Simon nodded and you shook your head "No, the guy I had the arrangement with... was his."

"Shit, Pip I'm so sorry."

"I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself." You asked and Simon nodded "Joel and Mr and Mrs Miller know but that's it."

"I won't tell anyone I swear."

"Thanks, Si." You sighed “But that’s why we aren’t together… I need some time”

Simon didn’t need to say anything. He understood and his heart broke for you. So instead he gave your hand a squeeze and left.

...

You always knew when Joel had arrived in the office. The air seemed to change and your heart always raced as you waited for him to give you your morning coffee.

"Morning, Pip." Joel said sweetly as he placed your coffee down in its usual spot.

"Morning Joel..." You trailed off when your eyes locked with the young woman beside him.

"Oh... How rude of me." Joel chuckled "Pip this is Anna. She's our new trainee accountant."

"Oh?"

"Did I not tell you she was starting?" He asked and you shook your head.

"Shit, sorry Pip it must have slipped my mind. Sarah's had a cold so a little sleep-deprived." He chuckled "Do you mind giving her the tour? I have a call with the cement supplier in five minutes."

"Sure." You replied, trying to smile sweetly at him.

"He seems nice." Anna said and you nodded your agreement as you watched him leave.

"Yeah, he's great." You replied as you got to your feet, grabbing your coffee and taking it with you.

You started the tour by showing her the two meeting rooms, then moving on to the bathrooms, and offices, introducing her to the few people that were in the office and not on one of the sites. You finished off with the kitchen area, showing her how the utilities worked and where to find the communal coffee and tea.

"Any questions?"

"Just one." Anna replied as she smiled at you

“Shoot.”

"Joel."

"What about him?"

"He single?" She asked and your stomach twisted.

"I think so... why?"

"Just curious." She gave you a sly grin "I wanna climb him like a tree."

"He has a baby." You stated but she just shrugged.

"Make's him hotter in my opinion." She replied, grinning like the cat that got the cream "You and him involved?"

"No... No, we're just friends." You replied and she seemed to smile even wider.

"So he's fair game?" She asked and you fought hard not to cry.

"I guess so."

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