#and second of all. no one will always stick up for you. no one is going to advocate for you

[shybluebirdninja]

Growing Us

Summary       : Old Logan takes care of his pregnant wife. Note               : fluff

Logan’s POV

Her breathing was slow, steady, but I could tell she wasn’t asleep. I watched her from the doorway for a second, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. She was lying on her side, one hand resting on her growing belly, the other tucked under her pillow. My wife, strong as steel, but pregnancy was taking its toll on her.

I walked over, careful not to wake her if she had finally drifted off. As I got closer, she shifted, her eyes fluttering open and catching mine.

“Hey,” she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. She tried to sit up, but I quickly stepped forward, my hand resting on her shoulder.

“Easy, darlin’. You don’t need to move.”

She chuckled, but it was tired. “I’m fine, Logan.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said yesterday,” I muttered, sitting down beside her on the bed. “And the day before that. Doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest.”

She rolled her eyes, but I could see how exhausted she was. I’d never been one for all the baby talk or fussing over things, but seeing her like this—tired, carrying our kid—something inside me changed. Maybe it was that protective instinct or just the fact that she looked so damn beautiful, even when she was worn out.

“You’re hovering,” she teased, her hand reaching for mine.

I grunted, but my fingers wrapped around hers. “Not hovering. Just… watching over you.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, squeezing my hand. “I like when you’re like this. All soft.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Soft? Darlin’, I ain’t soft.”

She laughed again, and the sound was like music to my ears. It had been a rough few weeks for her—morning sickness that didn’t just stick to mornings, swollen feet, and a back that was giving her hell. I’d give anything to make it easier, but all I could do was be here. So, that’s what I did.

“You hungry?” I asked, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I could make you something. Or try, anyway.”

Her face softened, but she shook her head. “I’m okay, Logan. Just tired.”

Tired was an understatement. Her eyes were heavy, but she was fighting it. Always trying to be strong, even when she didn’t have to be.

“Then rest,” I said, my voice gruff but gentle. “I got everything covered. You don’t need to do anything.”

Her hand drifted back to her belly, and I couldn’t help but follow it with my eyes. It still blew my mind that we were doing this—starting a family. It wasn’t something I thought I’d ever have, not with the life I’d lived. But here we were, her body growing the next part of us, and I couldn’t imagine anything more important.

“Feel the baby,” she whispered suddenly, her eyes lighting up.

I blinked, then reached out cautiously, my rough hand gently resting over hers on her belly. A moment passed, then I felt it—a small, faint kick.

My heart did something weird, tightening and swelling at the same time. I’d fought wars, survived hell, but this? This was something else.

“She’s strong,” I murmured, my hand lingering there.

“She is,” she whispered, her voice soft and full of warmth. “Just like her dad.”

I shook my head. “Nah. She gets that from you.”

We sat there for a while, neither of us saying much. I didn’t need words. This—just being here, feeling that life we’d created, seeing her in front of me—it was enough.

“Get some sleep,” I said after a while, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hand still on mine.

Her eyes drifted closed, and I stayed where I was, watching over her like I always would.

[lale-txt]

❦ IDLE HANDS (Kuroo x f!reader)

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two.

a/n: little something for @husbandograveyard ♡ writing this made me a Kuroo girlie. i get it now. i really, REALLY do. also when i started writing this i was aiming for 1k or so idk what possessed me but here we are. maybe listening to bouncy while writing this wasn't the best idea (lie)

tags: f!reader, mild enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, shameless flirting, food mention, bit of a slow burn, they're so in love your honor

wc: 3.7k

Kuroo Tetsuro is a heartthrob.

With his stupid messy hair and his stupid rolled up sleeves, showing off his stupid toned arms while he’s mumbling stupid sweet things to your favorite cat that’s currently coiling underneath his stupid big hand, getting the best belly rubs of her life from the looks of it. 

It’s not like you’re jealous or something, no; it’s just that you’ve been coming to this cat café for a year now and you thought you and the calico shared a special bond. Maru, who is just as her name implies, very round and very soft, has been sitting and purring by your side while you spend hours typing page after page of your next book. She’d also stretch out all over your laptop and remind you to take a break when you’ve been going at it for hours. Yes, it took you some bribery to win her heart but over the past months she really warmed up to you. Wow, she usually isn’t this friendly with people, you remember the café owner say once. 

What a blatant lie. 

Your peace has been disturbed. A slight shift in the universe when he showed up for the first time merely a week ago. It was easy to remember him, because he was sitting in your spot with your favorite cat purring in his lap, looking like he didn’t have a single worry in the world except maybe that untamed hair of his (and even this was kind of charming, you had to admit begrudgingly).

Sharing usually wasn’t a big deal for you–until it was. You come to this cat café almost every day, feeling much more inspired to write here than in the shoebox you call your apartment at the other end of town. Your landlady doesn’t allow pets, so this place has been a lifeline in the tiring times of deadlines and rejected book deals. At the end of the day there was always a cat rubbing against your legs, reminding you that not everything was bad and that no matter how severe things got, there was always a kitty waiting to be picked up.

You hold this place very dear to your heart, a secret gem you felt a need to protect. It is hidden away in a side street, far from the hectic buzz of the city. The interior is cozy, it isn’t too big and the owner, an elderly lady with candy cotton hair and knuckle tattoos, lives upstairs and treats the place like her second living room with all six of her cats. There’s never too many other guests around and in the corner seat by the window you can unravel your thoughts quietly. It feels homey, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

But now there is an intruder in a business suit and you didn’t really know how to deal with that new found irritation.

“That’s my spot.”

Balancing your laptop, notebook, a slice of carrot cake and a hot drink in one hand, all manners aside, you point at the stranger with your other. In your right mind you know it is rude to point at people, but to be fair he kinda started it by sitting where you rightfully belong. His eyes, a certain gleam in them, follow your movement down to the cat curled up on top of his thighs. With the amount of cat hair sticking to his suit pants you could only pray for him that he had a lint roller somewhere at his desk. 

He cocks his head to the side, giving you a boyish smirk that maybe would make your heart skip a beat if it wasn’t for his audacity. 

“Usually I ask someone’s name first and take them on a few dates before I let them sit in my lap, but I guess I can make an exception,” he replies and you never in your life before wanted to strangle someone so badly. If that wasn’t already worse enough, the tuxedo cat lifts its small head and slowly blinks at you before jumping down from his lap, as if it was trying to make space for you. My bad, didn’t know this seat was taken. Here, girl, you have it.

For once in your life you’re too stunned to speak. You watch the stranger check his watch and let out an almost inaudible sigh before he grabs his backpack (one that looks like he has had it since high school) and stands up to full height. He’s in your space now and you have to crank your neck slightly to meet his eyes. Mentally you’re adding stupidly tall to your list of things you hate about him. 

“Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

True to his words he is there the next day, too. This time around you managed to secure your spot by the window, three cats idly sleeping next to you on. You’ve been stuck on a paragraph for almost an hour now when the doorbell chimes and his figure appears at the counter. The cats look up with interest but you force yourself not to pay any attention to him, which is hard when his order is literally “I’ll have whatever she is having”, followed by a nod in your direction and this cheeky smile again. 

This damn smile.

“You didn’t strike me as a dirty chai drinker,” you deadpan when he takes a seat at the table next to yours. The café is almost empty around this time of the day, which is no surprise since most of the workers in this district are having a hearty meal for lunch and not whatever sweet delicacies this place is offering. 

He peels himself out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. The same cat as yesterday jumps into his lap immediately after he sits down, giving you a look of “if you don’t want him, I’ll take him” and you almost roll your eyes. Kuroo (you learn his name from the ID he is wearing around his neck) seems to notice and he grins at you. 

“Then what did I strike you as?” he asks, his chin resting in one hand while his other finds the soft fur of the kitty, stroking it gently. 

You look him up and down, now taking your time while stretching out the silence between you two. Only the purring of the cats and the soft music in the background could be heard. At first glance he seems like your typical office worker in the three piece suit who spends his time filling out spreadsheets and drinking cheap vending-machine coffee from the conbini next door. Everything a little rumpled, himself included, someone so used to tristesse he doesn’t even notice it anymore. 

Only at second glance do you notice the small wrinkles around his eyes, not from age but from laughter. The dimples when he smiles down at the tuxedo cat in his lap, now showing off its belly. His calloused hands, atypical for an office worker, more like you’d see them at craftsmen or athletes. Something in his eyes that radiates warmth and an air of calm confidence. None of it is unpleasant.

“If I had to guess, maybe three espresso with a pump of caramel and honey,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Kuroo looks at you in surprise before barking out a laugh. You hate how you like the sound of it.

It’s the beginning of spring and you award Kuroo Tetsuro the title of the greatest nuisance you’ve ever met.

In the midst of summer, you pity him. 

“I’m just saying that maybe you radiate a natural fragrance of catnip,” you say as you stir your iced oat milk latte. Kuroo got you that one when he popped in during his lunch break and saw that your glass must have been empty for a while. By that time you were hunched over your laptop, trying to decipher your notes from last night. You had saved him a seat at your table, but if he asked you, you’d say you just happened to put all your belongings on one chair and nothing more.

The man is swarmed by the cats of the café. They didn’t even bother to hide who their favorite is, rubbing around his legs, sitting pressed to his side or just straight up climbing his shoulders. It would’ve been enviable if he wasn’t already sweating from wearing a suit in the humid heat of the summer month alone. 

“Can you get at least one or two off me?” he asks and his tone is close to pleading. It makes you laugh as you stretch out in your light sundress, giving him a look as if you’re contemplating his question. 

“I could, but it’s really much funnier seeing you struggle like that. Serves you well,” you chime and pull out your phone, snapping a photo of this moment. You hold it up for him to see, a kitty phone charm dangling from it (they just happened to come in a pack of two and you gifted him one out of generosity, nothing more). He snatches it from your hands and makes a face.

“So you like seeing me suffer, is that how it is?” he snarls at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His slender fingers fly over the screen of your phone and you let out a small gasp.

“Don’t you dare delete it,” you huff and grab the orange tabby mercifully off his shoulders so you can lean over him better. 

“Relax. I’m only saving my contact info since you never bothered asking me for it despite being my constant for the past three months.”  

There was this cheeky smile again. You blame the flutter of your heart on the caffeine and not the way his pupils are dilating when he gazes at you. 

He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Suddenly you’re very aware of how close you’re leaning over at him. Kuroo gives you a little glance from the corner of his eyes and taps the now revealed side of his neck. 

“What do you say? Do I really smell like catnip?” 

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two. You can feel the heat radiating off him and for a brief moment you wonder what it would feel like to press open mouth kisses on his skin. Your eyes flutter shut as you engrave this moment into your heart. 

“Definitely irresistible,” you murmur once you pull back–reluctantly, as if a hidden part of you ached to be in his proximity, in the inside of his soul.  

By autumn you miss him on the days when he was gone. 

He traveled quite a lot. You didn’t know one would need to be on the road so much for something as simple as volleyball (you can imagine the look he’d give you over this). But he was passionate about it and that’s also something you liked about him. The way he talks about the sport holds so much love and you wonder what it would feel like to be loved by a man like Kuroo Tetsuro.

Gentle, you think. Honest. Treasured.

A tap against the window pulls you out of your thoughts and when you look up, you're met with a pair of honey glazed eyes. Whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s making him grin from ear to ear before he hurries towards the entry door, eager to meet you again.

Kuroo is holding up a bag, some brand of sweets from Hokkaido he’s been texting you about, but you didn’t think he’d actually go so far and bring you some. He sounds breathless when he speaks, as if he rushed all the way to get here and when he keeps on rambling, you order him and yourself a hot matcha boba and a chocolate mousse to share. 

The cats are happy to see him back too, and you laugh when you help him take his scarf off before some kitty claws can tangle up in it. It was a precious gift after all, one you knitted for him, under the feeble excuse of “keeping my hands busy helps me come up with ideas for my writing process”. It makes you happy to see him wearing it, and the color makes you feel as if you took the red string of fate connecting you two and turned it into something to help him stay warm.

You think a lot about kissing him now. Sometimes your hands would brush against each other on the table, neither of you pulling away. He spends his lunch breaks with you and comes to pick you up from the café in the evening, walking you to your station. The two of you still bicker at each other, but underneath lies a certain kind of softness, one that feels too fickle to put it into words just yet but also too bright to ignore. The leaves of the trees are falling and so are you. 

With winter comes snow and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, it’s unadulterated love. 

You spend a lot of time huddled together in the corner by the window now. He looks over your shoulder when you type on your laptop, one arm resting idly on the back of your chair, fingertips brushing against your spine sometimes. You don’t think he even notices when he lets them run up and down there. Often you forget which cups on the table belong to who but it doesn’t matter since you order the same things anyway and because this could count as an indirect kiss, right? 

On some days he’d just close his eyes and laze next to you, with his head resting on his folded arms on the table and your fingers idly weaving through his hair, before he had to hurry back to work. On others he would tell you excitedly about a special match he was organizing and you can hear the pure joy in his voice. It’s contagious.You get them now, the cats. How drawn they are to him, like chasing sunbeams. 

He spells L-O-V-E on your back with his fingertips and something inside of you softens. 

Then there’s snow, more snow than you’ve ever seen in your entire life, and Kuroo comes to pick you up early, the tip of his ears bright red and his cold hands seeking yours to warm them up. 

“I’m really sorry but I’m closing the shop early today,” the café owner apologizes and puts a box of cinnamon rolls for you on your table. “You two kittens better hurry and get home, too. On the radio they said they’re gonna shut everything down soon.”

It can’t be that bad, you think. But when Kuroo and you stand in front of the closed station, it dawns on you that maybe you’ve underestimated the amount of snow a teeny tiny bit. You huddle a little closer to him for warmth and to shield yourself against the snow as you pull out your phone. 

“If there’s no more trains running, I better start looking for a place to stay. With some luck there’s still a few vacant rooms in the hotels nearby…”

Kuroo puts a hand over your screen and gives you a stern look when you open our mouth to protest. 

“You can crash at my place for the night. I live close by," he mutters and it doesn’t really leave room to decline his offer. Maybe it’s not really an offer to begin with; more of a silent pleading to stay. Not just for the duration of the snowstorm, but forever maybe. 

His place is just like you imagined it would be like. Not overly spacious but it feels like a home in every corner. There’s photos on the wall, back from when he was a kid to his high school and college years, and pinned with a magnet to the fridge is also a polaroid he took of you back in summer. In it you’re laughing about something silly he said and you’re holding up two cats at once, one strap of your sundress almost slipping down your shoulder. You still remember how he fixed it for you because you didn’t have a hand free and how his fingers lingered for longer than necessary. 

You hope one day he won’t pull his hand away anymore.

The apartment is certainly not messy but you can see he lives in this place, with some papers scattered across the coffee table and the unmade bed and the slightly concerning stock of buldak noodles in the kitchen shelves (in which you peeked out of curiosity into while he was in the shower). You imagine yourself living here, too. Maybe you’d get a cat on your own and plants for the balcony once this winter was over. 

The laundry machine rumbles quietly in the background after you step out of the bathroom, too. It wasn’t just the steamy shower that had your cheeks feel hot, it was also his clothes that he put out for you, with his scent lingering on them and engulfing you softly. Kuroo appears with two cups from the kitchen and pauses when he sees you, his mouth opening and closing again as his eyes flicker over your form. He doesn’t want to stare but also he does want to stare, wants to drink you in and memorize every detail of this moment. 

You can see his Adam's apple bop slightly when he swallows and nods over to the couch, and it’s at this moment that you know you’re not leaving this apartment again before every inch of your skin has been plastered in kisses. 

“It’s not as good as the one’s at the café but I tried my best for my special guest,” he laughs quietly when he hands you your cup, his fingers brushing against yours. The hot chocolate looks impossibly sweet, with whipped cream and sprinkles on top (they’re not ordinary sprinkles, you realize, but tiny cat shaped ones), and the first sip would’ve been enough to send you in some higher spheres if you weren’t in a state of bliss due to his proximity already. You put the cups to cool down on the coffee table and sink into the couch. 

Outside the snow is falling relentlessly, muffling the sounds of the outside world and opening up a new one, right here in these four walls.

In his arms. 

Without realizing you both settled down in your now familiar positions, only closer this time. Huddled next to each other, with one of his arms around your shoulder drawing you nearer to him. It feels natural, the way your head comes to rest against his shoulder and your legs thrown over his lap, the two of you sharing a blanket. 

He’s warm. Kuroo is so warm. 

And when he presses a fleeting kiss on top of your head it’s like everything is falling in place; the months of pining and yearning and unspoken desire. In the midst of a snowstorm both of your hearts are set ablaze, with a tenderness you haven’t experienced in this lifetime before. You sure hope he will find you in the next and the one after that as well because you never want to miss his embrace ever again. 

“That’s my spot,” you murmur and Kuroo laughs, the kind with his head tilted back and his chest rumbling. His grip around you tightens and he pulls you impossibly closer, till you’re really in his lap now, your head tucked under his chin. 

“Damn right it is.” 

You can feel his heart drum, or maybe it’s your own that’s doing somersaults–either way, it’s the same rhythm, a steady thrumming and rattling, begging to be felt. Time seems to freeze at this moment and you’re both quiet. Cat’s got your tongue. Kuroo has both arms around you now, and one of his hands settles on your waist, at the part where your sweatshirt is bunched up a little. His thumb draws small patterns against your bare skin, his touch featherlight and gentle.

You lift your head, only enough so you can catch his gaze. For the first time in your life you understand what it means to have your heart in your throat, because he takes your breath away with a simple glance. His other hand comes to rest against your cheek, cupping your face softly while his grip around your waist tightens a fraction.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters and you can see his sharp teeth flash in the corner of your eyes when he laughs. 

“Like what?” “You know what.” “I think I’ll need to have it spelled out for me.”

He laughs again and this time he leans in closer till his breath is fanning over your skin and everything is happening all at once. Honey and caramel eyes asking you to drown in them. The heat of his body mingling with yours. Your fingers playing with the shaved part of hair in the back of his neck, sending small shivers down his spine.

“Oh, I’ll spell it out for you alright.”

Kuroo kisses you with all the gentleness of the world. It feels as natural as if he had done this countless times before, as if he had kissed you in every life prior to that. He hums into the kiss and smiles when your lips part for him so willingly, and then he deepens the kiss in a way that makes you forget your name for a heartbeat or two. 

Sweet, you think. Soft and saccharine. And warm. So warm. The same what loving Kuroo feels like.

[jarofstyles]

Cabernet

This can be read as a standalone I think, but! Here is a second part of Merlot! It's spicy and sweet so I hope you guys like it. Unsure if there will be any more parts (I’m open if you guys have more ideas!) but I do love a good dilfrry.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive writings!

WC- 4.1k

Warnings- smut, age gap relationship, anal (for those who asked ur welcome!), unprotected sex, cumplay, Dom/sub elements

-------

Harry was by far the best man she had ever dated. 

Their age gap was evident at times, but not in a bad way. It was rather cute when he had been confused about videos she sent or his own excitement to show her the movies or books he was referencing. The added element of their dynamic was learning from one another. Harry had been teaching her about publishing and helping her flesh out the first draft of her book while she sat in his office some days, helping him out in return by getting him coffee or lunch or an occasional shoulder massage when he got particularly stressed. An unofficial assistant of sorts. 

“I feel like if I have to write the word ‘said’ one more time, my brain is going to explode.” She grumbled, pushing her laptop across the couch and leaning back on it. The leather seat in his office was by far the most comfortable one she had sat on and he happily invited her to come into the office to see him as often as she wanted. It was both practical and selfish on both ends.It was easier to work in a space like this and with the understanding that Harry really did have work he was doing, she focused on her own stuff. A quiet pair of people working in each other’s company. 

Add in the fact that he was the boss man, it made it much easier for her to come and go as she pleased. 

“Mm, sometimes authors get stuck with words in their novels. They’ll have phrases they repeat a few too many times, usually gets called out in editing and fixed. It’s not a bad thing. But with words that are action words like that, there are options. Y’know, depending on the scene and tone. Murmured, muttered, peeped, whispered, whined, moaned, huffed, grumbled. Those sorts of words.” He tapped his pen against the desk as he lifted his eyes to her. 

It didn’t get old. Seeing her pretty face sitting in his office looking the way she did, much more comfortable than the night they’d first met, but still appropriate for an office setting.

Sometimes he did let his mind wander into the roleplay aspect, wondering if she had been his real assistant if he would have made a move. If Y/N was the Y/N he knew now? Probably. Scandalous. 

Today she wore a pair of black flowy pants and a matching turtleneck, but on top she had a chunky knit cardigan that was utterly adorable. It had yellow moons and stars, a deep purple color with sleeves she had to push up so they didn’t hide her hands. His girl leaned into the office aesthetic when she came in so she didn’t stick out too much but with him or when they were at his place or out together, he loved seeing her dressed in her normal clothing. She looked soft, whimsical almost. Like a little fairy. 

“Hm. Good point. I need to write down all the synonyms in my notes app and defer to that because if I’m getting tired of writing it, I know whoever ends up reading it will get tired of seeing it too.” Her lips puffed to blow a strand of hair that had fallen from her bun, brows furrowed as she failed and made her hand ready up to tuck it behind her ear instead. 

Again, cute.

“Not necessarily.” He replied, leaning back in his chair. “We’re our own harshest critics. I doubt they’re paying that much attention to that. The majority of people will be paying attention to world building, character development, plot, sex scenes, all that fun stuff. The exact wording isn’t always the most important thing. But it shows that you care about quality.” He shot her a grin. “So you will be successful.”

“Mmm… and not because I’m fucking the publishing head?” She grinned as she stood up, stretching her arms out. 

“Well. That helps.” He wouldn’t deny it. She had a leg up, but he wouldn’t publish just anything. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t publish shit work. It isn’t worth the reputation of my company. Your writing is genuinely good, my sweet.” He knew the drill by now. Her heeled boots were kicked off by the couch and she made her way over to him, the tiredness starting to hit her as she happily perched herself on his lap. 

“Good to know.” She snorted before pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek. The facial hair had grown but he was shaping it currently. She promised she’d be okay with whatever he did to it but didn’t want anything to happen to the mustache. That wasn’t allowed to go. “What are you working on? Anything fun?” 

“No, nothing incredibly interesting I’m afraid.” His hand squeezed her hip underneath the cardigan. “I was working on some contracts earlier but every so often I pick up some submissions and read through them myself. This one is very bland, unfortunately. There’s potential, absolutely. Their writing style is lovely, but the plot falls flat and the characters are one dimensional. S’like they chose a specific stereotype and did nothing to differentiate them.” It was unfortunate.” It was a shame he came across all too often.

“It’s obvious this person is trying but they’ve never observed or met someone with these traits. I don’t think you absolutely have to follow the rule ‘write what you know’, but I think a lot of the best works come from drawing from our own experiences. Romance, for them, doesn’t seem to be a passion. They’d do better with mystery with their writing style as it is, but they have to improve on other aspects first.” 

“Is it hard for you to see stuff like that?” She asked curiously, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I can tell you’re a little disappointed with it, so I have to wonder if it happens a lot.”

“It does. And it is hard when you see someone with potential not living up to it but I have faith that if we send them some constructive criticism notes that maybe they won’t see it as an attack but as a place of genuine care. I’m going to have someone meet with them I think, give them my notes and have them explain it in nicer terms than the plain ones I used. Maybe they can work on it again and add more and we’d have a best seller.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can see they care about it in the way they put details in, but it needs more.”

There was something incredibly attractive about listening to him talk about it. It was always attractive to see someone care and talk about their passions; but Harry was on another level. She could see it on his face that he was disappointed and knew the person could do better. While it made it all the more nerve wracking for her own novel, she had him working with her along the way.

He never told her where to go with her story in terms of ideas, but how to improve the mechanics. Reading over bits and telling her to take away a certain detail and add more in other places, or giving suggestions about how things could flow smoother. He’d listened to her storyboard, after showing her the author equivalent of it, and gave his honest feedback from a publisher's point of view and then from a boyfriend’s point of view.

Sometimes it was more obvious that he was the one with miles more life experience in these instances but she couldn’t be upset about it when it only aided in strengthening their relationship. 

“I see.” She looked at the manuscript on the desk with the red pen of doom. “Oof. The red pen is out… and you’ve used it a lot.” 

“Well, there are errors.” He chuffed, kissing her cheek in return. “Did you get enough done?” The word count goal had been 3,000 for today, but he didn’t make it for her. It was all on her. He simply helped keep her accountable.

“I did more. I think… 4.5?” She tilted her head trying to remember. “Now my head feels like soup.” It did feel like mush right now. That was why the laptop was closed and abandoned and she was finding comfort in the man. It was like a reward. 

“That’s ace, my dove. Amazing.” He praised. The pride he felt for her was earned fair and square. She had been applying herself more now than ever. Since their first night together they hadn’t really separated, seeing each other at least a few times a week. Her work ethic was there as she had zeroed in on what she wanted. “Why don’t we finish this up and go back to mine, mm?” 

Harry had been holding off all week. He’d gone a bit rough one night and even though she said she was fine, he wanted to give her body time to relax. As much as he loved sex, he had wanted her body to enjoy it more than anything else. Not be overly swollen and sore the next day. 

Today was going to be the day to break that. A full week of nothing but heated kisses, and she was as needy as needy could get. He felt her perk up at the mention, sitting up straighter in his lap. 

“Please! Let’s go. We can get food on the way home but I think we have some pressing matters to attend to.” She sniffed, standing from him and offering a hand to help him up. “Chop chop. Get a move on, mister.”

——-

Two rounds in and he knew she could take it. Her poor cunt was a mess and he knew that as pretty as it was all drippy and swollen, she had been aching for him to get a try into her other hole. They’d had a proper discussion about it, and he had effectively been edging her the entire night. Fair? No, but she knew how he rolled. The promised pleasure first, experiments after. Just in case she wanted to stop, she got something out of the night. 

She’d been warming his cock for a bit as he held her in his arms, cooing soft praises about how good of a girl she was, how brave she had been to ask for something new tonight when he felt her get impatient. She didn’t need to say it. He knew her well enough now to understand what she wanted. Pulling his cock out and rubbing the tip against her asshole, pressing against it and spreading the sticky cum over the rim.  “Want me t’fuck this tight little ass too?  Fill you from both ends."

“Wanna try.” She nodded, panting as her cunt contracted and his cum dribbled out of her pussy. “You’re so big I… I dunno if I can take it. Go slow.” Y/N knew she was slightly cock drunk but she also trusted him. He’d made her feel good already, took his time with everything else why wouldn’t she want to test this with him?

“Okay, my sweet. Just relax.” Harry wasn’t nervous, but he was cautious. His girl was precious cargo, and he wanted to make sure it felt as good as it could. He’d done the work of stretching her with his fingers, but it was going to be a challenge to get him in there regardless. He slowly pushed his thick head past the tight rim of her back hole. Watching her face intently, his own contorted with pleasure. "You're doing so good, doll," he encouraged softly. "Just relax and let me in. You can take it."

The pressure was intense, and she hissed out a breath as he slowly pushed more and more of himself into her. His thick head stretched her wide, and he paused, letting her adjust to the new sensation. "Breathe." The reminder was whispered as he realized she was holding her breath, his hand carding through her hair tenderly.

"That's it, baby. You're taking it so well. Always do so good f’me." He praised, his voice low and soothing. He slowly pushed more of himself into her, inch by inch, his thick prick spreading her wide. She could feel every vein, every ridge, as he slowly filled her up.

As he slid deeper, Harry could feel the intense pressure and stretch around his girth. Her tight little hole was gripped tightly around his shaft, the muscles fluttering and contracting as he pushed his way inside. She felt like she was being split in two, her body struggling to accommodate his bigger size- but she was. Slowly but surely, he sunk into her fully.

She had done it. 

“Fuck.” She sobbed out, clinging to him as he got down to the base. Never in her life had she felt so full that way, so stretched. Only Harry could make her feel this way. It wasn’t just the physical feeling, but the emotional one too. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone else. His guidance was priceless.

"You're doing so good, You’ve got it all in. Jus’ gotta let it adjust." he soothed, his voice strained as he fought to keep control. Giving her a moment to adjust, his hands stroking her hair and her cheeks, his thumb brushing away her tears. "You feel so hot around me, doll. So tight. Knew y’would be."

“I wanna be… I want you to feel good.” She whispered, looking at him with wet eyes. “It’s just so big. I’m tryin’ to take it.” It surely wasn't a beginner cock but she wasn’t known for taking the easy way.

"You're doing so well, baby," he reassured her, his hands never leaving her. He slowly pulled out halfway before sinking in again, a little faster this time. "That's it... take me all the way in."

It was the fourth time he did it that she felt the pleasure. Both from the action and the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against her swollen clit, making her gasp. Her eyes fell shut as she leaned her head back, slowly relaxing into the bed.

He watched her face contorted in pleasure, his heart swelling with pride. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. As she opened her eyes, he began to pick up the pace, his hips pressing against hers. "M’so proud of you. Look at you, taking every bit of me.”

Y/N sent him a blissed out smile as her hand slipped between them, rubbing her own clit slowly as he fucked into her ass. There was nothing rushed about it, nothing frantic, and it felt good just to be. Her muscles relaxed, making it feel even better as his cock filled her hole. Soft moans left her mouth as she curled her other hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down so he was close. “Are they the best holes you’ve had?”

Harry’s face was lax in his own pleasure as he felt her tight ass clench around his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his breath hot against her lips. “They are. So fucking tight, so perfect. Can’t compare them t’anything else.” He kept up his steady rhythm, loving how her body moved with his. “You feel so good. Can never get enough of you.” He whispered, brushing a stray hair out of her face before stroking her puffy lip. They were so pretty. Kissing wasn’t something he’d thought much of before, but he hadn’t kissed Y/N. She had changed everything for him. 

“Better than that silly ex wife?” She prodded, watching with a little smirk as she watched him think it over. Y/N had a feeling she was by the way be was acting,  but she wanted to hear it.

"Way better." he grunted, his hips snapping forward. "Little minx, y’just need to ask that, hm? No need to be jealous. She never gets t’have me again. Only y-you." He stuttered as her hand moved around his neck and she squeezed down hard on him. "Her holes were nothing compared to yours, doll. Nothing."

Y/N giggled as she choked him a little bit, watching his eyes widen before pulling. It was obvious that while he was the big man in charge- she could have fun too. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll tell you a secret, Harry.” Her lips brushed his as she kept the grip on his throat. Her lips were swollen and sensitive, the coarse facial hair brushing it and making her want to moan. “None of the boys my age have ever made me cum. They never fucked my ass. Never fucked me raw. And you did it all.”

"And I'm gonna keep doing it," he rumbled, eyes burning with lust as she kissed him. His hand tightened in her hair, tugging gently and pulling her deeper into the kiss. “You’ve got a man now, no need to think of those boys.You want me t’keep being nice to you? Keep making you cum?”

“If you keep fucking me like this, I do. Want my man to be so, so nice to me.” She gasped as he pushed all the way in, balls rested snug against her ass as he slowly humped into her, the comfort of the fullness making her fingers work harder on her clit. “Gotta- Gotta prove you can keep up with me, old man. That you c-can live up to the hype. I like the bit of silver at your temples but…” Her moan was broken as he pulled out and pushed back in, jostling her. “Gotta prove why older guys are b-better for pretty little things like me.”

"Oh, I'll prove it to you," he growled, picking up pace as he pounded into her tight ass. She had no idea just how badly he’d needed her to walk into his life. Thank god she had. This was everything he had ever wanted. "And right now, you need me to wreck this little hole until you can't walk straight. You need me to show you how a real man handles his woman. I'll give you everything you crave, everything you need. You just have to let go and trust me.” The man had every intention of proving how much better he could be for her than she could ever imagine.

"Fuck, look at this cunt." He muttered, reaching down to spread her dripping pussy apart. "It's absolutely soaked, just dripping down. Love it, hm?” The smugness in his tone would usually make her scowl but there was no denying it. The proof was right there. It was undeniable. “You're so turned on, baby. It's making it easier for me to fuck this tight little ass of yours." The glossy, hard flesh glistened with slick, dripping down onto the bed beneath her. His own cum intermingled with her own, making his movements smoother as he pushed in and out of her, coating her holes with their combined essence.

Her face was a mask of pure ecstasy, her eyes rolled back in her head as she whimpered in pleasure, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. Her asshole clenching and unclenching around his thick cock with each thrust, trying to milk him for all he was worth. Her body was feeling tingly, her legs trembling as he fucking into her ass, the sound of her arousal and his hips hitting her skin filling the room. She was completely lost in the pleasure, her mind clouded by the overwhelming sensation of being thoroughly fucked.

As she reached the peak of her orgasm, he took over and began rubbing her clit with his own thumb, the sensation sending waves of pleasure cascading through her body. She cried out, her pussy gushing as she came harder than she would have imagined being fucked like this. She was so overwhelmed that she could only hold limply onto his arms as he continued to pound into her, his thick cock stretching her hole as it thrust through the waves of her intense orgasm.

His face contorted, vein bulging in his neck as he struggled to hold back. "You feel too good, baby. I can't... I can't hold back any longer." His heavy balls drew up close to his body, ready to unleash another load inside of her. The feeling of her taut muscles milking him, the way she clung to him with every fiber of her being, it was too much. He was sensitive himself, but he wanted to deliver everything she wanted.

"Please, Harry...Please,come inside me... I wanna feel you fill me up. Want it everywhere." She panted, her voice desperate with need. Half of the fun of sex was seeing him lose that control he so easily held in all other scenarios. She wanted to make him feel just as good as he made her feel. He deserved it.

His restraint shattered at her words.  "Fuck, you're gonna get what you asked for."

With a guttural groan, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and let go, his hot load pulsing into her hole in thick ropes. She felt each ribbon scalding her , marking her as his. "That's it, take it all... That’s m’girl.” He kept cumming, his cock twitching as he filled her. Ribbon after ribbon filled her up until she was overflowing with his load, almost overwhelmingly so. He finally slowed, his chest heaving, before gently pulling out of her ass, his cock glistening with the evidence of their fuck.

With a sense of possessive pride, he watched as his cum began to leak out of her stretched hole, dripping down her thighs. It was satisfying in the filthiest way. Primal and caveman in every sense of the word, he loved knowing that he had done it. He’d taken every one of her holes and made her his in the dirtiest type of way. He gently spread her cheeks apart, admiring the sight of his mark leaking from her. "Look at that... You're so full of me, S’that what you wanted?”

“Mhm.” She smiled, slightly drunk on the orgasm and the fact that he had pushed her further than anyone else had before. it was a good feeling in her body, the beginnings of soreness and the calming heat of his hands as he caressed her the way he wanted. “Exactly what I wanted. Think M’gonna have to keep you around so we can do that again.”

“I’d hope so.” He laughed tiredly, pushing back down to take her mouth for another kiss. “I’m far from finished with you, sweet little thing. But I think I’ve ravaged your body enough. Think you need a bath and some tea, get you ready to sleep.” 

Aftercare wasn’t something she’d experienced in any other relationship either, but she realized now it was probably a Harry exclusive thing. He was phenomenal at it. A lot of things, honestly. He experimented with her responsibly, took care of her after every round of sex, checked in on her, made sure she was eating proper meals, and helped her with her career. She’d lucked out with him. Whatever his ex wife was thinking, she had no clue- but she wasn’t about to waste a single bit of him.

“Do you have chamomile?” She asked softly, pecking his lips in return. 

“What do you take me for? Course I’ve got it.” He scoffed, pinching her chin. “But if I didn’t, I’d find some for you. Know it’s your favorite. Added it to the grocery list, along with your cereal, your rancid battery acid energy drinks, and the sweet and salty popcorn.” 

“It’s good battery acid, I’ll have you know.” She giggled, carding her fingers through his hair. He did have a bit of gray going on the temples but it was sexy. Just hearing how much he cared and put effort into the tiny things made her giddy. 

“Yeah, yeah. We can talk about your poison in the morning. It’s time to get clean and go t’sleep. Tomorrow may be the day you write five thousand words. You never know.”

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

need a bigger size

✰ summary: you’re six months pregnant and calling your husband to help you put on the jeans you just can’t seem to wear right now.

✰ warnings: MDNI!! satoru gojo x fem reader, pregnant reader, soon to be dad satoru, mentioning of sex

✰ a little note: i apologize for it being a bit short. i hope you like it. also, you can tell that i wrote this during my ovulation.

“Ugh… please, please fit. I really don’t want to buy another pair of pants.”

The sixth month of your pregnancy hadn’t exactly been a breeze. Your belly was getting bigger, and the clothes you bought just two weeks ago were barely fitting. Could a person really gain this much weight in two weeks?

As you struggled to pull your jeans up over your hips, you were truly at your limit. Moments like this made you question why you were pregnant in the first place. A simple act of getting dressed had turned into a sweaty, intense battle. You had no choice but to play your last card.

“Satoruuu! Can you come here for a second, please?”

As you kept struggling with your jeans, you heard footsteps approaching the bedroom. You looked miserably toward the door, seeing your husband with his perfect, well-kept hair standing there, giving you an amused look. You, on the other hand, had sweat-plastered hair sticking to every part of your face.

“I didn’t know you wanted to have a quick fuck so bad before we went shopping.”

Your husband was truly straightforward. But right now, more than a quick fuck, you needed to fit into these $70 jeans.

“How on earth did you think I wanted that?”

While leaning against the doorframe, Satoru walked over and stood in front of your struggling body.

“First, you’re trying to take off your pants. Second, you’ve been moaning for the past five minutes and—”

“OH MY GOD NO! I’VE JUST BEEN TRYING TO PUT ON THESE DAMN JEANS FOR THE PAST HALF HOUR, SATORU.”

The mischievous grin on your husband’s face instantly transformed into disappointment. Did he really not realize you were just trying to put on your jeans?

“So, the moans that I could hear all the way in the living room were just because of your jeans?” He sounded so genuinely let down that, as mad as you were, you felt a bit sorry for him.

“FINALLY, YOU GET IT.”

Your husband went into defense mode. “Hey, calm down, wifey. As your husband, who’s constantly thinking about wanting you, of course I’d think that way.”

“Gosh I’m so sorry. Pregnancy is really making me so irritable.” You hadn’t even realized you were yelling, and it upset you to treat the person you loved most in the world this way. All the blame lay on these cursed jeans, which had fit just fine two weeks ago.

A sweet smile appeared on Satoru’s face as he cupped your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “Never apologize to me. Alright, then, let’s get these jeans on you and head out shopping!”

Satoru moved behind you and took hold of the jeans stuck just below your hips. “Okay, this might be a bit tough, but take a deep breath, baby.”

Listening to him, you took a deep breath and allowed him to work the jeans over your hips. After a few challenging minutes, he’d finally managed to help you get them on.

“You might actually be the strongest, Satoru.” As you buttoned your jeans, he moved to stand in front of you again.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m always the strongest for you and our babygirl.”

After managing to fasten the buttons, you threw your arms around his neck with a triumphant smile. “I should have stopped you from getting me pregnant that night. Being pregnant is seriously tough. I bought these jeans just two weeks ago, and now they barely go over my ass”

“You’re the one who said you’d kill me if I didn’t get you pregnant that night, wifey. Besides,” he paused for a moment and placed his hands on your full hips, giving them both a firm squeeze, “if I’d known these amazing things would be this big, I would’ve gotten you pregnant the day I first saw you.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before turning around to grab the shirt you’d left on the bed. “Let me just put on this shirt real quick and we-”

The sound of ripping made you freeze, and your hands instinctively reached to feel the tear right where your backside was. Your jeans had split straight down the middle.

“Shit, shit, shit… GOD, I PAID 70 DOLLARS FOR THESE DAMN JEANS!” You cursed angrily at them, glancing at the rip in the mirror. Your husband, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment, was happily staring at the split right in the center of your backside.

“I guess this might be a sign that I should fuck you before we go shopping.”

Yeah, it really was, because after he finished speaking, he started kissing you hungrily. Later that day, while out shopping for baby items, you ended up buying a new pair of jeans. You just hoped they wouldn’t tear from the back after wearing them.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[misshoneyimhome]

oh yes! i second the request for dad william! maybe a family skate or going to the first game of the season? 🥹

Oh, we’re really on a Dad!Willy roll here, and it’s melting my heart 🥹 I’m absolutely obsessed with it right now—literally any little moment between William and his son (because yes, we’re sticking with Eliot here, sorry, not sorry!) is just pure sugar for my brain 🤗❤️‍🔥

Tropes & warnings: no warnings, except once again overload cuteness! Dad!Willy x reader, baby!Eliot, season opener

Word count: 1.7K

➼｡ﾟ

Daddy 88 - A First Season | dad!willy x reader ✐

The air inside the arena buzzed with excitement as fans returned for the season opener, anticipation running high after a long summer break. For you, though, tonight felt different. Holding Eliot in your arms, now seven months old, you couldn’t help but feel both pride and joy seeing him here for his first full season opener. Last year, he’d been so tiny, barely a month old when you’d first brought him to a game during the playoffs. But tonight, he was older, more aware, and it was clear he was beginning to take in this incredible part of William’s world.

Finding your seats in the family section, you settled in, adjusting Eliot so he could see the rink more easily. He was dressed in a mini version of William’s jersey, with “Daddy 88” printed on the back in bold letters. It was still a bit big on him, which only made him more adorable. The crowd around you was vibrant with blue and white, and Eliot’s eyes went wide, taking in the sea of fans, the lights, and the booming excitement filling the arena. Occasionally, he babbled, his little hands reaching out to touch the jersey fabric, his tiny fingers exploring its texture with curiosity.

“Big night for you, huh, little one?” you whispered, smiling down at him as he looked up with those bright blue eyes, his face full of wonder. “Your first home opener. You’re going to love this.”

The stadium dimmed, and the cheers rose as the players made their way onto the ice, William among them. You spotted him quickly, and so did Eliot, who squealed with excitement, kicking his legs in your lap. William skated by, scanning the stands until he found you both. His grin spread wide as he caught sight of Eliot’s jersey and his bright, eager expression. He waved up at you with a quick, playful salute before turning his focus back to the game.

The music blared, the lights flashed, and Eliot was absolutely captivated. Every time the crowd cheered, he joined in with squeals of delight, his face lighting up with joy. It was as if he knew he was part of something big, even if he couldn’t fully understand it. Watching him react to the excitement around him made your heart swell—you could already see the beginnings of his own little love for the game.

Midway through the second period, the crowd’s anticipation grew as William made his way toward the goal. You held your breath as he manoeuvred past the defenders, lining up his shot. Then, with a swift flick of his stick, the puck sailed past the goalie and into the net. The arena erupted, and Eliot, sensing the excitement, let out a delighted squeal, clapping his hands along with the crowd. He didn’t fully grasp what had happened, but he could feel the energy all around him.

You lifted him a little higher, bouncing him in your arms as the cheers swelled, letting him join in as if to say, “That’s my dad!” William skated past, throwing a quick glance toward the stands, his grin widening when he saw Eliot, cheering him on with you.

Throughout the game, William’s focus stayed on the ice, but you noticed he’d steal glances up toward the stands, his gaze always finding you and Eliot. Seeing the two of you there seemed to fuel him, adding an extra fire to his game, and you could feel his pride radiating even from afar. Every so often, you’d lift Eliot up a little higher, letting him wave as if to say, “Look at me, Dad! I’m here for you!”

As the game unfolded, Eliot remained mesmerised. His eyes darted from the players to the big screens, and his little hands clutched onto your fingers as he bounced slightly with the action on the ice. He seemed especially fascinated when the puck moved quickly or when the players crowded around the goal, watching intently as the game unfolded. It was almost as if he knew that this was his dad’s world—a world that he, too, was now a part of.

By the third period, the Leafs were in the lead, and the crowd was on its feet with every play. Eliot joined in, clapping his hands along with the fans, letting out little cheers that made everyone around you smile. When the final buzzer sounded and the home team had won, the arena erupted, and Eliot squealed with pure delight, his laugh blending into the roar of the crowd. You couldn’t help but laugh along with him, caught up in his joy and the thrill of the moment.

After the game, you waited for the crowd to thin before making your way down to the tunnel entrance, where William would join you. When he appeared, still in his gear but grinning with satisfaction, Eliot’s eyes lit up, and he reached his tiny arms out towards his dad.

“Hey, champ,” William said, lifting Eliot from your arms with a smile that was all pride and love. He held him close, brushing a hand over Eliot’s white hair. “What did you think? Did you enjoy watching Daddy play?”

Eliot responded with a babble and a big grin, patting William’s shoulder as if to say, “You were great!” 

William laughed, glancing over at you with a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you for bringing him tonight,” he said softly, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “I know he’s too young to remember this, but…I will. Seeing him here with you… it means everything.”

You smiled, reaching up to adjust Eliot’s little jersey. “I think he loved it, Will. Look at him—he’s your biggest fan already,” you teased, watching as Eliot clung to William, his head resting comfortably on his dad’s shoulder.

William looked down at Eliot, his eyes softening as he adjusted him in his arms. “Looks like we’ve got a future fan on our hands. Or maybe…” he paused, glancing at you with a playful gleam in his eye, “…a future player?”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself, Nylander. We’ll let him decide when he’s older. But if he takes after you… well, I’d say the Leafs better watch out.”

William chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to Eliot’s forehead. “Deal,” he agreed, a warm smile spreading across his face. “But until then, we’ll just keep cheering together.”

As the three of you walked out of the arena, you felt the magic of the night settling around you. Eliot was snug against William’s chest, his tiny hands clutching at his dad’s shirt, his eyes starting to droop with sleep. This season opener had been more than just the start of a new hockey year; it had marked the beginning of a new tradition, one you’d share as a family for many seasons to come.

_

The rink felt familiar yet intimate in the quiet morning, just a couple of days after the excitement of the season opener. The stands were empty, and only a few team families were on the ice, creating a peaceful atmosphere that felt worlds away from game night’s electric roar. You held Eliot close, bundled in his little jacket, hat, and mittens, as he took in the sights, mesmerised by the smooth expanse of ice that seemed to sparkle under the arena lights.

William skated over, a huge smile lighting up his face when he saw the two of you waiting by the boards. “Alright, ready for another adventure, little man?” he murmured, ruffling Eliot’s hat gently. Eliot babbled, eyes wide with fascination, as William held out his arms to take him.

“Go easy on him,” you teased, passing Eliot over. “The poor kid just survived his first home opener a few nights ago!”

William laughed, cradling Eliot in one arm as he skated in a gentle circle, keeping a steady pace to give Eliot his first real taste of being on the ice. “Oh, he loved it. Didn’t you, bud?” he murmured to Eliot, who responded with a delighted squeal, his tiny fists reaching out, wanting to touch the ice.

With Eliot securely in his arms, William glided back and forth, moving at a slow, soothing rhythm that had Eliot giggling. He occasionally tilted him closer to the ice, just enough for Eliot to feel the cool air beneath his feet. His eyes were bright, taking it all in, already as mesmerised by the ice as he had been by the roar of the crowd on game night.

After a few rounds, William skated back towards you, an excited look in his eyes. “How about we take him for a little family lap?” he suggested, holding out a hand.

You stepped onto the ice carefully, and with William’s arm wrapped securely around you, the three of you began gliding together. Eliot nestled between you both, looking from you to William with a big grin. Every so often, he reached for William’s jersey, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric as if anchoring himself to this new world.

“He’s a natural,” William said proudly, gazing down at Eliot. “Look at him. He’s already got that Nylander focus.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah? You think he’s already scoping out future plays?”

William smirked, winking at Eliot. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

As you reached the other end of the rink, you took a break, sitting with Eliot by the boards while William skated a few laps to warm up his legs. Eliot watched him with wide eyes, fascinated by every move his dad made—the graceful strides, the spins, the playful stops. William, noticing his audience, turned to give Eliot an extra little spin, sending him into fits of laughter that echoed through the empty arena.

When he finally skated back, William took Eliot’s tiny hand and held it gently, a playful glint in his eye. “See that, bud? Someday, you’ll be out here too, skating like that.”

You smiled, nudging him lightly. “Careful, Nylander. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

William chuckled, shifting Eliot in his arms. “Maybe, but look at him—he’s already a natural on the ice. Give him a few years, and he could be the next big hockey star.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “Alright, future hockey dad. But remember, we’ll let him decide.”

William grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, I know. But I’m just saying—I’ve got a good feeling.”

As the three of you lingered together, the quiet rink around you, it felt like the perfect start to the season, a moment of family magic before the demands of the season picked up again.

[lastoneout]

Hey so uh y'all know this is straight up radfem rhetoric that will do fuck all to actually combat the rise of fascism in this country while putting young people further at risk of being indoctrinated into conservatisim, right? Like this is 100% the basis of political lesbianism and is a direct pipeline to becoming a fucking TERF which is a direct pipeline to holding hands with Nazis, we should NOT be supporting or promoting the idea that the only way for women to be safe is to completely isolate themselves from men, especially in the coming years where unity with our allies, a group which includes men, will be the key to survival for so many people. The state of the world right now is based in part on the rampant spread of individualism and exclusion and distrust, why the hell would perpetuating that help??

Also this alienates women who cannot or will not abandon their connections to men(wanting to marry and love and have sex and children with men is morally neutral) and strips us of our ability to find allyship with marginalized men who are on our side and also will face extreme violence under this new administration. This will cut us off from black men and disabled men and intersex men and queer men and will absolutely be used as justification to completely fucking abandon trans men, who have already been completely abandoned by current mainstream feminism to the point that I cannot go five seconds without someone saying reproductive rights are an issue that only affects women when that is in NO way the case. Basically no one has been including trans mascs/men, nonbinary people, and intersex people in the abortion and birth control discussion this election cycle despite those groups needing just as much help and support on this front and that is a PROBLEM. Like trans men and intersex people who can get pregnant are going to be at a hellish level of risk going forward, infinitely more so than the average cishet perisex woman. We cannot abandon them further.

Plus for some of us marriage will potentially keep us safer or help us escape this country should we need to, I'm disabled and can't work I cannot just move to another country, but if I get married and my fiancé goes first and finds a job that can support us both that will help me. And like you can also get married to a man and still refuse to have kids in protest? Most of the people in our generation aren't having kids anyway? And tbh those of us who want to are not bad people nor should we have to put our entire lives on hold for god knows how long to stick it to the men. We live in hell right now, why the fuck should we be asking people to completely abandon things that could make them happy in a weird form of protest that won't work and is a gateway to being a raging Nazi transphobe??

And on top of all of that this also lets the hundreds of thousands of women who voted for Trump on purpose because they too have bought in to his rhetoric off the hook, which again, is where radical feminism leads because it is fundamentally based on the idea that men are always dangerous and harmful no matter what but women are always innocent brainwashed victims who can do no harm. And writing off men as a lost cause who are evil by nature and thus cannot be saved is also not only radical feminist bullshit, it's legit just conservative "boys will be boys" bullshit with a progressive hat. I am not giving shitty men a free pass to suck forever by pretending they are incapable of change, they can, should, and MUST be held to a higher standard. That is what I mean when I say radical feminisim is a conservative ideology, it doesn't believe a better world is possible because it assumes men will always be evil and should be avoided at all costs which upholds the status quo, it does nothing to actually challenge it.

(And hell, if all that wasn't enough, this is also flawed because the kinds of women who are left leaning enough to consider doing something like this likely already only associate with progressive men, so who are we even punishing here? No woman riding the tradwife MAGA waterslide is going to do this, so the only men who get punished are the good ones who are on our side, which helps who, exactly?? Like christ y'all this falls the fuck apart so fast the second you actually think about it.)

There are men who will be my allies in the coming years and women who will be my enemy. Women are just as capable of being bigoted fascist pieces of shit as men are, this election proved that. We waited for women to save us and most of them fucking didn't. How the hell am I supposed to believe women are inherently safer or better while looking at the breakdown of what demographics voted for Trump. Some of the most vile, traumatizing misogyny and biphobia I have faced in my life was at the hands of other women and some of the most outspoken feminists who work tirelessly to tear apart the patriarchy I know are men. My fiancé, a cis man, legit checked MY toxic masculinity yesterday, I recently came out as butch and have been trying to live up to that by staying as strong as possible right now, and HE had to tell me to knock it off and let myself cry. Gender and sex are not indicators of morality and acting like they are is pure, unadulterated radical feminist bullshit.

We can and should absolutely talk about the rise of alt-right beliefs amongst men in this country, especially young men, but we cannot ignore that young women are buying into that shit too and a lot of it is COMING FROM RADICAL FEMINISTS, I cannot fucking stress enough radical feminism is a direct pipeline to becoming a conservative, the TERF to tadwife waterslide is real and likely WHY so many young women are voting conservatively. The more we concede to this rancid bullshit the more women wander directly into the alt-right's open arms.

The problem isn't men, it's systemic misogyny perpetuated by both men AND women, and also fascism. Don't lose sight of the true enemy.

[biteofcherry]

Happy Wetnessday 💦

Let's play with your professor universe but put you in it.

You're the new chief of staff and so far you really like your new position but you can't help but notice that almost all professors are insanely handsome. At a staff party you get to know some of them better, which of the three flirts offer to get to know each other better in their office to you take follow there?

International relations professor Ari, who has been eye fucking you all night

Law professor Andy, who straight up told you he'd like to fill you and watch it drip from between your legs for the rest of the party

Criminal defense professor Lloyd, who told you he's not a one pump chump like the others here and would ruin you forever

So who do you follow? Or are you holding out for another professor?

xoxo Wetnessday anon 💦

Wetnessday Anon, my beloved naughty enabler! 💖😁 Hope November treats you well!

When you started this ask with let's play with professor I was instantly giddy 🤭 Let's play with him, let him play with us, yesss.

Picking Ari would be my usual way, especially with the recent fluffy Ari 2.0 look that Chris is showing. He's always a great choice, so flirty and seductive and irresistibly hot. You know that he'd get you all worked up just from the way he looks at you, how he says your name, how he licks the rim of his glass suggestively while holding your gaze.

Professor Lloyd would be a wild choice, but perhaps that's what you actually need? You're dealing with those stuffy professors on a daily basis, who have sticks so far up their asses and know clit only from a poster in biology class, but would sooner die than touch it. Lloyd is not one of them. He's incorrigible, playful and so crass, but damn it wets your panties.

But right in the middle of my period I'm horny for some strict, mean fucking and professor Andy gives me that vibe 🥵

He looks fluffy and charming, can act that easily, but when it comes to taking your body, he's a mean, merciless fucker. He told you he wants to bend you over his desk, fill you and watch it drip out of you.

Your brain ceased to function for a split of a second, no coherent words coming to the front to object.

When you finally opened your mouth, about to scold him for the inappropriate behavior, Andy put his finger to your lips.

"Save it," he reprimanded you, instead. "You may think it's best to play the part of a proper lady, but what you need is to be taken hard and filled like a cumhungry slut."

Your pussy clenched; heat flooded you.

You still managed to frown at him, but your eyes shone with pleading need. It blew your pupils wide, glazing your gaze as Andy pushed you down to your knees in the semi-darkness of his office.

He ordered you to open your mouth, not an ounce of soft coaxing in the way he gripped your jaw and tilted your head as he fed you his thick cock.

"Such a needy slut and yet so untrained." Andy hummed when you gagged.

"Don't worry," he cupped both sides of your head and held you in place, showing no mercy as you choked and your eyes teared up.

"I'll train you."

He promised the same later, when you were hanging off his massive desk, your body limp and twitching as he twisted his thumb into your tight asshole while your pussy leaked his cum.

With a growl of approval, Andy watched a thick dollop of white cum spill out as he smacked your ass. You moaned, your hole clenching tightly around his thumb.

"What a dirty girl," he mocked, twisting the digit in your rim.

"Stuffed full of cum and getting turned on from her tight ass being played with. You're making a mess in my office." Andy's low grunt resounded right next to your ear as he pinned you down with the weight of his body, his beard grazing your tear-streaked cheek.

"Leaking your juices and my seed onto the floor and my shoe. You're gonna be a good little cumslut and clean it all."

[yall-batman-fanfic]

The Billionaire's Wife | Bruce Wayne/Batman x  Magician!Reader

Synopsis: After seeing an article that reduces her to some typical “billionaire’s wife” with a lot of sexism, offensive gender roles, and instigations of a gold-digger, Vivian finds her footing in the complex world of Gotham's elite and realizes that she doesn't always have to be the demure wife who smiles a lot, and she will show them that no one messes with her, especially in her own house.

Vivian sighed as she read the headline on the online article that greeted her on her browser-news. MRS. VIVIAN PRYOR WAYNE, A LIVING RAGS TO RICHES STORY by some contributor to Gotham Gazette's online articles. She's been reading the article for some time now and has memorized every line with how much she's scrolled through it. At some point she just slammed her laptop shut because she felt like she was adding to the page's traffic which only boosts the press to write such stuff. 

God, she didn't understand why this was happening again. The first time it happened was when she was just dating Bruce. People started writing how chummy they were during the second take of her book launch, and how Bruce was spoiling her with gifts that she was living every woman's dream by going on yacht trips, michelin star restaurants, luxury brand gifts, and a handsome man that had a reputation for being a playboy. 

Opening her laptop again, Vivian groaned and read through the article to figure out how they even got that shot and how they thought that her day going shopping with Bruce and Tim, and having the man carry majority of the shopping bags full of clothes and school things for the new addition of Tim to their home became “Mrs. Vivian Wayne dragging billionaire Bruce Wayne and his credit card through Gotham's shopping district.”

First of all: She was Vivian Pryor-Wayne. She just sticks to “Vivian Pryor” for her books and her teaching, and other things but since marrying she was legally Vivian Pryor Wayne. She just uses Vivian Pryor for her professional name and for her books. She willingly added the name Wayne to her name to show her love. As a joke she would call Bruce “Mr. Pryor” which he doesn't mind at all.

Second: she does not drag Bruce and his credit cards around the shopping district. She has her own black credit cards, all of which she pays on her own hard-earned cash. 

Third: How did they not see Tim in that photo? The kid was right there with here. She was holding his hand! And they really should have blurred his face since he was a minor. She'll be talking to their lawyers about this later.

“Everything alright, Viv?” Tim came down, all dressed up for school.

“Yes!” Vivian slammed her laptop to hide the article. “Everything is fine. Why wouldn't it be fine?”

She didn't seem fine. Tim and Alfred exchanged looks before he took his place across from her and Alfred placed breakfast on the table. 

“Okay,” Tim took a bite of his toast. He watched her for a while, noticing how she drummed her fingers on the surface of her laptop and the contemplative look on her face, that looked like she was planning a murder. Tim would know. He's been working with Batman for a while now as Robin, and before that he's been a really good detective with learning who Batman and Robin really were. “Is it about the thing?”

“What thing?”

Tim gave her a sympathetic look. “We all know that's not real… it's just the press making gossip to give people to talk about.”

“I don't even know what you're talking about,” Vivian drank her coffee.

Tim sighed. What is it with the people in Wayne Manor? It seems stubbornness and pride were a common denominator with all of them. “I saw the article, Viv.”

Vivian was quiet for a time, eating her jam on toast before asking, “Does Bruce, know?”

“The fact that you asked, and the fact that he's not here telling this yourself means he doesn't.”

Vivian sighed and looked at him with a small smile, “Save the detective work after school, okay?”

Tim grinned and shrugged. “It's second nature by now. But seriously, Viv, we all know it's not true. I was there, remember? And I've been living here for a while now to know that what you and Bruce have is real and special.”

Vivian got up and walked around the table and embraced him from behind, “Thanks, Timmy.”

“Anytime, Vivian,” Tim smiled.

“You're heading to work now?” Bruce entered the room all dressed for work.

“I am,” Vivian squeezed Tim's shoulder, a message to not mention anything to Bruce. 

“This early?” Bruce slightly frowned. He got up quite late and wasn't able to have breakfast with her.

“We already spent enough time earlier before I got out of bed to get ready,” she kissed his cheek. “I'll make it up to you when I drop by your office after work for our three-o'clock meeting for the Wayne Foundation event.”

“Alright,” Bruce took her hand just as she was going to leave with her bag, and pulled her down for a kiss. Tim rolled his eyes and focused on his breakfast, while Alfred just focused on packing her lunch and extra coffee. After tasting the coffee that Gotham University had in their campus lounge, he started packing her a thermos of coffee that would satisfy her for the day. “Have fun at work.”

“I will! You too – and Tim, have fun at school!”

After thanking Alfred for the packed lunch and coffee, and the discreet way of saying, “all will be well,”, Vivian left. It was only when they were sure she won't be coming back for something that Bruce spoke, asking, “What's wrong?”

“As always, Sir, nothing gets past you,” said Alfred.

“What's wrong? Vivian didn't even finish her breakfast,” Bruce pointed out. She always cleans her plate before leaving. 

“Nor did she steal from the cookie jar before leaving,” Tim added.

“Nor did she give you as much attention as you required before going to the office,” Alfred jests.

Bruce only looked at the two, waiting for an answer. Alfred was a tough nut to crack, but Tim…

While Tim would put the mission first and Bruce trusts him with Batman's identity – he is Robin now after all – he can't always hide something from Bruce when it comes to Vivian. Especially when placed in a hotseat. But later, as he grows older and becomes more independent, he starts to learn how to keep things from Bruce regarding Vivian. As long as it wasn't life threatening. 

“There was an article online,” Tim sighed. “Sorry, Alfred, I know I wasn't supposed to but…”

“Not to worry, Master Timothy. It takes more than just fighting crime in a bird costume to stand up to your commanding officer. You'll one day learn that sometimes it's alright to give them a good smack.”

“Is that what you did when you served?”

“Tim,” Bruce told him to continue. 

“It's an article on Gotham Gazette – you know those anonymous writers they have to write some tabloid bullsh –”

“Master Timothy!”

“Sorry, Alfred — but you get the point.”

“What's this article about?” Bruce opened his laptop that he had beside him to check. 

“You'll know when you see it.”

And he did. The moment Bruce opened the Gotham Gazette's website. While it was for supposed to be showing current news on Gotham, such as the latest bank robbery by Two-Face which Batman and Robin stopped, or some new thing the new District Attorney was going on about, the headlining article on the homepage was the photo of them three with the photo's caption making him frown. 

Is that what Gotham was painting a picture of his wife? Some gold digger? Bruce thought as he read the article. It infuriated him that they were making such stories based off of stone shots, especially when Vivian has proven so many times that she was a hard working woman, that she was more than just a “billionaire's wife”. The title itself was offensive since she was more than just Bruce Wayne's wife. Before they married — hell, before they dated she was already building her name in her profession. She got a couple of Doctorates under her belt, wrote books and studies, and has contributed works into Gotham City's historical archives. She was awarded by the mayor for her works that depict Gothams City's history! Aside from that she's been an active contributor to Wayne Foundation charities, both the Thomas Wayne Foundation and the Martha Wayne Foundation. A part of her profit from the books she gives to charities to help Gotham City.

“I'm heading to work. Alfred, I'll leave Tim with you,” said Bruce as he got up.

“Very well, Sir,” Alfred sighed as Bruce left with his things and drove off. “I know now who I'm not telling where I hid the biscuit jar next time nor the shotgun.”

Tim sighed. “Oh brother.”

~*~

Walking through Wayne Enterprises’ building, Vivian tried her hardest to ignore the looks she was getting from some of the staff walking about. She would still greet them with a smile and a “hello”, but after that she would try not to notice the look on their faces that says they saw the article. Maybe she should have just taken the stairs than go through the long walk to the elevator. She'd gladly just open a portal to the floor itself then go through this long walk. But it would be too suspicious if she were found to be on the floor so suddenly. 

“Mrs. Wayne!” One of the members of the board appeared. “Vivian, heading up?”

Vivian kept the smile, “Hi William. Yes, I'm going to see Bruce.”

“Special visit?” He gave a suggestive look.

“No. We have a meeting with the Wayne Foundation for the charity event this coming Friday.”

“Is that so?”

She hoped that was the end of it or that the elevator would end their talk but William hopped into the elevator just as she was going to press the doors to close. William Earle was one of the people Vivian didn't like that much that was part of Wayne Enterprises’ board. Since she started coming over he would always make rude comments, such as, “you should come over more and loosen up Bruce. I'll be sure to fill in on some of his meetings.” She hasn't told Bruce about William Earle's little conversation starters but Bruce was well aware of Vivian's dislike towards the man.

“By the way, I saw the article on the Gazette,” said William.

“Did you now?”

“I don't really see the problem, I mean come on. Every married man knows this – happy wife, happy life.” He laughed.

Vivian didn't laugh. Is that what they all think of her in Wayne Enterprise?

“Professor Pryor!” Lucius entered the elevator and stood between her and William, to her delight.

“Lucius, wonderful to see you,” Vivian greeted him sincerely.

“Heading to the Wayne Foundation meeting?”

“I am.”

The elevator finally closed and they were heading up. 

“Then I guess we're heading the same way then,” Lucius offered his arm to her.

Vivian laughed lightly and wrapped her arm with the man's. “Good thing you are, I don't think I'll have much patience in these things. I’m all in for doing but planning the whole thing, I just get lost.”

“That's what we're here for, Professor Pryor. You and Mr. Wayne dream it, and we'll do the grunt work on making it happen.”

“I promise to help out as much as I can, Lucius.”

“Your expertise and your presence alone in those events are more than enough. And I believe you've provided the list of collectors who are looking to sell — I never knew you were well acquainted with Rossi.”

“Rossi?” William tried to chime in.

“Sebastian Rossi – he's an Italian artist whose paintings have agreed to put some of his private works to auction. A fixed portion, of course, will go to him, but the rest will be put in the Wayne Foundation.”

“It just so happens Sebastian Rossi is a professor in art history as well, and I went to his lectures when I was still in uni.”

“Did you now?” Lucius said. “Well, Mr. Wayne does have his network in Gotham's elite and powerful, and sciences, but you Professor brings the classics to our doorstep.”

“Somebody has to keep Wayne Enterprise from becoming some robotic corporation.”

They arrived at their floor, and Vivian and Lucius said goodbye to William as they went to Bruce's office.

“Saved your behind from an awkward elevator ride, didn't I Professor?” Lucius teased.

“Yes, and you are my hero today, Lucius,” Vivian sighed. “I'm sure you've seen the article on the Gazette?”

“Everyone has. It's probably one of the reasons why Bruce is a little distracted today at our nine-o'clock. Don't worry, your husband might have his mind preoccupied but he still manages to operate well.”

Vivian sighed. “I am trying to keep an upbeat attitude.”

“I'm sure the charity event will change some perspectives in the coming future.”

“I hope so.”

Entering Bruce's office, they saw the man deep in work while taking a call on his bluetooth earpiece. The moment they opened the door, he told the person at the other line that he'll call them back later then stood to greet Lucius and Vivian.

“Lucius,” Bruce said to the man and then turned to Vivian and kissed her cheek, “Viv, I guess it's time for the meeting.”

“Yes, it is,” Vivian told him.

“But Marge usually takes her time with preparing our coffee. I'll head over to make sure everything is alright. You can come after ten minutes, Mr. Wayne, Professor Pryor,” Lucius said and left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Vivian turned to Bruce and said, “Marge doesn’t take too much time with preparing coffee.”

“No, she does not. But I appreciate Lucius’ efforts in giving us some time alone. It's been a busy week.”

“Both in your day job and night job,” Vivian placed her bag on the seat and leaned back on his desk. Bruce stood before her and removed the tie that's keeping her hair to a bun, then massaged her scalp.

“That feels nice,” she hummed. “How's your day?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“You saw.”

“You should have told me.”

“I just don't want to think more about it. But going through that procession just to get to the elevator didn't help. William Earle didn't help either. Is that what I'm reduced to? A wife you got to please so I'd drop by your office to give you head before a meeting?”

Bruce frowned. “And you said you weren't thinking about it too much,” he leaned down and placed each of his hands on the table to cage her there. “Hey… for better and for worse, remember?” Vivian smiled and pressed her forehead on his. “And your shit is my shit too.” She laughed. 

“Why did we even add that to our vows?”

“It was your idea, and I think it's romantic. But you get the gist.”

“Of course, it was my idea,” Vivian brushed her nose against his and closed her eyes. “I miss the times we sneak around and act like we're good at it.”

“You're not just my wife Vivian, and nor are you just someone I please to get a good fuck. You're my partner in everything. Your achievements are your own and you’ve made a name for yourself in your field, and I am proud of you for it. And you put up with me and the demands of my other life.”

Vivian smiled, she slung her arms around his neck and enjoyed his company. “I should get an award for that. You don't see anyone else who supports their husband and their nightly hobbies of running around in a costume. Let alone a bat costume. And also consulting him and his friends on their Dungeons and Dragons campaigns.”

Bruce chuckled. “I'll get you a plaque for it.”

The door of his office opened and Bruce had to remove himself from his wife, displeased, to face them. It was William Earle. 

“Whoah, didn't mean to walk-in on you both like that,” he joked.

Vivian rolled her eyes, luckily Bruce was big enough to hide her from William's view.

“Will, what brings you here?” Bruce asked.

“Lucius has everyone in the conference room now.”

“But you're not in that meeting.”

He wasn't, but William Earle has always been a suckup.

William shrugged, “Saw them ready for you and thought why not save Marge the hassle of walking all the way here to tell you, you know.”

“Thanks, William,” Vivian got off the table and took her bag. “We'll head there now.”

Taking Bruce's offer of his arm, Vivian and him left the office and went straight to the meeting.

~*~

Veronica Vreeland was one of the few people that Vivian would call a real friend of Bruce Wayne. She remembered meeting the woman after Bruce said his friend demanded they have a double date with her now ex-husband. It was fun getting to know Veronica, and while the two of them were complete opposites, they found some common ground that became the foundation of their friendship. 

Which was dress shopping.

Vivian always loved clothes. She remembered going to the shopping district in Liverpool with her mother and going through the thrift shops to find clothes she liked for a cheap price, then Madeline would fix them up or alter them to fit her preference. For a time she learned how to use a sewing machine just to alter her existing clothes to styles she always wanted, and she did the same for her siblings when they started to become picky with their clothes. 

Oliver was more of the tweed jackets and white shirts and trousers.

Olivia liked rock and roll.

Vivian preferred to sew Olivia's clothes since it was more ripped than actually attached. 

When she got a job, the first paycheck she got, Vivian bought a really nice blazer – not from a thrift shop but a new one that fits her perfectly. It served her for years into her profession until it no longer fits. Later, she started buying clothes that would fit her profession and have that Dan Brown's Robert Langdon aesthetic.

Then she started seeing Bruce Wayne who invited her to galas and fancy dinners, and charity events, and press runways, and she had to look into more appropriate clothes. Luckily, her first gala event as Bruce’s date happened after she met Veronica Vreeland, and the woman invited her to go dress shopping before the event, and got a really nice dress that – in her words – “would have Bruce begging they head home before they even get to the venue.”

Now, here they were again, looking through luxury brand stores for a dress for the upcoming charity auction they were hosting at Wayne Manor. It was a Saturday which meant Tim had time to go through cases in the cave than be a kid, which had Vivian dragging him through their shopping with a video game to play with. 

“You are probably the only kid who I will ever enable to play video games instead of studying,” she told him as she handed him a video game and told him to sit at the bench.

“Or I could just play video games at home,” Tim said.

“Yeah, with Alfred coordinating with the caterer, Bruce at work, and me here, so you're unsupervised and can go to the basement to study? No.”

Tim groaned and took the game. 

Now standing before the mirrors trying out the dress that Veronica picked out, she did a good turn to see how it looked on her. Before she could give her opinion, Veronica told their assistant for the day, “No. She's a world renowned professor in symbology and iconography – in basic terms she's damn smart. Not eye-candy. She's the host for the event, not the hubby's accessory.”

“Of course, we'll find something that might interest us.”

After changing out of the dress and back to the robe that was provided, Vivian laid on the couch beside Veronica and sighed. On cue, the woman handed her a glass of champagne and a slice of cake. 

“Thanks for that,” Vivian said.

“No problem,” Veronica took Vivian's legs and had them on her lap, making the latter laugh. “I hate it when they always choose the dresses my grandmother would wear or whatever Rebecca Fallbrook as in her closet.”

“Which is?”

“The most clothing you'll see on her is probably the Princess Jasmine costume she wore on that New Year's Eve party. And I mean the red Princess Jasmine costume.”

They both laughed at the memory and drank their champagne. 

“I miss shopping with you, Ronie,” Vivian sighed. 

“Well, you've been busy.”

“And you've been on so many honeymoons now that I rarely see you in the country.”

Veronica smirked. “Those honeymoons got you that fantastic fur coat from St. Petersburg and that beautiful coat from Italy, mind you. So, what's up, Vivian Pryor-Wayne? Four years into the marriage… how's living with Gotham's snobs?”

A long and dragging sight. “I miss not being labeled an alcoholic whenever I order beer at ten in the morning. I also miss not seeing my face on the headlines of some tabloid being called as a gold digger.”

Veronica gave her a sympathetic look. “Gotham press and Gotham's socialite are not that welcoming to new money – or those who marry into its circle. They know they can't do anything to you because of Bruce, so they pay the media to do the shaming.”

“I miss Liverpool. There people can call each other wankers and get on with their day. None of this backstabbing shit.”

“Did you stab them when they're looking?”

“Usually.”

Veronica laughed. “If only Gotham is like your little neighborhood in Liverpool… but I hope this doesn't get between you and Bruce though.”

“It doesn't. He has been extra loving lately, and while I enjoy his morning greetings,” Tim mimicked someone vomiting, “I just want this to die down. I mean, I enjoy the gesture but he can't always go on his knees just to cheer me up, right?”

“VIVIAN!” Tim covered his ears with pillows.

“What do you expect? It's Bruce, he likes to please people. But seriously, Viv. Anything you need, I'm here — even if it means trashing someone's car to let out some steam… say Rebecca Fallbrook? Listen, I think this is just going out because you're hosting this event for the Wayne Foundation, and people are not happy that you've been getting good media publicity from the Daily Planet and the press in general. I can smell a rich-man's bribe anywhere.”

Vivian sighed and pulled Tim so she could mess with his hair. It always calms her to do that with her boys. And Tim doesn't mind, it was a free head-massage.

Before Vivian could say anything, the store assistants came back with some outfits that she would like. On in particular caught her eye, and both her and Veronica pointed at it and said, “that one.”

Later that day, a photo went around Gotham Gazette’s page and social platforms with an article that highlights her and Veronica, mentioning that she was once again cashing in Bruce's money with luxury clothes. Vivian slammed her laptop shut and counted the days until the auction. Once that's done all of this would be over… until the next event.

~*~

The grand hall was packed with Gotham's socialite, the press, and guests who show expertise on the pieces that Sebastian has finally opened up to sell. As everyone was socializing downstairs, Vivian watched from the railing as she tried to look for someone she knew so she could run to them immediately and not get caught in all the whole small talk. She saw Veronica there but she was conversing with Suzie Vanaver and Heather Earle, who were not the most welcoming in their little circle. Veronica called them snobs and would rather have champagne at the corner but she was forced by her father to interact with them and be a “good girl” for the evening. And not hunting for husband #4.

“You look like you're playing that crane game we went to with Ms. Vreeland the other day,” Tim said to her as he came out with Bruce. Both wearing matching tuxes that complimented her white jumpsuit. 

“Don't you look handsome,” she told Tim. “I saw Bernard down there, why don't you save him from getting his cheeks pinched by old ladies.”

“You don’t have to bribe a friend so I can give you both some alone time you know,” Tim snickered and left.

Alone, Bruce took Vivian's hand that's been fiddling with Jason's locket and smiled sadly. Even in death, Vivian still finds comfort with Jason's memory. He took her hand and kissed the wedding band and her engagement ring before kissing her lips. 

“You look fantastic,” he told her.

“I’m a complete mess,” she sighed. “It's weird how I know everyone in this room, I can smile and talk to them but I feel utterly alone.”

“But you're not,” Bruce told her. His eyes glanced over her should an the crowd as he said, “and I think you'll be happy to see someone in this crowd right now.” He had her turn around to see.

Waving frantically from below, where he gained looks from the other guests, Sebastian Rossi called out to Vivian with a grin, “Bella! Vivian!” Rossi called for her with his thick Italian accent.

Vivian laughed and waved at him, “Professore Rossi!”

Sebastian Rossi gestured for her to come down. Taking Bruce's hand, they both went to greet the artist who was accompanied by some of her colleagues who were apologizing to the others he surprised with his loud entrance.

“Professore Rossi,” Vivian greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks. “How was the flight?” She asked in Italian.

“Professor Vivian Pryor – eh!” Sebastian caught himself, “Professor Vivian Pryor-Wayne, I hear now.”

“Yes,” she then switched to English as she introduced Bruce. “My husband, Bruce Wayne.”

“The lucky man,” Rossi laughed as she shook Bruce's hand.

“Indeed. It's nice to meet you as an artist and as Vivian's good friends. How was the flight?”

“Very appreciated – I think I enjoyed it too much in first class. Now, I heard you have adopted a few boys. I brought presents,” he took out three wrapped boxes from his bag. “I remember reading about it in our emails. The youngest, where is he?”

Bruce called for Tim from the snackbar and had him come over. 

“Ah, you are Tim. Yes?”

“Yeah,” Tim said.

“For you. Vivian said that you liked puzzles, so I got you something to get you off the video games.”

Tim snickered and turned to Vivian. “Look at that, an intellectual game that a normal kid could play that’s not a video game. Thank you, Professor Rossi.”

Rossi patted him on the head – messing up his hair – and had him returning to where he was finishing all the snacks with Bernard. “Now, Richard?”

“Dick's not –”

“Here, I am,” Dick crossed the crowd, all dressed up for the night. “Bruce said it was your event, I can't miss that.”

Vivian smiled and thanked him. “I'm glad you're here, kiddo.”

“Here, my boy. I did the math – mind you I am not a mathematician so I made a good guess on your age. So, here. From Tuscany – Italy's wine region.”

“Thank you… hold on, when you said bad in math, how old did you think I was?”

Rossi shrugged. “Sixteen?”

“He'd be underage. He won't be allowed to drink then,” said Bruce.

Rossi scoffed. “I've been drinking wine since I was Timothy's age.”

“An exaggeration,” Vivian reassured the people around them.

“But thanks,” Dick said. 

“Now. I know that Jason is gone, but he will always be here with you. Here, for you and Mr. Wayne. It is a replica of the Argo — you know, Jason and the Argonauts.”

“Thank you, Professor. This means so much…” she gestured for Alfred to come and the butler approached them and held out his hand to take the gift.

“I'll put this in his old room,” he told her.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Vivian said before he left. “This means so much, Professor –”

“There is more.”

“Please, no more. You have already given so much.”

“No, no! For my favorite student – do not tell the others that –”

“We're right here,” said Kirk. “We were also your students during our semester in Italy.”

“— I made you something for your wedding. I was supposed to give it to you during the celebration but I ran out of time. I can't give it to you now but I had it transported here along with my other works.”

“Please don't tell me Sebastian Rossi just made us a painting as a wedding gift,” whispered Bruce.

“I think he did.”

“And you do know that a Rossi costs about at least six million dollars in the market, right?”

“I know,” Vivian whispered. “And I thought getting him to pour me wine is an honor enough.”

“Here,” Rossi showed the catalog, specifically at the painting. “For your personal collection.”

“Thank you, Professor Rossi,” Vivian said. “This means so much.”

“Specifically around six million dollars,” Dick whispered to Bruce. “Did this add another zero into your joint account?”

“It did,” Bruce answered.

“Now, I shall leave you to your event,” Rossi said.

“No, you are the guest of honor, I would be a rude host to leave you just like that,” Vivian had her arm around her old friend and brought him around to meet Lucius Fox and the others.

The auction went smoothly with Vivian giving an opening speech to discuss more about Rossi's works, and a few words from the artist himself, then everyone was bidding to get a hold on one of Italy's rising artists whose paintings cost just keeps getting bigger and bigger. It ended when Bruce himself purchased a painting called Aphrodite Urania Seducing Ares where the goddess is depicted to be having red hair and is naked as she bathed in sea water, and at the side the god of war was watching with lustful eyes.

“I think we both know why Bruce bought that painting,” Dick said as he removed his hand off of Tim and Bernard's eyes when the photo of the painting was no longer on display.

“You don't say? You think he'll put it in their bedroom?” Tim muttered.

“I know he will.”

With the auction finished, people enjoyed the afterparty and got to know the artist who they just made very rich. As Rossi spoke with Bruce and the others, Vivian was whisked away by Veronica who teased her about the last painting which Bruce bought.

“That wasn't me,” Vivian told her. “Okay, technically that wasn't me, it was a model, but Rossi admitted he made the hair red on purpose because he really liked my red hair.”

Veronica laughed. “Tell me where Bruce is going to put it, alright?”

“Please don't tease him about it.”

“Viv, that's what friends are for. We tease you but with good intentions. It keeps you grounded.”

“Thank you for coming tonight, Ronnie. And for buying that piece,” Vivian sighed. “I don't know how I would have gotten through this night without you.”

“You would have. I barely talked to you, Viv.”

“Well, you kept the hoard from getting me tonight.”

Veronica laughed. “That's what I do… congratulations, Vivian. Now, go and mingle with the other rich people in Gotham. Remember, it's the connections that give you power.”

“I will,” Vivian said and went to the direction of some of the families who bought a piece from tonight. “Mr. Vanaver, Mr. Fallbrook, I'm glad that you're enjoying the evening.”

“Mrs. Wayne, good to see you,” Patrick Vanaver said.

“I hope you're happy with your purchases for tonight.”

“Not as happy as Wayne, though,” Oscar Lawford snickered. “He got the best one there is. Right, Viv?”

Vivian breathed through her nose and reminded herself about the network and the image she needed to keep. “I remember when Professor Rossi was still halfway through painting it – he was having trouble on Aphrodite's hair and then one day he just made it red to make her stand out.”

“Is that right? He just suddenly decided to make the goddess of love and sex have red-hair, huh?” Said Patrick. Vivian frowned. “You know, Professor, we really thought you were one of those quiet type of girls. We never thought you to be well acquainted with big people.”

Vivian forced a smile. “It's part of the job. Traveling, meeting people.”

“You know, I'm a painter myself, not as good as Professor Mario over there, but I can do a decent piece. How about you model for me on a piece” said Patrick.

“Excuse me?” Vivian's brows furrowed. 

“Come on now, Viv. It's just a joke,” said Oscar Lawford.

“You know, I can understand why Bruce wanted that painting. I can see it now.”

Vivian looked at him for a moment then did something that certainly would stick to every Gothamite in this event. She took Patrick Vanaver and Oscar Lawford's drinks and handed them to the nearest server on sight. Before they could question what she was doing, she asked the same man to tell the person at the coats and the valet to get Mr. Vanaver and Mr. Lawford's coats.

“What the hell, Viv?” Oscar told her.

“Don't Viv me. It's either Pryor or Mrs. Pryor-Wayne. While I do appreciate your attendance and we appreciate your donation to the cause, I would humbly ask for you to get out of my house.”

Silence came to the room and everyone was looking Vivian.

“Viv, come on it's a joke!” Oscar scoffed.

“Professor Pryor, the valet are now bringing Mr. Lawford and Mr. Vanaver's vehicles to the front, Ma'am,” Alfred came to her side. “Your coats will be waiting for you at the front,” he told the two men.

“What the – Wayne, are you hearing this right now?” Patrick turned to Bruce who was marching up to their space.

Bruce went to Vivian's side and only looked at the two men, joining him were Dick and Tim who looked at them with menacing glares. “Vivian is the Mistress of Wayne Manor, Patrick. She runs this house. What she says goes. I'm sure the valet already has your cars at the front. And don't worry about Suzie and Heather, they can stay. We'll personally secure their mode of transportation home.”

“Bruce, you can't be serious!” Oscar scoffed.

“Trust me. I am. And Oscar, Patrick,” Bruce towered over them and said in a threatening tone, “Insult my wife again and I swear… it will be the last. Don't think I didn't hear what you said to her along with the anonymous writer you have contacted in the Gazette.”

Vivian smirked. “We thank you for your donation to the Wayne Foundation, gentlemen. And we'll make sure that your paintings will reach your homes securely.”

“Now,” Dick spoke. “Get out.”

The two men turned to their wives and told them to come along, and they did, both embarrassed with what had happened. As soon as they were in their cars, Tim and Bernard ran up to the front with a couple of tomatoes – which Vivian magically conjured discreetly from the kitchen and handed to the boys – and threw it at the two men's windshields. The boys laughed and high-fived as the men started cursing and wiping the tomatoes using their expensive scarves.

“Are you alright, my love?” Bruce asked Vivian.

“Yes,” Vivian sighed. “I am now – a lot better since last week.” Since that article she saw.

“Scotch, neat, Ma'am,” Alfred handed Vivian her favorite drink.

“Thank you, Alfred. I can always count on you for this. And,” she turned to Bruce, smiling, “I can always count on you to have my back.”

“Partners, remember?” Bruce leaned down and kissed her softly.

“Well,” Veronica approached them. “Demure and commanding, I am proud of you, Vivian. The hulking husband is a nice touch, too, Bruce.”

“Ronnie,” Bruce greeted her. 

“What do you think is going to happen after that?” Vivian asked them. 

“Public shaming, give the Vanavers and the Lawfords a couple of days out of the sun – maybe a vacation to their villas – and they'll be back. Scarred and won't dare to come near you, but still close enough to be in the inner circles of Gotham's socialite,” Veronica answered.

“That's nice to hear,” said Vivian.

“Congratulations, Professor Pryor, you now know the ways on how to say ‘fuck you’ like a snobbish Gotham elite,” Veronica clinked her wine glass with Vivian's scotch. 

Tim and Bernard returned, both grinning from ear to ear.

“We got them good,” Tim said.

Vivian knelt down and kiss his cheek. “Thanks, detective.”

“Vivian!” Tim groaned and tried to push her away but couldn't as she had a good hold, making Bernard laugh at him.

[valentine-cafe]

Hallo, Hallo, Hallo! Can I have a red velvet cake and a croissant please??

{ afab ! reader } - I have dogs at home too so knowing they do too..makes me SO happy!!(๑╹ω╹๑ )

Just thinking about Jingyi and Rishen finally getting to meet your two dogs that you have back at home and always gush about!

The only problem? Your dogs are more possessive than them.

The second they sit down to get comfortable your dogs immediately surround you, jumping on your lap, licking your face, the normal. However, the moment Jingyi or Rishen try and touch or kiss you? They growl and stare them down, their ears propped up an alert.

“It’s okay! They’ll get used to you two eventually. Just give them some time.” You calmly assured, watching as Jingyi and Rishen sit on the couch, sulking.

- 🌸

˖⁺. ﹙ yandere naga mad doctor x gn reader x yandere hybrid mad scientist. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . good doggie !! 🍒 :  mad doctor ˖ yandere ˖ snake monster ˖ grim reaper character & spider-moth-mantis hybrid ˖ mad scientist ˖ yandere character﹙ verse 209 jingyi & rishen. ﹚

what must they do to persuade these doggies??!

The two ended up flopping over one another, looking at you from afar with big eyes. As you and your dogs were all cuddled up and enjoying the time spent together.

And try as they might, the husbands just could not at all seem to get your dogs to agree even getting a kiss or a hug from you.

“Good doggie— good doggie.” Rishen murmurs softly as he slowly makes his way over to you. Yet a warning bark leaves the dog to your right and he immediately throws his hands into the air and then moves back to sit next to Jìngyí.

“Baobei, I do not think your dogs enjoy our presence much.” The doctor sighs, shaking his head with a small frown as a dog puts its paw upon your waist, almost as if holding onto you and clinging.

“Nonsense. Again, they just need to get used to you!” You try to explain, waving your hands dismissevely.

“It has been 3 hours.” Rishen whines and slumps, pulling at the right corner of his mouth as he thinks about how to get the dogs to like his husband and him.

And then it strikes him.

“Doggie snacks!” He gasps and gets up, rushing to his bag in the kitchen. Pulling out some meatsticks he brought for the dogs, since you told the both of them you had.

Unwrapping one of them. You watch as your dogs immediately begin to sniff the air the second there is a sudden shift of smell.

And then they rush off of you, collapsing over one another as they attempt to get to the kitchen as fast as possible.

“You two are hungry yeah? Aw hungry babies.” The scientist coos from the kitchen, chuckling at the happy wagging of tails, while the dogs immediately snap out to grap the sticks handed to them. Eating merrily.

Ah, they finally figured out your dogs’ weaknesses. New food.

[altocat]

That ask about sephiroth having bad eyesight made me think of like. AGZ fucking around and stealing hojo's glasses to put them on and make fun of him to cheer up sephiroth like that one calvin and hobbes strip but then sephiroth, buoyed by their actions is like. "Give them here. I'll make fun of him too" and then he puts them on and goes "huh." Like:

~~~~~

"Hm." Sephiroth squinted through the lenses, baffled by the sudden shift in the world.

Angeal laughed. He was half a room away, but he had a smile of full teeth, creases in his face from the joy of it. "Yeah, the guy's blind as a bat, isn't he?"

He didn't get much chance to respond to that.

"Your pupils are freaking OUT, dude." Zack was peering at him- his eyes were the same shade as Angeal's. Was that the mako eyes people spoke about?

"I didn't realise that poster on the wall had words." He remarked. "Who would leave a cat hanging on a branch anyway?"

"You're joking, right?"

"No, of course not." He didn't mean to sound as defensive as he did. "Do you think there's a good reason to leave a cat hanging?"

The three of them were silent in the way he had come to recognise as meaning he'd said something Abnormal- except this time it was punctuated by the weird glances they were giving each other.

Angeal picked something up from the desk next to him, took a few steps back, and held it up "Sephiroth," He didn't like that tone of voice. "Just to check, what does this say?"

He narrowed his eyes, which made the light less glaring, but then things were indistinct again, so he took a hand to the glasses and adjusted them until it was clear again- which gave him a very good look at the growing concern on his friends' faces- but did make the thing clarify into a written page. "Report on the incident- That's your report from last month." His frown deepened. "Is that why he wears these things? So he can read things from the next desk over? Why doesn't he just get closer if he wants to read something? Though, I wouldn't put it past him to be going out of his way to snoop on people-"

"Seph, can you take those off and read it?"

"What, from over there? Don't be absurd. Do I look like a pair of binoculars to you?"

They were Looking at each other again. Was this normal? Did they always do this when he spoke? It was disconcerting.

Genesis plucked the glasses off his face, and he scowled, the sudden smeariness of everything exacerbating the growing pain in his head.

Genesis moved his hand- it was a test he recognised immediately.

"Three." He said, before Genesis even had a chance to ask.

Genesis was silent for a second. Sephiroth could imagine, now, more of those Looks.

He took the paper from Angeal- the white shape moving to his hand.

"What?"

"Well, now what is it?"

"What's what? I told you I can't read from half a room-"

"No, I mean my hand."

His... hand?

Sephiroth squinted again. He could sort of see a darker shade over- was that his hand?

"How am I supposed to know? I can't see what position your hand is in."

That silence definitely felt like a Look.

"Okay, please explain how the fuck you were telling how many fingers i was holding up."

"Hand position." Wasn't this obvious? "It's never one- it's always two, three, four or five." He held his own hand up to demonstrate. "Two fingers tilts the hand inward slightly, three tilts it outwards, four even further outward, and five is straight up, but the splay of the thumb sticks out more compared to one."

Genesis held up his other hand.

"Four."

This was obviously the wrong answer, given the increasingly uncomfortable mood of the room.

"No, it's two. I just tilted my hand the other way."

"How was I supposed to know it wasn't four, then?"

"Seph, that's not how you're- the point is you're supposed to be able to count each finger. It's a vision test for blurring, not for recognising patterns."

He was about to ask how the fuck he was supposed to count fingers, but then a realisation hit him.

All the long silences and Looks and tests...

He'd failed at something.

He was supposed to be able to do these things, wasn't he?

Something Angeal said earlier caught his attention. He'd said hojo was blind as a bat as if that was notable, but not concerning.

He chose his words carefully

"Are some people simply... better at seeing than others?"

That familiar silence of Fucking Up settled once again.

"Dude," Said Zack. "We have GOT to get your eyes tested."

Imperfect, said a reassuring voice in the back of his head. Imperfect, just like everyone else.

Imperfect, agreed another part of him, one much less soothing. Identically to Hojo.

HHHHHHHHHHHHH ANON WTF THIS IS SO GOOD I'VE BEEN AMBUSHED ASDFGDSADFDS

Sephhhh sweetheart it's okay cool guys wear glasses tooooo asedfghjgfds

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hello, I've been enjoying your fics, you write so charmingly! A request, if you have the time: reader plays lead guitar in Megadeth - Dave hired her during a post-rehab, clean living phase because she's a kick-ass metal guitarist, but she doesn't drink much, doesn't do drugs, doesn't do hookups. And they tour with Metallica, where hard-drinking, hard-partying, grupies-in-showers James Hetfield falls for her, and of course he has to work to convince her to take him seriously and date him. <3

Thank you so much, I'm glad you like them. I hope you like it❤

Behind the rockstar

Joining Megadeth had always been about the music. I was there to play, not to fall into the notorious lifestyle of rock. I’d seen the wild afterparties, the booze,  the drugs, the endless stream of groupies, and I wanted no part of it. I’d disappear after every show, slipping out as Metallica’s backstage turned into a chaotic free-for-all of laughter, drinks, and fans ready to do anything to be close to their idols. It didn’t faze me — I was there to play, and to avoid the chaos that came with it.

But someone had started to notice my vanishing act: James Hetfield. The first time he stopped me, he leaned against an amp, flashing that arrogant smile, and casually asked, “So, are you ever gonna stick around?”

I could tell by his tone he expected some banter or an easy laugh, but I didn’t give him one. I shrugged, zipping up my guitar case. “Not my thing, Hetfield. Enjoy the party.” 

The polite brush-off was supposed to be enough. But James was persistent, like a moth drawn to a flame, unwilling to give up so easily. The next night, he caught up with me again, this time with a smirk and a drink in hand. “You know, you’re missing out,” he said, holding out the glass. “One drink won’t kill you.”

I gave him a long look, raising an eyebrow. “I think I’ll survive,” I said, walking away without a second glance.

But that didn’t stop him. Instead, it seemed to challenge him, and over the next few nights, his cocky attempts turned into something else. The joking lines softened, the smooth charm replaced by a genuine curiosity. He started sitting out of the parties more often, just to catch me as I packed up. He’d bring coffee, ask me about the night’s show, or share stories about his own journey in music. I tried to keep my guard up, but it was getting harder each time.

Then, one evening, he found me playing alone after a show, experimenting with a tricky solo. He quietly sat down, watching in silence. When I glanced over, he looked different — more thoughtful, less of the rock star I’d first met.

“You really don’t drink, huh?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

I shrugged. “I just want to keep a clear head. This is too important to mess up.”

He nodded, looking down. “Yeah… I know what that’s like.” There was a shadow in his eyes, and I remembered the stories I’d heard about his battles with addiction. It hit me that the man behind the arrogant persona was struggling too, working to keep himself from slipping. 

After that, he changed. Every night, he’d find some reason to join me, away from the wild parties. Sometimes he’d bring new riffs he’d been working on or sit with me in the empty rehearsal room, teaching me solos with an unexpected patience. He’d focus so intently on the music, his usual swagger replaced with an openness that caught me off guard. His arrogance was just armor, I realized, hiding something more complex, someone who’d been through the same struggles and wanted something more.

One night, after a long set, I was surprised to find him still waiting around, his usual crowd nowhere in sight. He handed me a cup of coffee and asked, “Mind if I walk with you?”

It was just a walk back to the hotel, but it turned into a real conversation. We strolled through the quiet streets, and he told me things I hadn’t expected — stories about his family, his childhood, his demons. He spoke of the toll fame had taken, how the partying had turned into a crutch, how he was trying to change. By the time we reached the hotel, I saw him differently. I could see the way he was fighting against the image he’d built, trying to find himself underneath all the fame and excess.

From then on, he kept showing up in small, thoughtful ways. I’d find new guitar strings left on my amp when I ran low, or he’d save a quiet spot for us at a diner after the shows, away from the noise and distractions. He’d even picked up on little things — the kind of coffee I liked, the music I’d listen to as I tuned my guitar. And he gave up the booze and the afterparties, telling me quietly one night, “I want to be around for this. Around for…you.”

But the moment that sealed it was one night when we had a rough show — technical issues, tensions running high. Afterward, I found him alone in the rehearsal room, strumming his guitar softly. He looked up as I entered, his usual confident mask completely gone.

Without a word, he started playing something I’d never heard before. It was a slow, haunting melody, so unlike his usual riffs, layered with the kind of depth and rawness that only came from true vulnerability. I realized he’d written it for me, a piece full of emotion and sincerity that words alone couldn’t capture.

When he finished, he looked up at me, his eyes open, honest. “Y/N, I know I’m not exactly a safe bet. My life’s messy, I’m still figuring things out. But you make me want to try, to be better. I don’t want to let you down.”

I could see the sincerity, feel the weight of his words. I reached out, touching his hand, and he held it like it was something fragile and precious. “James, if we’re doing this, I need to know it’s real. No games, no halfway.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I don’t want games. I just want you.”

From that night on, we were a team. He’d still catch me before I left each night, sometimes just to talk, sometimes to play, and we’d share quiet moments on the road — stolen cups of coffee, hushed conversations in the early mornings, little gestures that spoke louder than words. He became a different person, one who listened, who showed up, who put his all into proving that he could be the man he wanted to be. The man I was beginning to care about.

And so, in the midst of the chaos, we found something real. It wasn’t perfect, and neither of us were, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I’d found something worth staying for. And with him beside me, I didn’t want to walk away.

[endwersed]

Sneak peek? 🫣 please?

Of course, anon! Here's a li'l sneak peek for the upcoming chapter 10 of the poets are right 😊

-

“Dinner was nice,” Stiles says, his voice soft, carefully casual. “I didn’t know you could cook like that.”

The water that Stiles is elbow deep into is warm, soapy suds sticking around his wrists as he scrubs rigorously at the dish in his hands. He has his sweater sleeves rolled up towards his elbows, fabric bunching tight around him, and it leaves his skin bare, leaves it free to brush up against Derek’s forearm. The brief touch feels even warmer than the water, somehow.

Peering at Derek from the corner of his eye, Stiles finds that Derek is staring steadfastly down. His fingers are curled firmly around a dishtowel, the material rumpled in his grip, rubbing meticulous, drying circles into the clean dish Stiles handed him just moments ago.

“I couldn’t always,” Derek says, still not even glancing sideways. “I, uh… I learned.”

Stiles hums. Honestly, it is as though the festive spirit has seeped all the way down to the core of him at this point in the day, because he feels too damn full of good food and good company and good wine to be anything but mellow, anything but pleasant. Even in the company of Derek, just the two of them left in this kitchen to clean up, he finds himself in a good mood. A real good mood, actually.

A good enough mood to crack jokes, even.

“Got bored of too many private chefs, huh?” he teases.

Derek huffs a laugh. Finally, his stare flicks over, snagging onto Stiles’ keen eye instantly. The smile stays curved at the corner of his mouth as they hold each other’s gazes, just looking at one another as their hands move in rhythmic, repetitive, well-practiced motions.

“Just got bored – period, actually.” A slight flush of red sweeps across Derek’s cheeks, just about visible in the low, evening light of the room. “I… I’m alone a lot. Only so many books you can get through in a row before you decide to pick up another hobby, I guess.”

Stiles pauses. The water circling his wrists ripples outwards as he blinks across at Derek.

“Oh,” he breathes. “I… yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

Of course he is alone a lot. His marriage lasted a single year. His mother snatched her selfish love away from him the moment he wriggled even an inch out from beneath her thumb. His sisters love for him is real, sure, but they have their own lives, their own loves, their own families.

Derek has nothing. An apartment, maybe. High up in the sky, empty and cold, way up above the rest of the world.

It feels like there is a too tight fist, squeezing around his heart. He forces himself to look away.

“Well, if you ever get bored of the haute cuisine,” he carries on, smile feeling thinner than before. “Maybe you can borrow that book Laura got me.”

It’s not exactly top of his damn reading list, that's for damn sure. A romance novel about young star-crossed lovers, a human and a werewolf, trying to defeat the odds with the overwhelming strength of their all-encompassing. Christ. She isn’t even trying to be subtle.

A strangled sort of noise chokes at the back of Derek’s throat. He covers it quickly with a sharp cough, tucked into the tight fist he draws up towards his mouth. His eyes dart back and forth between Stiles’ frown and the beyond dried dish in his hands more than once.

“I’ve, uh,” he starts, little more than a low sort of mumble, “read it, actually.”

Stiles lifts an eyebrow, head tilting to one side as he gazes at Derek thoughtfully.

“Oh, yeah?” he presses. “It any good?”

“You’ve probably read better,” Derek half-answers.

Stiles huffs a soft laugh, waiting a second as Derek carefully sets his item aside. He anticipates Derek’s open, waiting palm before it even presents itself, already there to pass over the next dish ready for drying.

“Glowing praise,” Stiles deadpans.

“Didn’t want to set your expectations too high,” Derek says drily. “Not that you’ll ever read it.”

“Good point,” Stiles scoffs ruefully, before letting the smile really pull at his mouth, letting it spread across his face as he turns to face Derek head on. “Was that your plan with the cooking, too? Throw me off the scent of how good you are with that lousy grilled cheese you once made for me?”

Derek arches an eyebrow, a hint of amusement touching his lips.

“I thought you liked that grilled cheese,” he says.

And Stiles is an idiot in a too good mood. He wholeheartedly blames the good food, the good company, and the good wine for the next, traitorous words that escape his mouth. Especially all of that good wine, actually.

“I liked the shirtless alpha making it for me a lot more.”

-

And - why the hell not, let's treat this as a WIP Wednesday!

No pressure tags: @dear-massacre @eevylynn @hedwig221b @lucky-bishop @raisesomehale ❤

[imogen-rhitt]

“It’s fine I don’t care about my coat right now.” Imogen quickly responded, meaning every word of that because her last concern in this moment was her coat. Instead she was too busy stealing glances at her ex while chewing on her bottom lip - hands in her lap with her fingers twisted together. With no idea where they were going or how long it would take them, it felt like every second was an hour. She wanted to fill the silence with something, anything, but no words came to her lips. “No you don’t need to buy me another one it’s just a coat.” She added after a few moments of silence. 

When they turned off the car and turned to look at her she felt her heart in her throat, blinking at them a couple of times. Nodding her head. Swallowing hard. Her eyes flicked to their lips, then up again to meet their gaze. “I’m here. I’m right here.” She breathed, about to reach out to them when Jamie unlocked the car and got out. Giving Imogen no choice but to follow suit. Hand back in theirs felt like coming home in the simplest way possible. Her other hand moving to clutch onto it as well so both hers were holding one of Jamie’s tightly. She walked a little sideways as it twisted her to do it but she didn’t give two shits. 

The elevator ride in silence made the air thick with all the things that were unsaid. Each floor they passed with a soft ding of the bell and the brunette stared resolutely at the numbers as they slowly climbed. The utterance of the words ‘welcome home’ made her eyes well up with tears again - because Jamie was home, and it had taken something as horrific as her dad passing away for her to come to her senses. “It’s beautiful.” She sniffed, looking around the apartment with her wide eyes, walking over to the photos of them that were hanging on the wall so she could run her finger across one of them. “I always loved that shirt on you.” Imogen murmured to herself, laughing breathily. Something under the coffee table caught her eye, a big kind of book, only it looked like it had been thumbed through a fair bit. But something was sticking out the side and the image caught her attention. “My dress…?” She questioned, crouching down to look more closely. @jamiexkent

"I'll text someone to get your coat back to mine at the end o their shift or tomorrow." Jamie said, as they drove, realizing they left her coat at the restaurant since they went out through the back door so she couldn't go back for it. Knowing Imogen, it was some designer coat worth a fortune. "Or I'll buy you another one, I don't know. I'm sorry. I totally forgot." They were just talking nonsense because they didn't know what else to do. Once upon a time, a drive with the two in complete silence would have been comfortable but now they wanted to crawl out of their own skin like they hadn't in a long time, just sitting there with Imogen next to them going home. In New Bellevoux. It was insane.

Luckily, the drive wasn't long. Jamie lived downtown after all, not far from where the restaurant so they were parking in the building's garage within less than half an hour. Once they stopped the car, they turned to her before getting out, looking at her as if they couldn't quite believe she was there. Because they couldn't. "God, you are... here." They bit their bottom lip, once again wanting to kiss her more than anything in the world. But they sighed and unlock the car so they could both exit it and locking it behind them.

It was a no brainer to hold her hand again, they would do it since they were kids, since before they got together, it was always Jamie's way of protecting her. It was more than a couples thing for them, it meant more. Jamie guided her to the elevator and a few moments later they were at their flat. It was a nice flat, big with three rooms, one they used as storage with racks full of kitchen supplies, the other one was a guest room and then their own room. An open kitchen with an island and a big living room and dining room. There were pictures of them hanging on one of the walls, they didn't realize because they never thought Imogen would be bloody there. There was the scrap book of magazine clippings under the coffee table. "Welcome home." They said after closing the door behind them.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[opens-up-4-nobody]

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