writer tag game 𓂃🖊
share a snippet from an upcoming wip! ⊹₊✎⋆.
tagged by the lovely @everdaydreamer ❤️🔥 thank you so much hehe
you've got mail! — girldad!scott miller x f!reader
Then he’s scooping Lacey up into his arms, tickling her a little once he has her settled. Her tiny peals of laughter are muffled by the car door, and then they disappear completely when they step into the Dunkin’. Your hand lays absentmindedly over your stomach and you lean your head back into the headrest. You let your mind wander, finally letting your body relax now that you’re alone in the car. You were excited for this trip, your first real trip as family. Scott had talked you into it one night as he pressed soft kisses into your chest. “Since we’re making another one. We should do family stuff,” he kisses into your neck, one hand moving the hair out of your eyes as he lays his hand over your stomach. You snort. “‘Making another one’,” you mutter into the empty air of the car. Scott made it sound so easy, like it was simply a matter of adding the right ingredients at the right time and whoop! baby on board! To him it was an exact science. He was tracking your cycle, somehow always ended up in your house on the days that you were most fertile. He had a diet plan for you, came over when he could to help meal prep. He was doing absolutely everything in his control — in and out of the bedroom — to start building out your family as soon as possible.
2:33am — robert "bob" reynolds x f!reader
“Vanilla shake please,” he mumbles, pointing to the milkshake machine behind you and sliding a wrinkled five dollar bill over to you. “Hello to you too,” you mumble, too low for him to hear. His cheeks redden. “Sorry, that was rude. Hi, how are you?” You feel your face heat up. Had you been louder than you thought? When you look at him, he’s looking at you, dark blue eyes wide as he pushes a strand of hair out of his face. He looks familiar, but you’ve been staring for entirely too long and the atmosphere is shifting into uncomfortable territory so you answer him instead. “Um. Fine? Tired,” you say, turning to the milkshake machine. “Size?” “Large. Please.” “You know you could probably get a better milkshake anywhere else right?” You flick the switch on the machine once you’ve secured the cup, cringing as it clatters to life. You’ve been saying it needs to get replaced for the longest time, but as long as it continues to work (no matter how much banging and whacking you need to do) your cheapskate boss just isn’t willing to fork out for another one. “No other place is open this late,” he shrugs. You check your watch. It’s 2:33am. You still have another two and a half hours of your shift left. The milkshake machine clatters on, the lights on the front of the machine flashing and flashing as it grows louder and louder. You give the man a nervous chuckle as you tap your palm against the side, hoping that will give the machine the encouragement it needs to just spit that milkshake out. It groans, whirrs, lets out a pathetic poot as some milkshake flops into the bottom of the cup. And then stops. You’re frozen as you stare at it, willing it back to life.
tagging (no pressure though hehehe): @lalalunawrites @abbottsdarling @iristheplanet16 @calamitous-luv
