#kitchen provides mid-day

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

@errorunfound1

Yandere!neglectful!Batfam x mom!reader

Wayne Manor had always felt vast, but to you, it was more of a void than a home. It was easy to get lost in its endless hallways, in the constant hum of life orbiting Bruce’s nocturnal mission. You married him for love, despite knowing the weight of the life he led. You accepted his scars, his mission, his world. But what you hadn’t expected was how little space there would be left for you in it.

Bruce was always out, chasing shadows, leaving you to navigate a family that seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length. You poured your heart into them—Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian—but your efforts were met with indifference at best and disdain at worst. You had been a mother in every way that mattered, yet the coldness you received in return made your heart ache.

“You don’t have to act like you care,” Jason sneered once when you tried to patch him up after patrol. “We both know you’re just here for him.”

Tim barely acknowledged you unless it was necessary, his head buried in his work. Dick’s smiles, once genuine, now felt like politeness masking discomfort. And Damian, always the sharpest, had no qualms about cutting you down. “You’re not my mother,” he’d said, his words a dagger that twisted in your chest.

Bruce never intervened. When you tried to tell him, his responses were dismissive. “They’ll come around,” he’d say before disappearing into the night. But they never did.

So, you stayed quiet, swallowing the hurt, letting it fester.

One night, you stood in the empty dining room, staring at the cold, untouched dinner you’d prepared. The clock ticked on the wall, counting the hours Bruce was late. Again. You could hear the faint hum of voices from the Batcave below, the family gathered around him while you sat alone.

It wasn’t anger that bubbled up this time. It was resignation.

You left that night, not with a dramatic goodbye, but with a simple bag and a note left on the kitchen counter.

“I love you, but I can’t keep losing myself in a family that doesn’t want me.”

The days without you passed unnoticed at first. Bruce buried himself in his work, assuming you needed time to cool off. The Batkids carried on as usual, their lives too busy to miss the quiet presence you’d once provided.

It was Alfred who noticed first—the meals left uneaten, the flowers on the windowsill wilting. “Sir,” he said carefully one evening, “she’s not coming back.”

Bruce stopped mid-step, his expression flickering. “She just needs time.”

But days turned into weeks, and the absence became impossible to ignore. The manor felt colder, emptier. Jason snapped more often, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation. Tim’s focus wavered, his mistakes piling up in a way they never had before. Damian trained harder, his strikes sharper, but there was a new tension in him, an unease he wouldn’t voice.

“She left us,” Damian said one night, his tone sharp but brittle. “That’s on her.”

“No,” Dick said quietly, guilt heavy in his voice. “It’s on us.”

Bruce found you three weeks later, living in a modest apartment far from the grandeur of Wayne Manor. The door was locked, but that had never been an obstacle for him. He let himself in, his imposing frame filling the doorway as you stood frozen in the kitchen.

“Bruce,” you said, your voice tight.

“Come home.” His tone was soft but firm, the same voice he used to give orders in the field.

Your laugh was bitter, hollow. “Home? That place hasn’t felt like home in years.”

His jaw tightened, the only sign of his frustration. “You belong there. With me. With them.”

“I belonged there once,” you said, your voice breaking. “But I spent years trying to love a family that couldn’t love me back. Do you even realize how much it hurt, Bruce? To be invisible in my own home?”

He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “I didn’t see it. I should have. But I’m here now.”

“Too late,” you whispered, tears spilling over.

But Bruce Wayne was not a man who gave up easily. His hand reached out, brushing against yours. “You think I’ll let you go that easily?” His voice dropped, a dangerous edge slipping into his tone. “You’re mine. You always have been.”

You pulled away, shaking your head. “You don’t love me, Bruce. You love control. You love having someone waiting for you. But I won’t be that person anymore.”

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating. His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought he might let you go. But Bruce was nothing if not persistent.

“You’re coming home,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding.

Before you could respond, his hand shot forward, pressing a syringe into your arm. The sharp sting was followed by a wave of dizziness, and your legs buckled.

“Bruce,” you gasped, your vision swimming as he caught you.

“It’s for your own good,” he murmured, his arms cradling you as darkness pulled you under.

(A/n: this is why I don't take money 😅 writing shi asf 😔🔥 chat did I cook or am I cooked?)

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

first fall of snow

how spencer guesses you're pregnant before you actually tell him

fluff word count: 1390 warnings & tags & stuff: pregnant reader, slight issues with mother mentioned?, non-graphic vomiting, mentions/allusions to winter holidays being celebrated, kinda spencer's pov but still 2nd pov, reader is scared spencer will leave her lol, anxious!reader in general, mentions of death?, probably medical inaccuracies ive never been pregnant author's note: hiiii i'm forcing myself to post this because if i don't then i'll never post and i'm being BRAVE. i hope it can be a little comforting maybe. i've realllyyyy been struggling with my take on spencer's characterization lately soo this was kinda like a bootcamp/exercise situation into his mind and less an expression of my writing skills, iykwim. let me know your thoughts if u have any! i love you & have a splendid day!!

Spencer is walking—speed walking—toward his car, away from the case he just finished, away from serial killers and guns and geographical profiling and death.

He places his feet carefully on the snow-covered sidewalk with each step, the cold air biting at his face. He barely notices it, absorbed in the path ahead, as the snow provides a satisfying crunch underfoot—a nice background to his perpetually racing mind.

He doesn’t like the winter. It’s always too harsh outdoors, and too stuffy indoors, and he’s trapped in a suffocating haze no matter where he goes. 

His phone starts to vibrate gently in his pocket, interrupting his racing thoughts for a split second. His pace falters as he pulls it free, a quick smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he sees it’s your name on the screen.

“Hi. How are you?” he asks after picking up, watching his breath come out in puffs of vapor in the cold air.

Winters, however, have gotten progressively better each year he spends with you.

“...I’m okay,” you say, though the crack in your voice reveals the all-consuming ache in your bones and mind.

“No. You’re overwhelmed,” he guesses in his matter-of-fact way, voice gentle. You huff out a soft laugh at his ability to read you, never getting old.

“Yeah, I guess. A little. The holiday season, you know. Are you on your way home?” you ask, voice softer now. You’re sitting on the couch of yours and Spencer’s cozy apartment, wrestling with a blanket to cover your lap, and bouncing your leg relentlessly.

“I’m walking to the car now. Hey, have you done the crossword today?” Spencer asks, words a familiar, tender remedy for your nerves. You told him a long time ago that hearing his voice makes you feel better, and there are times, like these, where he just knows it’s what you need. You rest our head on the arm of the couch, curling up.

“No, I didn’t have the time. Why?”

“There was an interesting question about causes of death in Shakespeare plays, but they completely messed up the part of speech. It read, ‘Popular ways to die by the hands of England’s national poet’. I thought it was ‘poisons’ at first, but it was actually ‘stabbed’, even though the correct answer grammatically should’ve been ‘stabs’ or ‘stabbings’,” he says, his car now in sight through the steady sprinkle of snow coming down. “Do you think I should send an email to let them know? I guess stabbing does make more sense, though, versus poison, because throughout his works, thirty characters out of his 74 that died were stabbed compared to only four that were poisoned. Three were stabbed and poisoned. Did you know that two were actually baked into pies, which is a-”

“Oh my god, the pie,” you groan, cutting him off mid-sentence, sitting up hastily, the blanket falling to the floor.

“Pie?”

“Yeah. My mom coerced me into making it to bring tomorrow.” You pad over to the kitchen and crouch down to peek through the hazy glass of the oven, inspecting it. “Oh,” you murmur. “It’s…not pretty.”

He sandwiches the phone in between his ear and shoulder, gently opening the door to his car to sit down as he listens to you. He turns the heat on, exhaling in an exhausted relief, hovering his hand over where the air comes out. 

“Can you tell me what it looks like? Maybe I can help,” he suggests, leaning back against the headrest and letting his eyes close for a second. You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the counter as you bend down to take it out. “Don’t burn yourself,” he adds, hearing what you’re doing.

“I’m not going to burn my-” you cut yourself off with a huff. “Whatever. It’s just really messy. There’s like… liquid overflowing where the lattice should be.”

He hums. “How long has it been cooking for?”

“45 minutes. My mom sent me this one ancient recipe that I had to use written on parchment paper from like 70 years ago, and it does not have a bake time listed, so I’m just eyeballing it.”

“Okay. You could either put it back in the oven in hopes that more of the liquid will evaporate, or you can leave it out to cool down and hopefully thicken,” he says.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you sound exhausted and need your sleep.” 

You sigh, staring at your mess of a pie, hopes that you’ll appease your mother this year slipping further and further away, soon to be completely buried by the snow.

“Hey. I’m sure it’ll taste really good. Besides, people still liked Shakespeare, and he wrote about much worse pies than you could ever make.” 

A smile pulls at your lips.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll just leave it out to cool and head to bed. Will you stay on the phone a little longer?” you ask, padding over to your shared bedroom.

“Of course.”

He doesn’t start driving as you talk, not when nearly 2000 people die per year due to driving on icy roads, and two thirds of them were people who were reported to not be paying close enough attention.

And especially not when 54 hours ago on your last phone call, he noticed a drastic shift in your behavior, and was quickly able to tell that you were pregnant. 

He had too much waiting for him at home to be spinning out on black ice because he was talking to you and not watching the road.

He chooses instead to look outside at the falling snow, blanketing the city, his city, the very first for D.C. to have this winter out of the septillion snowflakes planet earth receives each year.

…

Spencer gets home a little later that night, holding another pint of cherries in his hands. Not for the pie—which he turns to see resting on the stove and winces slightly at—but for you. 

Cherries, with their 342 mg of potassium per cup, help replenish lost electrolytes and can soothe nausea.

He’s expecting it to start any day now.

He quietly steps into the bedroom, setting his bag by the door to be dealt with tomorrow. The soft glow of the lamp that was left on, presumably for him by your endlessly considerate heart, provides just enough light so he can get changed. He then finally clambers into bed next to you, one hand reaching out to lace in your hair, moving his fingers to gently scratch by the nape of your neck. He lifts the other to rest, like you're made of a delicate china, on your lower stomach, sighing in pure relief the second it makes contact.

You turn sleepily, humming when you’re met with the sight of him. “Spence,” you murmur, contented.

“Hi. I really didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly.

“I'm glad you did. I like it when you wake me.” You tuck yourself closer to him. “I love you.” His hand comes to trace gentle patterns all over your back and arm, and he gives you a little kiss, adoringly.

“Go back to sleep. I love you.”

You let your eyes shut once again, this time much easier now that he’s with you. You inhale his scent, which you swear could repair anything broken or lost in this world. You exhale, wondering if he’d still hold you the same way after learning that you’re carrying his child. 

It’s a scary thought, but you’re comforted by his warm touch, pushing you farther out into the deep sea of sleep.

Once your breaths get steady and your mouth parts slightly, he adds, in a whisper, “Both.”

…

The next morning, when you’re hunched over the toilet bowl, Spencer is there with you, rubbing your back and wiping your teary eyes. You look up to him after brushing your teeth, and no words are exchanged. He tugs you into his arms, silently quelling any of the countless anxieties swarming your mind, at least in this moment.

His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He lets it rest there, cupping your jaw.

“Let’s go shopping after breakfast today, okay? You need prenatal vitamins.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“And a new pie.”

[wileys-russo]

Emily Fox, “So… Do you actually like me—” “We have been together for seven years. We’re getting married next year. What the hell do you think?”, while house hunting

house hunting II e.fox

"-and this is the last one for today?" your fiance asked as the real estate agent arrived, parking behind the two of you in the driveway and hurrying out of the car with arms laden full of papers.

"yes the last one for today. but if you're not feeling it we can organize some more for mid next week!" the woman assured, fumbling around to find the keys as you slipped your hand into emilys and squeezed gently.

"i know its been a long day, but this could be the one." you reminded softly as the brunette nodded tiredly, having trained this morning for several hours and then been dragged to six different properties you knew her patience was wearing thin.

"i know, and i know we both want to find the right house so if this isn't the one, thats okay too." your fiance nodded her agreement as you leaned in to sweetly peck her lips as the real estate agent finally unlocked the front door.

"i love you." "i love you more."

you'd both recently gotten engaged which was long overdue, and though you'd lived together for several years now you'd mutually decided that before you started to make wedding plans and a budget, your next step was to buy your first home together.

"-and then this is the master. i just need to make a couple of calls but i'll be right downstairs if you have any questions!" the woman smiled kindly, having given you both the grand tour and stepping away to provide some privacy for the pair of you to talk.

"do you like it?" "what do you think?"

you both shared a look and laughed at your in sync thinking, and you couldn't help the surge of butterflies which fluttered around your chest at the look of the grin on your fiances face.

"i really like it." "it has almost everything we said we were looking for."

again you both laughed speaking in unison, the footballer playfully rolling her eyes as your hand came to cover her mouth with a tut and a shake of your head as she pushed you off.

"close to good schools, not too far from the training centre, big backyard, five rooms, multiple bathrooms, garage which would fit both of our cars-" emily started to list as you nodded.

"-lots of natural light, glass sliding back doors that lead out onto the deck, fireplace, stairs aren't too steep, huge kitchen with an island bench top, great potential for entertaining indoors and outdoors, in-ground pool."

your hands interlocked again as you wandered from room to room upstairs, eventually ending right back up in the master and separating to have a closer look.

"hers and hers closet." you ticked off with your finger making emily chuckle as she followed you inside, the two of you mentally filling the shelves and racks with clothes as a comfortable silence fell between you.

"good size bathroom cabinets." emily made a ticking motion in the air now as you both moved to the ensuit bathroom next, you now laughing before she kissed your cheek and wandered over to inspect the shower.

"but it is just out of our budget." you sighed, your fiance humming and turning around to face you. "but really, we did lowball our budget to be prepared for the wedding." the girl reminded as you nodded, eyes roaming the room.

"and we did agree not to set a date yet because we could wait an extra year if we wanted to." you added on as now emily sighed, your body relaxing as your fiance pressed herself against you, arms circling your waist as her chin found home on your shoulders.

"you did make me wait seven years for a proposal baby, whats another two finally engaged?" you teased, her nose tucking into your neck as her lips softly kissed your shoulder blade.

"girlfriend, fiance, wife, none of those titles make me love you any more or any less. we're building a life together babe, we've been building a life together. this is our decision, nobody else's." the defender murmured, hand coming to rest on your cheek, turning your head slightly so her mouth could meet yours properly.

"i get the top shelf of the cabinets and the left side of the closet, obviously." you pulled away with a nod to the cabinet hearing a scoff behind you.

"and what makes you so sure of that baby?" your fiance questioned, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you through the mirror in front of you.

"well i just claimed it." you shrugged with a grin, squealing as the brunette pinched your hip and you pushed her off of you. "and if i dispute your claim?" emily challenged crossing her arms as you let out a long and troubled sigh.

"so, do you actually like me or-" you started sadly as your fiance scoffed loudly cutting you off. "do i like you? we've been together for seven years. we're getting married! what the hell do you think?" her eyes rolled making your lips curl up into a smile.

"i think the top shelf and the left side of the closet should be mine, since you like me so much." you nodded matter of factly. "well then i get the left side of the bed, we are not having more than two decorative pillows and-" the girl paused as you raised an eyebrow awaiting her to finish her demands.

"and...?" "and...we buy this house." emilys face softened as her hands found yours, fingers interlinking and tugging you closer as your features lit up with surprise.

"really?" "really."

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Midnight Rain

Summary: Waking up in the middle of the night to a storm raging outside, you find Javi outside on the porch, deciding to have him right then and there.

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 1.9k

Warnings: oblivious idiots, mentions of divorced reader, reader in her mid thirties, smoking (both Javi and reader), alcohol, thunder storms, smut (unprotected sex, semi public sex), kissing, one ass slap, dirty talk, the word slut is used, some fluff at the end

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Full Masterlist // Javier Peña Masterlist

You couldn’t sleep.

Well, you couldn’t fall back asleep. 

When you got back to the ranch earlier that evening you had eaten a sandwich, taken a shower and fallen asleep as soon as your head had fallen against your pillow. 

It had been a long day of taking care of all the horses and making sure the barn was secured for the night. 

The heavy rain outside must have woken you up, the storm that had been forecasted for earlier that day now raging outside. You sat yourself up on your tiny single bed, parting the curtains so you could look into the darkness outside. 

Sometimes, when you were sitting in the small room Chucho Peña had provided you after you had shown up on his ranch out of the blue, asking if he needed any help with the animals you asked yourself how your life had ended up like this.

In your mid thirties, divorced, without any money, working as a ranch hand (though you were more of a all around hand, mostly tasked with taking care of the house, food and garden).

Chucho had seen something in you and he had quickly become the father you never had. 

And then his son Javier had come home. 

It was instant, at least for you, the attraction you felt towards him. 

He was tall, dark and handsome and there was something in his eyes familiar to you. It was the same hurt you saw in yours every time you looked into the mirror. 

And it took a while for him to warm up to you, the past years he had spent in Colombia haunting his every thought.

Getting used to that strange woman that was now living in his childhood home, laughing with his father in the kitchen. 

The woman that was sleeping in the tiny guest bedroom next to his childhood bedroom that he lived in yet again, because he had not idea what to do with his life. 

The woman he fucked for the first time after a fourth of July celebration almost two years ago, fireworks going off while he was balls deep inside of you on the backseat of his truck in the parking lot of the already closed gas station he had stopped at on your way home. 

You hadn’t really stopped since then. 

For more than two years you had been sleeping with Javier whenever you both felt like it. 

But that was all it was. 

Sex. 

Because you both weren’t ready for more. Or to name these… feelings you had whenever you were in each other’s arms. 

Thunder outside made you jump on the bed and you grabbed one of Javier’s flannel shirts you had stolen the week before, pulling it over your naked body. 

You would tell him you were scared of thunder when he would wake up to you in his bed the next morning. 

Because you could not tell him that the only way you found yourself sleeping lately, was in his arms. 

Not yet.

He did not hear you as you opened the door, the heavy rain continuing to fall. 

You had looked for him in his room, finding the bed still made. But there was a light on in the kitchen so you followed you intuition, finding him outside. 

Javier was sitting in the far left corner of the porch, legs spread wide, a cigarette between his fingers, a tumbler of what would probably be whiskey in his other hand. 

He was only wearing some sweatpants, the very same sweatpants that would make you forget what you wanted to say mid sentence when he had them on, or more like what was hiding beneath them. 

You let the door fall shut behind you and he looked up, those dark brown eyes wandering up from your feet all over your body towards your eyes before he looked away again, bringing his cigarette back to his lips, inhaling the smoke deeply. 

You both just stared out, the rain seemingly getting heavier before you heard him set his glass down on the ground. He spread his legs wider and you bit your lip before you slowly walked over to him, stopping as you stood between his legs for only a moment, before you climbed into his lap, the hand that had been holding his glass moments ago, coming down to rest on your ass immediately, making you shiver. 

You reached for the cigarette between his lips, and he raised his eyebrows in confusion until you slipped it between yours so you could take a puff, his eyes softening in amusement. You felt his other hand slip under your shirt, his fingers brushing the underside of your tits. 

„Was wondering where this shirt went,“ he hummed and your lips twitched into a small smile as you took another puff of his cigarette before you threw it outside into the rain. He was about to complain when you crossed your arms behind his neck and brought you lips against his, his mouth opening against your as you exhaled the smoke from your lungs. 

Closing your eyes as he kissed you, you brought one hand up to slip through his hair while his hands both now rested on your ass, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer against him, his hips thrusting up against yours, his cock hardening beneath you. 

He spread your cheeks before one of his hands slipped further down and you felt him chuckle against you.

„No panties and a half buttoned shirt. What a little slut you are,“ he said, his voice hoarse and you gasped when you felt two of his fingers enter you, your slick coating your his fingers as he played with you. 

„Says Mr. No shirt and no boxers, sitting outside with his legs spread like a who…. Fuck Javi right there,“ you moaned, biting your lip as he moved his fingers inside of you.

„Right there?“ He asked with a smirk and you nodded, looking down at him as you arched your back. 

„Touched myself but couldn’t… fuck… couldn’t finish. Needed, needed…“ you whimpered.

„Your pussy needed me, huh?“ He teased and you whined. 

He made quick work of the few buttons that kept his shirt on you, his lips closing around one of your nipples, as soon as he had slipped his shirt down your shoulders, revealing your naked chest to him. 

„Javi… Please…“ you moaned, one of your hands on his shoulders, holding on while your other hand was still in his hair, now pulling him against your tits as he sucked on one of them. 

„What do you need, princess?“ He mumbled. 

„Need your cock. Wanna cum on your cock. Please,“ you begged and you felt his teeth pull at you nipple, making you hiss before he let go. His dark eyes looked up at you, before his fingers pulled out of you and he pushed his sweatpants down just so he could release his cock. 

Before he could do anything you had him lined up with you and slowly sank down on him, both of you releasing a long moan. 

Lightening made you jump before you sank down on his cock completely and Javier hissed, his arms coming around you to pull you closer, both of you breathing heavily before you both laughed. 

„Maybe we should take this inside,“ he said as he looked up at you, one of his hands brushing up and down your spine. You shook your head before you brushed your lips against his. 

„No. I want you just like this,“ you whispered against his lips before you began to move your hips. He hummed, his hand now on the back of your head, pulling you against his lips so he could deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips to part them. 

You rode him slowly. 

One arm wrapped around his shoulders while your other hand rested on his chest. 

Javi’s hand was on your ass, guiding the way you moved on top of him while his lips kissed whatever part of your skin he could reach. 

The rain and the fact that you were out in the open were forgotten as he began to meet your hips, thrusting up into you. You wrapped both of your arms around him, moving on top of him so you could ride him deeper, your chest now in perfect height so he could suck on your tits. 

„Oh fuck Javi,“ you moaned and he slapped your ass, fucking up into you, meeting your hips in audible smacks every time you skin collided. 

You could feel the familiar tingles of your orgasm approaching. 

„I’m close,“ he warned and you whimpered. 

„Me too,“ you gasped, crying out when he bit into the soft flesh over your right nipple, marking you yet again. 

„Cum for me,“ he grunted and you looked down at him. 

„Cum for me so I can take you inside and have you sit on my face until you pass out,“ he continued and you let him take over, letting him fuck into you in quick hard thrusts as you orgasm took over, making you shake against him your fingers digging into his skin on his broad back as you held on to him. 

„Such a good slut for me,“ he praised you, now chasing his own high, fucking into you a couple more times until you felt him spill himself inside of you, your name a deep rumble against you neck as he hugged you against his body. 

You stayed just like this for a moment. In each others arms, out of breath, the rain still coming down heavy just outside the porch. 

It was when he felt you shiver that you both came out of your post orgasm bliss. He pulled his shirt that you somehow still were half wearing back up over your shoulders, kissing you softly, a tired smile on his lips. 

„We should get inside,“ he hummed against your lips. You nodded, yet none of you moved, being content just like this, close, in each others arms, deep in the night when nobody was awake to see you like this. 

You could feel him drip of of you, his softening cock still inside of you. 

„Javi?“ You asked, your head resting against his shoulder. 

„Hm?“ He kissed your temple. 

„Can I sleep in your bed tonight?“ You whispered. He was quiet for a moment and you were about to get up from him when his arms around you tightened and you looked at him. 

„I… I suck at this,“ he sighed and you tilted your head. 

„Suck at what?“

„Relationships,“ he mumbled and your eyes softened. 

„Is that what this is?“ You asked quietly and his eyes were big and he looked so so scared. 

„It could be, if you want that,“ he finally said and you smiled. You reached one hand up so you could touch his cheek before you leaned in and kissed him softly. 

„I do want that,“ you mumbled and you felt him smile against your lips.

„Yeah?“ Javi asked and you nodded. 

„Good, cause I am not letting you go ever,“ he whispered, before kissed you again. 

[yassbishimvintage]

Just Us

MDNI: For the grown and the sexy.

Warnings: Talks of kids, sex positions.

A/n: Hey y'all. So here is that Aaron fic. Look its all over the place. And I highly recommend listening to the song before to set the mood.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains of their St. John’s Wood home, casting a golden hue across the minimalist, yet luxuriously warm bedroom. The house was unusually quiet, their busy schedules clear for the first time, leaving Aaron and Cleo to savor the rare stillness.

Aaron stood at the vanity mirror, buttoning up a crisp black shirt, the fabric molding perfectly to his broad shoulders. His hazel eyes flicked toward Cleo’s reflection as she moved gracefully across the room, her silk robe tied loosely at the waist, revealing hints of the outfit underneath. She was effortlessly stunning, her skin glowing with that natural radiance he could never get enough of.

"You’re staring, Mr. Pierre," Cleo teased, applying a subtle gloss to her lips, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Aaron didn’t miss a beat, stepping closer to slide his arms around her waist from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "And I’ll never get tired of it," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of her neck.

Cleo chuckled, her fingers briefly resting on his. "We’ll miss the movie if you keep this up."

He leaned back slightly, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "Is that really a problem?"

They eventually managed to finish getting ready, Cleo slipping into a chic, figure-hugging dress with a pair of understated yet elegant heels. Aaron, in his tailored slacks and shirt, exuded that effortless charm she always admired.

As they walked to the Bentley truck, Cleo grabbed his hand. "It’s nice, you know—just us today."

Aaron squeezed her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "My favorite kind of day."

During the drive, their playlist filled the silence—an eclectic mix of old-school R&B and modern hits, songs that carried memories of road trips, late-night talks, and spontaneous dances in the kitchen.

At the cinema, they opted for one of those luxury screening rooms with reclining seats, plush blankets, and an intimate vibe. Aaron ordered their usual—popcorn layered with both butter and caramel (Cleo’s guilty pleasure), and a couple of mocktails.

Mid-movie, Aaron reached over, his fingers finding Cleo’s without looking. She squeezed his hand gently, leaning her head against his shoulder. For them, it wasn’t just about the film. It was about these small, quiet moments—the ones where words weren’t needed because the love was already woven into the space between them.

After the movie, instead of heading straight home, they strolled around the city, talking about everything and nothing, laughter spilling freely, just like when they first met. It was a simple morning turned perfect, wrapped in the comfort of familiarity and the spark that never faded.

-

Cleo glanced up at Aaron, a slow, teasing smile curving her lips as they walked hand in hand along the quiet streets of London. The soft hum of the city provided a gentle backdrop, but his question hung in the air, weighted with both playfulness and sincerity.

She arched a brow, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, so that’s your agenda for today? A movie and a baby-making proposal?"

Aaron chuckled, pulling her closer until his arm wrapped securely around her waist. "I mean, it sounds like a solid plan to me. Quality entertainment, great company, and potentially expanding the Pierre legacy."

Cleo laughed, the sound warm and rich. She stopped walking, turning to face him fully, her hands resting on his chest. 

Cleo pretended to consider, tapping her finger against her chin dramatically. "Hmm, sleepless nights, diaper blowouts, teething… sounds dreamy."

He laughed, the deep, warm sound vibrating against her palms. Then, with a more tender expression, he whispered, "But also baby giggles, first steps, and watching them grow up with a family who’ll spoil them rotten."

Cleo’s heart softened, even as she rolled her eyes playfully. "You’re dangerously persuasive, Mr. Pierre."

Aaron grinned, leaning in to kiss her softly. "I’m just saying… we’d make a masterpiece."

She laughed against his lips, then pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with his. "Well, you know me—I love a good challenge."

He smirked. "So that’s a yes?"

Cleo just shook her head, her smile giving nothing away as she started walking again, tugging his hand. "Let’s get home, and we’ll see who wins this round."

Aaron followed, that satisfied grin still on his face because he knew exactly where this was headed.

Aaron chuckled, his grip on her hand tightening slightly as they continued walking. "Well, can you blame me?" he replied, his voice low and smooth. "Your body’s basically my favorite subject. I study it like it’s the only thing that matters."

Cleo laughed, shaking her head, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks despite the years they’d been together. "You say that like it’s supposed to be flattering."

He stopped walking, gently pulling her to face him again. His hazel eyes softened, the playful edge giving way to something more sincere. "It is. I know every curve, every change, every little sign. It’s like your body speaks to me, and I’d be a fool not to listen."

Cleo’s heart skipped, her teasing demeanor faltering under the warmth of his words. She reached up, brushing her fingers along his jaw. "You really don’t play fair."

Aaron leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, soft and lingering. "Never claimed to."

They stood there for a beat, wrapped up in the quiet, unspoken connection that always seemed to pull them back to each other. Then Cleo pulled away slightly, her signature smirk returning.

"Alright, Mr. Pierre. Let’s see if all that studying pays off."

Aaron grinned, sliding his arm around her waist as they headed home. "Oh, trust me, Professor—I’m about to ace this test."

Aaron smirked, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous glint as he leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

"You really wanna know?" he teased, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her hip. "It’s not just about the position, babe. It’s about having you right where I want you."

Cleo arched an eyebrow, amused but intrigued. "Oh, I’m listening."

He leaned back slightly, his grin widening. "Alright then. It’s when you’re on top," he confessed smoothly, his hand sliding up her back. "Because I get to watch you. Every move, every expression—you in control, but still mine. And when I pull you down just enough to kiss you? That’s my favorite."

Cleo’s laugh was soft, her eyes darkening with both affection and heat. "You really don’t know how to keep things PG for more than five seconds, do you?"

Aaron shrugged, unapologetic. "Not when it comes to you."

Aaron chuckled, his lips brushing over the back of her hand before resting it on his thigh as he merged onto the highway.

"Back shots are a close second," he admitted, casting her a quick sideways glance, his grin never fading. "But see, with that, it’s all about me—control, power." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "But when you’re on top? That’s us. It’s you owning it, and me losing my damn mind watching you."

Cleo smirked, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. "So, basically, you like being obsessed."

Aaron laughed, his deep, rich tone filling the car. "Babe, I’ve been obsessed since day one. That’s nothing new."

She rolled her eyes playfully, leaning back in her seat, her smile softening as she looked out the window. "You’re lucky you’re cute."

He shot her another quick glance, his grin turning into that smug, signature smirk. "Nah, I’m lucky you’re mine."

Cleo’s gaze lingered on him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, freshly defined by his new cut. The subtle glint of his chain peeked out from beneath his shirt, catching the light with every slight movement. His glasses sat perfectly on his face, adding an intellectual edge to his already magnetic presence. The way his hand rested on her thigh—firm, warm, and claiming without needing to say a word—sent a comforting shiver through her.

His focus on the road was unwavering, but his thumb absentmindedly traced slow, deliberate circles against her skin. There was nothing performative about it—just natural, effortless intimacy, like his presence was the anchor to her heartbeat.

She sighed softly, the tension she didn’t even realize she carried melting away. “You don’t even try, do you?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, more to herself than him.

Aaron’s lips quirked slightly, his eyes still trained on the road. “Try what?” he asked, his thumb pausing for just a second before continuing its gentle motion.

She shook her head with a faint smile, looking out the window, her heart swelling. “You just… exist. And it’s enough.”

At that, Aaron glanced over briefly, his smile softer now, filled with unspoken words. He gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Same way I feel about you, baby.”

And just like that, the car didn’t feel like a space—they were wrapped in a bubble, just the two of them, the world passing by unnoticed.

Aaron stepped out of the car with effortless grace, his chain catching the last hint of daylight as it swayed slightly with his movements. He adjusted his glasses with one hand while the other casually slid into his pocket as he rounded the sleek Bentley. His steps were unhurried, purposeful, like every motion was stitched with quiet confidence.

Reaching Cleo’s door, he opened it with a smooth pull, his gaze dropping to meet hers. There was a softness there—an unspoken tenderness mixed with that ever-present masculine edge she loved. His hand extended, palm up, the veins in his forearm subtly defined as he waited for her to take it.

Cleo slipped her hand into his, and the warmth of his touch sent a familiar spark through her. He helped her out with ease, their bodies naturally falling into sync as she stood. His hand didn’t drop away immediately; instead, his fingers lingered, sliding from her palm to her wrist, then up to gently brush the inside of her forearm.

“You good, baby?” he asked, his voice low, coated with that distinct rasp that always made her chest tighten in the best way.

She nodded, her smile soft yet full of heat. “I’m always good with you.”

Aaron leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of her jaw, then trailing softly to the shell of her ear. “Good,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “Because I plan on keeping it that way.”

His hand found the small of her back as they walked toward the house, fingers spreading wide, possessive but protective. It was subtle, but to Cleo, it was everything—the quiet declaration that she was his, even without words.

-

Aaron disappeared into their expansive walk-in closet, the faint sound of hangers sliding along the sleek, custom-built rods filling the quiet space. The soft lighting cast a warm glow over the neatly organized rows of designer suits, tailored shirts, and an impressive collection of sneakers meticulously arranged on shelves. His chain caught the light once more as he pulled his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back flexing with the motion.

Cleo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of his physique. His broad shoulders tapered down to a slim waist, the definition in his back a testament to his disciplined routine. He didn’t know she was watching—or maybe he did. With Aaron, it was always hard to tell because his awareness of her presence was almost instinctive.

He exchanged his tailored slacks for a pair of soft, grey sweatpants, the waistband riding low on his hips, and tossed on a black fitted T-shirt that hugged him just right. As he adjusted the simple yet perfectly styled chain around his neck, he caught her reflection in the mirror—a soft smile playing on her lips, her gaze unapologetically lingering.

“You just gonna stand there and stare?” he asked with a smirk, his deep voice carrying that casual tease she’d fallen for years ago.

Cleo stepped into the closet, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. “Can you blame me?” she replied, her fingers lightly grazing the exposed skin at his waist before sliding up to rest against his chest. “You make it hard not to.”

Aaron tilted his head slightly, his grin deepening as he leaned down, his lips barely brushing hers. “Then don’t stop,” he whispered, before claiming her mouth with a kiss that was both soft and possessive, his hands finding her hips, pulling her closer.

For a moment, the world outside their closet ceased to exist—just the two of them wrapped up in the gravity that always pulled them back to each other, no matter how much time had passed.

Cleo lay sprawled across their bed, the soft linen sheets tangled beneath her, her chest rising and falling in slow, satisfied breaths. The subtle sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, catching the muted afternoon light that filtered through the sheer curtains. Her hair fanned out across the pillows, wild and untamed, much like the energy that had filled the room just moments before.

Aaron stood at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving slightly, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He raked a hand through his hair, the chain around his neck resting against his collarbone, glinting faintly. His gaze never left her—admiring, possessive, tender.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice husky, filled with both pride and adoration. He climbed back onto the bed, settling beside her, his hand tracing lazy, feather-light patterns along the curve of her hip.

Cleo’s lips curled into a soft smile, her eyes half-lidded with that post-bliss haze. “You know,” she said breathlessly, “I was just trying to get dressed.”

Aaron chuckled lowly, leaning in to press a kiss to her shoulder, his beard grazing her skin, sending a fresh wave of warmth through her. “You looked too good to ignore,” he whispered against her skin, his fingers still drawing slow circles.

She hummed in response, her hand finding its way to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. For a few blissful moments, neither of them spoke, just basking in the quiet intimacy that filled the room.

Then Aaron broke the silence with a soft laugh. “So… that dinner date with Kel and Simone?”

Cleo turned her head slightly, giving him a playful side-eye, her smile widening. “Oh, we definitely missed that dinner. But I think they will forgive us. Eventually.”

Aaron grinned, leaning down to kiss her again, slow and unhurried. “We’ll catch the next one,” he whispered, his hand slipping to intertwine with hers, their fingers fitting together like they always had—effortlessly.

Tags 🏷️

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[sisaloofafump]

Thinking about Bruce getting hit by a spell that gives him catlike features for a year. It lasts long enough that he knows he can't hide it, so he integrates it into his public persona.

It doesn't really affect his Batman work. He perches on high places and turns away from physical affection like usual. His cowl already has places for ears and his tail is hidden by his cape. His balance is already so good. The eyes make his night vision better, the flexibility in his feet makes him swifter, he modifies the gloves to match Selina's claws.

But there are little things that change.

He's more sleepy, constantly, and it's rarely a deep nap but he nods off whenever he can. Every few days he needs to cuddle with someone safe and is restless and needy if he can't. His meals (already dense and few and far between) stick to a strict schedule. He sniffs things.

And with those that he's close to, it gets a little more apparent.

He deposits care packages at his kids' doors in the middle of the night with no explanation

He hisses at criminals

He licks his thumb and rubs sauce splatter off Alfred's face in the kitchen

Diana picks him up by the scruff like a misbehaving kitten and he just goes limp

Selina is having the absolute best time of her life. It doesn't matter that they're fighting, once she hears the news she runs back to Gotham and doesn't let him out of the bed for a week

She is, however, mockingly offended that he's both stolen her aesthetic and that he refuses to lean into it. She keeps making him catsuits. She "buys" him cat themed jewelry and he can't even complain about it because she's looking at him with such wonder and awe and then kissing him stupid

He melts into Clark's pets and practically climbs into his lap when they're alone. (Totally Platonically of course). He travels to Metropolis semi-regularly to take care of his cuddling needs away from the indignity of his household

He always checks and makes sure Superman's hair curl is perfect

Socialites love it. They pet his ears and his tail and he drapes himself over them pretending he loves it too, focusing all his attention on controlling his tail muscles and not letting it flick angrily

"Oh no, it didn't give me the muscles to purr" Brucie explains, and then he spots Friend! Ally! Lois Lane across the hall and starts purring up a storm

Lois is unbelievably smug as her and Bruce are nearly chased out by an incredibly jealous heiress

Both Cass and Stephanie are so excited and Steph stops avoiding patrols with Bruce because her need to sneak up behind him and pat his (cowled) head is too strong. He lets it happen. They work well together when she knows she's only allowed to keep it up if she follows all his other mission commands

Damian brings him pamphlets on feline health and behaviours and enforces strict adherence to its guidelines

Jason is insufferable about it, not lessening in his taunts even after the novelty has worn off for everyone else. Bruce once picks him up by the scruff and he goes limp

Wayne Foundation sells multiple photoshoot calendars, ranging from wholesome to downright scandalous. Selina (who is semi-publicly known to be Catwoman after her most recent arrests) directs them the shoot, to the horror of most of the crew

They sell out immediately

Lois buys all three and places the most scandalous in the kitchen with sticky notes covering the most sensitive areas (but leaving enough to let the imagination go wild). The wholesome one goes beside their bed and the mid tier one is on Clark's desk at the Planet. He moves it to Lois's desk. Lois changes his computer wallpaper a full frontal cat!Bruce nude

Bruce gets away with catnapping throughout any meeting he wants

He sets up a "nap room" attached to his office which provides ample excuse to sneak away or work on his batcomputer

Dick doesn't know how to feel. Humour, yes, but it reminds him of the cat themed entertainers at the circus and their acrobatic stunts. He teaches Bruce some of them. He doesn't say why (but Bruce knows)

Bruce chirps when he's sleepy. He curls up with Clark on the couch and Clark memorizes the sound

He accidentally chirps over comms once and without hesitation Clark and Diana reply back. The rest of the league is deeply confused but it becomes a nearly effective check in system for the Trinity

Clark subconsciously learns how to purr. Lois gives him absolute hell for it. The apartment vibrates minutely whenever Bruce is over

Bruce's ears and tail are horribly transparent about his emotions, especially negative ones. It's not purring or chirping that indicates contentment, but the lack of his tail's near constant flicking and ticked off ears

Tim is one of the only ones who tries to optimize the cat features as part of Batman. He isn't distracted by or infantilizing of them, but he also doesn't ignore them and pretend everything is the same

Duke thinks it's Bad Ass but doesn't push the gimmick when he realizes Bruce won't lean into it. He once snips off a piece of Bruce's fur on a dare by his civilian friends. He sells it for $690

Bruce goes cowl & capeless at core-group Justice League meetings because the suit still too constructing and sensory-overwhelming no matter how much he modifies it. His glare dares them to be distracted by it. They still are.

Most of them move on after a few months. Barry never does. Actually if we're being honest none of them do, but most of them stop hovering around and hoping to pet him. (And he trusts them. He allows some initial pets to get the curiosity out of their system. Until he gets overwhelmed and shuts it all down)

Hal is gravely injured on a mission and Bruce wraps him in his arms and purrs until evac arrives. They never talk about it again

Oliver wonders if he should get an animal themed transformation. Zatanna gives him a rat tail

Diana is delighted by the increased spring in his pounces and elects herself his principle sparring partner

(Dinah propositions him for a threesome. Bruce takes one look at Ollie's tail and walks away)

Bruce claws up Clark's cape and perches on his shoulders while he flies

He rips up little papers at his desk while working

When the batsignal goes up, he abandons everything and pounces towards it. Gordon finds him tapping at the bright light with his claw

Helena’s dog hates him

For a few weeks in the second month, he has two sets of canines as his adult cat teeth come in. What starts as a duo Alfred & Damian project to find appropriate teething material for Bruce that is a) effective and b) dignified enough Bruce would use it, spirals into a full batfamily effort. Too many people buy the exact same cheap adult batsignal chew necklace. Luke designs a high tech chewable batarang. Dick suggest an old cowl's ears. Finally someone brings him a chew necklace shaped like the Superman crest and Bruce gets way too much satisfaction walking out of a WE board meeting with an punctured and ruined El crest

Clark puts his hand on Bruce's shoulder during monitor duty, expecting either aloof rejection or a cuddle. Bruce bites him. That knocks the remaining baby teeth out

Diana performs his dental check ups because her fingers are strong but forgiving, and Clark Is Not Jealous

Bruce will give Jon and the shy children of socialites and WE employees piggybacks and let them play with his hair and ears, and or get away with tugging on his tail. It's uncomfortable, but he enjoys their glee and what little he can do to entertain them

Clark tries picking Bruce up by the scruff and Bruce hisses at him

Bruce only talks to J'onn telepathically

Unthinking, in an emergency, Bruce uses his serrated tongue and licks the kryptonite particles off of Clark's face

Inspired by the whiskers he unfortunately did not get, Bruce inputs sensors on the side of his cowl to help him judge what he's able to squeeze through

The one person who hates it is Kate. She attends some of the same events as Bruce as resents the attention he gets, both for his sake and because of her own annoyance. She thinks it's stupid how much mission time is wasted talking about it. She wishes it happened to her. She is Bruce's main ally in getting conversations back on track

Bruce gets so many love letters and proposals in the mail from all over the world. Selina puts them all in a binder and, even when wearing a disguise, pulls him closer whenever she sees one of the authors in person

Babs is (aside from changing some of his interface to have some cat themes) very professional about it. She low effort dresses up as a cat for a last minute Halloween event and Dick retches when she tries to flirt with him

Everyone buys him cat collars. Most are cheap gag gifts. Most are bat merch. Hal gives him a green lantern one. Steph gives him a Superman one.

Selina gives him dozens but the only one he'll wear isn't a collar at all but a lacy black choker with a dainty chain decal and a little heart charm. Bruce wears it to a gala and doesn't understand Clark's expression until he looks at it under a microscope. "Property of S". He looks into claw coverings Selina helped add to his gloves. "Property of C". Huh. Maybe that explains why Clark looked at them weird

His butt wiggles before he jumps

When the year is nearly up, Bruce pretends he won't mourn any of it and continues like normal. Selina debates trying to extend it. Zatanna could, but ultimately they decide to let it go

Unlike in the first week, Bruce and Selina fight a lot in the days before the end because emotions are high and Selina is clingy. It doesn't stop them from making the most of each night tho

Clark is disappointed that his time as Designated Bruce Cuddler and their semi-regular hangouts are coming to an end. Lois was dragging them through an X-Files marathon and they had only a couple seasons left

Diana gives in and takes him to the Andromeda Mall for a spa day so she can finally coo over him in relative privacy

When it ends, Bruce goes back to his old suit with no comment. He barely addresses the change and, aside from a few wayward jokes, people move on. But if they look closely, they'd see how the claws remain, and the springing support near his ankles

Selina leaves for a time after she realizes he wants to pretend it never happened and their increasing arguments were no longer tempered by sex. Bruce pretends it's not ironic that he'd lose two cat aspects of his life at once

Clark comes home late a few weeks later and finds Lois in her armchair and Bruce there with popcorn and X-Files queued up. Bruce sits on the opposite end of the couch, but he doesn't seem to mind when Clark tucks his legs up on the cushions and rests his feet against Bruce's thigh

Everyone still gives him cat toys too often

Selina spots Bruce in the lobby of her favourite ballet and the frills of a black lace choker are peaking out of his collar. She smiles

(Also for the next 4 years Hal will only show Batman as a cat during strategy simulations)

Anyway. Cat Bruce <33

[strnilolover]

⋆.˚ She’s not mine, She’s not you .ᐟ

Warmings : Arranged Marriage, Angst, Fluff, Forbidden Love/Relationship, Sneaking around and More.

In which … prince matt and maid reader have been in a secret relationship for a little bit now. But, they’ve had to keep it behind closed doors because of his royal status and family. What happens when he’s placed in an arranged marriage he doesn’t even want to be in?

01, 02

The air in your small quarters felt heavier than usual this evening. The flickering light of a single candle cast soft shadows on the stone walls as you meticulously folded linens. The familiar routine was meant to keep your mind occupied, but tonight, it couldn’t quiet the gnawing unease that had settled in your chest.

Matt had been distant all day. Normally, he’d find a reason to slip into whatever room you were working in, whether it was the grand library, the kitchens, or even the stables. He’d offer smiles and some heated actions that made your heart race. But today, he was nowhere to be found.

You told yourself it was nothing — that he was simply busy with royal duties. Yet the anxious pit in your stomach told a different story.

But then a sudden, forceful knock at your door startled you. Before you could answer, the door burst open. Matt stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His hair was messier than usual, his shirt slightly wrinkled as if he’d been running his hands through it all day. His expression was a storm of frustration and anguish, a stark contrast to the gentle, confident prince you knew.

“Matt?” you said cautiously, setting the linens aside and stepping toward him. “What’s going on?” you whisper, cautious not to upset him farther from what ever it was.

He didn’t answer right away, instead closing the door behind him with a heavy thud and locking it. His hands rested on the doorframe for a moment as he let out a slow, shaky breath. When he finally turned to face you, the fire in his eyes made your heart skip.

“They’ve done it,” he said bitterly. “They’ve made the decision for me.” his words were rough — it sounded like he just ate something that wasn’t good, whatever this was — wasn’t good.

Your brows furrowed slightly, unsure as to what he meant — but you had a feeling. “What decision?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but you already knew you weren’t going to like the answer he was going to provide you.

He took a breath, his body visibly shaking. “My parents,” he began, his voice tight with anger. “They’ve arranged a marriage. To Lady Evelina.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. You felt the air leave your lungs as your knees wobbled slightly. You gripped the edge of your desk for support, your fingers digging into the wood.

You stood there, the words on the tip of your tongue — but it felt like gravel running along your mouth. “When?” you managed to ask, though your voice trembled.

“The engagement is to be announced at the ball in five months.” he spat, pacing the small room like a caged animal. “They didn’t even ask me. They didn’t give me a choice.” he voice raised, hands coming up to point at his chest as to get his words across more clearly.

You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. The weight of it pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “Lady Evelina…” you said softly, as if saying her name aloud would make it less real. “She’s… she’s beautiful. She’s noble. She’s—”

“She’s not you,” Matt interrupted, stopping mid-step to look at you. His gaze was fierce, almost desperate. “She’s not the one I love.” he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was, to you both.

“Matt…” You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. “You’re a prince. You were always going to marry someone like her. I knew that.” you said, voice cracking as you forced them through your teeth.

“No,” he said firmly, crossing the room to stand in front of you. “I told you from the beginning — I don’t care about any of that. Titles, politics, expectations — they mean nothing to me. You’re the only one who matters.”

His words, spoken with such conviction, brought tears to prick at the corner of your eyes. “And what about your kingdom?” you asked, your voice breaking even more. “What about your people? They expect you to marry someone who can strengthen alliances, someone who can stand beside you as a queen-“

“I don’t care what they expect!” he exclaimed, cutting you off as his frustration started to boil over. “I care about what I want. And I want you.”

“You think that’s enough?” you said, tears streaming down your cheeks now. “You think you can just tell your parents, your court, your entire kingdom that you love a maid, and they’ll just… accept it?” your chest twisted.

“I’ll make them accept it,” he said stubbornly, his jaw set. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Your hands trembled as you stepped away from him, needing distance to think clearly. “Matt, you’re being reckless,” you said, your voice barely steady. “You have a responsibility — to your family, to your kingdom. I can’t let you throw all of that away for me.”

He followed you, closing the space quickly between you with a few long strides. “You don’t get to decide that,” he said, his voice soft but firm. He reached for your hands, holding them gently despite the storm of emotions coursing through his veins. “This is my life. And I’m choosing you.” he whispered, gripping your hands tighter as he brought them up to place a small peck on your knuckles.

Your resolve crumbled under the weight of his words. A sob escaped your lips as you shook your head. “You shouldn’t have to choose,” you whispered. “You shouldn’t have to sacrifice everything for me.”

Matt shook his head, “Don’t you see?” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m not sacrificing anything. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt right. Without you, none of it matters.”

And you stared at him — your tears falling freely now. His love for you was undeniable, but so was the impossible weight of the world he lived in.

“And Lady Evelina?” you asked bitterly. “What about her? She’s being forced into this, too. She deserves someone who loves her.”

“She does,” Matt admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. “But that person won’t be me. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her the truth.“ he says.

“And what if she wants you to be that person?” The question hung in the air like a dark cloud, the unspoken reality neither of you wanted to face.

Matt’s hands tightened around yours once more, his grip almost desperate. “Then I’ll find another way,” he said firmly. “I’ll talk to my parents, the council — whoever I need to. There has to be another way.” his voice was almost a plea now — the once storm was still there, but muffled now.

“Matt…” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Sometimes there isn’t.”

He pulled you into his arms suddenly, holding you so tightly it was as if he thought you might disappear. His chin rested on the top of your head, and you could feel his chest rising and falling against you.

“I won’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the tears you could hear in it. “No matter what it takes, I won’t lose you.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his embrace for what you feared might be the last time. “I love you, Matt,” you whispered. “But this… it’s bigger than us. You can’t fix this.”

“Yes, I can,” he said softly, but there was a crack in his voice that betrayed his own doubt. “I have to.”

For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. There was no Lady Evelina, no arranged marriage, no impossible expectations. There was only Matt, his arms around you, and the love you both felt but couldn’t hold onto.

But reality had a way of creeping back in. And as you pulled away, the weight of what lay ahead settled heavily in your chest.

“Promise me something,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Promise me you won’t lose yourself in this fight,” you whispered. “No matter what happens, no matter what you have to do — don’t lose the part of you that I fell in love with.”

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked your cheeks. “I won’t,” he said softly, his voice steady now. “But I can’t promise that I won’t fight for you. Because I will. Until my last breath.”

a/n : holy shit balls y’all. i have been thinking about this for so long and now i have finally, FINALLY, written the first part. i’m not sure how many parts there will be after this or what direction it’ll go in, i’m just building as i go. BUT — i hope you all enjoy this first part 😛

[inkmonster21]

Short n’ Sweet💋

Hugh Jackman x Fem!Sister!Reynolds!Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Part 13

Series Masterlist

Come Ride On Me, I Mean, Camaraderie

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

After what felt like an eternity, filming finally wrapped up, and Hugh prepared to return from the UK. The long-awaited return brought a sense of relief and anticipation, as he looked forward to reuniting with his loved ones and familiar surroundings.

You patiently waited in the car, parked near the arrival area of the airport. The anticipation built as you anxiously counted down the minutes until Hugh's arrival. The reunion was longed for, and you couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness as you waited to see him once again.

Hugh emerges from the front doors, and before he can even react, you jump out of the car and sprint towards him with a big smile. In a heartbeat, you throw yourself into his arms, giggling with excitement and happiness. Hugh's surprise quickly turns into a warm embrace as he catches you in mid-air, lifting you for a moment before setting you back down on the ground.

Ryan, standing nearby, couldn't help but roll his eyes at the affectionate reunion unfolding before him. With a sarcastic tone, he muttered, "Yeah, sure, not like your brother is right here." Ryan's playful comment expressed a mix of amusement and mild annoyance, highlighting the subtle competitive dynamic between siblings.

Hugh chuckled at Ryan's remark, his smile affectionate yet teasing. He then replied, "Well, Ryan, you better turn away, mate." The words carried a hint of humor, warning his friend about what was going to come next.

Hugh leaned in with a look of affection in his eyes and planted a soft, tender kiss on your lips. The kiss expressed his affection and love for you, a silent gesture conveying his happiness at being reunited after a long time apart. The airport surroundings faded into the background as you both shared the intimate moment.

The much-anticipated album release was fast approaching, and you found yourself in a whirlwind of promotional activities. There was still a mountain of promotional material to film, share, and create, all leading up to the big day. The pressure was on, and your schedule was filled with various interviews, photoshoots, and social media content to complete.

Luckily, Hugh was able to tag along for all the promotional activities, his presence and support providing you with a sense of comfort and reassurance. Having him by your side made the hectic preparations more enjoyable and less overwhelming.

At the grand house where the album release party was scheduled to take place, you found yourself filming a hilarious video intended to promote the event. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the preparations, you and Hugh found time to create a lighthearted and entertaining video, capturing the energy and excitement of the upcoming party.

Hugh held your phone, a mischievous grin on his face as he began his monologue. "Now, to properly host an album release party, you need a few things," he stated, walking through the spacious home.

Hugh walks into the living room, phone in hand, and finds you sitting on the couch applying some lipstick in a small handheld pocket mirror. He clears his throat to gain your attention, and as you look up at the camera, he prompts you with a friendly greeting. "First, you need the host," he says with a smile. You look up and give a charming smile, acknowledging the camera, "Oh, hey! I’m (y/n) Reynolds, and we’re going to show you how to host the most amazing listening party experience."

You descend the grand staircase, leading to the pool and patio bar area. With a sassy wink, you offer some advice. "Second, keep your guest list short and sweet. Hot people only." As you pass by Hugh filming, you punctuate the statement with a playful wink.

In the kitchen, you reach into the oven and pull out the prop ice cream adorned with whipped cream and a cherry. With a charming smile, you explain, "Number three, prepare a sweet treat for your guests." You offer Hugh the cherry, and he quickly pops it into his mouth whilst filming. He then playfully adds, "Because it's called Short n' Sweet." You both share a laugh at his remark, the playful banter setting a lighthearted tone for the promotion video.

You perch yourself on the luxurious balcony, framed by the spectacular backdrop of the setting sun. With a confident smirk, you chime in, "Four. Make sure you have an amazing view." Hugh pans the camera to capture the serene sunset, but you quickly chime in, interjecting with a playful retort. "Um, no. I'm the fucking view. The fuck?" Your words are dripping with sass and humor, adding a touch of attitude for the video.

Hugh stands behind the bar, expertly shaking up a mixed drink in the shaker. You perch on a barstool, adding your own two cents for the fifth item on the list. "Five. Make a special drink for your guests to keep them up all night." Hugh then pours the drink into a glass and passes it to you. As you lift it with a smile, you feign annoyance and playfully drop your smile before saying, "That's that me... Do I really have to say it again?" Your words carry an air of mock resignation, adding another layer of humor.

You watch the final cut of the promotional video, laughing at the lighthearted and playful moments captured. As Megan prepares to share it on TikTok, you can't help but anticipate the response from your fans. You can envision them enjoying the contents, appreciating the humorous banter and the infectious energy shared by both you and Hugh.

The video quickly spreads across TikTok, and as anticipated, your fans devour the content, gushing and giggling at the funny clips and banter between you and Hugh. Comments pour in, filled with praise and amusement.

The much-anticipated night of the album release party had finally arrived, and you were brimming with excitement. The energy in the air was palpable, a mix of anticipation and thrill. The party was a chance to not only celebrate the release of your album but also to connect with your friends and create memorable moments.

The party was in full swing, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as the clock ticked closer to 12 AM. The anticipation in the air was undeniable, and you could feel the energy building with every passing minute. The countdown to the album release was near, and the room seemed to hum with a mix of anticipation and anxiety for the moment the album would drop for the world to hear.

You climbed up onto the small stage, and as your presence became visible to all your friends and acquaintances, their cheers filled the room. Your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves as you looked out at the sea of familiar faces, their support and applause propelling you forward.

You stepped onto the stage, taking in the enthusiastic applause from your friends and acquaintances. A genuine smile spread across your face as you spoke, "Wow, I'm seriously speechless." Your voice carried a hint of disbelief and appreciation as you tried to find the right words to express your gratitude and excitement for the occasion.

You paused for a moment, looking out at the crowd of familiar faces. "I just wanted to say a little thank you to all of you for coming," you began, your voice filled with sincere gratitude. "Thank you to my team for helping me with this album. Thank you Ryan for always supporting me," you said, glancing at Ryan with a warm smile. As your gaze shifted to Hugh, a sly smirk tugged at your lips. "And thank you Hugh for the many, many nights of inspiration," you finished with a knowing glimmer in your eye.

Your words were met with laughter and cheers from the crowd, their reaction a testament to the playful banter they had come to expect from you and a sign of their enjoyment of the moment. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you basked in the energy of the room, the laughter and applause fueling your excitement for the evening ahead.

Hugh, standing nearby, raised his glass with a playful wink in response to your words. The gesture was subtle yet full of meaning, a silent message of support and appreciation. The glimmer in his eyes spoke volumes, a reflection of the admiration and connection shared between you both, even amidst the crowd and celebration.

As the clock struck 12, the first song of your album started to play. The upbeat and catchy tune filled the air, its infectious energy seeping into the hearts of the crowd. Everyone soon found themselves dancing and having a blast, the rhythmic beats and captivating lyrics igniting a dance party that filled the space with pure joy and celebration.

As you danced with Hugh, the current song playing was a love letter to him. The lyrics spoke of love, admiration, and the special bond you shared. You intertwined your movements with his, your eyes locked on each other as you swayed to the melody, expressing the depth of your feelings through dance. The song served as a soundtrack to your connection, a tangible representation of the love that filled both your hearts.

As the song played, the lyrics echoed in Hugh’s mind like a sweet melody. The words "Who’s the cute boy in the white jacket with the thick accent?" played on repeat, a clear reference to himself. Hugh couldn’t help but smile at the mention, feeling a mix of warmth and a hint of flattery at being immortalized in your music.

Hugh felt his hands instinctively tighten around your waist as the next song started playing. The lyrics were overtly explicit and unabashedly confident, fueling a mix of excitement and desire. "One of me is cute but two though? Give it to me baby" echoed through the room, the seductive words creating an intimate and charged atmosphere. Hugh couldn’t help but wonder what inspired such a bold and alluring track, his fingers digging into your waist as if trying to possess you in that very moment.

"Let's get out of here," he whispered in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel the hardness of his erection against your thigh. "Just for a little while. I want you all to myself."

You didn't need any more convincing. The anticipation of being alone with Hugh, away from prying eyes, made your heart race. With a quick nod, you excused yourself from your guests, taking Hugh's hand and leading him through the corridors.

The luxurious home offered countless private spaces, but Hugh had a destination in mind. He guided you to a secluded study, its walls lined with rich mahogany bookshelves. Closing the door behind you, he pressed you against it, his strong body trapping you in a sensual embrace.

"I've been waiting all night to do this," he growled, his voice hoarse with desire. His lips claimed yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he tasted the sweetness of your mouth. You moaned into his kiss, your hands gripping his broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles.

Hugh's hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve. He cupped your breasts through your dress, his thumbs teasing your nipples to hardness. You arched into his touch, craving more. His fingers deftly undid the zipper of your dress, letting it slide to the floor, leaving you standing in nothing but your lacy black lingerie.

"You're stunning," he murmured, his eyes raking over your exposed body. He traced the lace of your bra with his fingertips, making you shiver as he teased the sensitive skin beneath. "I love seeing you like this, all mine."

You reached for his belt, eager to return the favor. With practiced ease, you unbuckled it, your fingers brushing against the bulge in his pants. He was hard and ready, his cock straining against the fabric. You knelt before him, the hardwood floor cool against your knees, and took his length into your hands.

Hugh's breath caught as you stroked him slowly, your fingers exploring the length and girth of his shaft.

You teased the tip with your thumb, spreading the pre-cum glistening there, before taking him into your mouth. His taste exploded on your tongue, and you savored the feel of his cock sliding between your lips.

He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding your head as you took him deeper. You reveled in the power you held over him, the way he surrendered to your touch. His hips moved in a gentle rhythm, fucking your mouth as you sucked and licked, bringing him closer to the edge.

"I want to feel you," he panted, pulling away from your lips. He lifted you to your feet, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh. "I need to be inside you."

You were more than willing. You climbed onto the study desk, the smooth wood cool against your bare skin. Hugh stood between your legs, his eyes dark with lust as he admired your open invitation. He hooked your thighs over his strong arms, positioning himself at your entrance.

With one smooth thrust, he filled you, his thick cock stretching you deliciously. You gasped at the sensation, your head falling back as pleasure radiated from your core. Hugh's hips moved in a slow, torturous rhythm, each stroke hitting your sweet spot, making you moan and beg for more.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, his breath hot against your neck. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk, giving him leverage to pound into you with increasing force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure.

You matched his rhythm, meeting each thrust with a hungry grind of your hips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, leaving marks on his skin as you clung to him. The friction between your bodies built, sending sparks of pleasure through your veins.

Hugh's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense as he drove into you. "I love watching you come undone," he growled. "Hearing you scream my name."

His words sent a shockwave of desire through you. You were close, so close, and his relentless pounding pushed you further towards the edge. Your orgasm built, a coiled spring ready to snap. "Hugh!" you cried out, your voice hoarse from pleasure. "I'm going to—"

Just as you were about to climax, he pulled out, his cock glistening with your juices. You whimpered in protest, craving release. Hugh's eyes sparkled with mischief as he rounded the desk and sat in the chair. He waves you over with his fingers, “Come ride on me.”

You smirked with smudged lips and desire-filled eyes. You didn’t waste time crawling on top of Hugh, thighs secured on either side of him. His members dipped in your wetness.

You grabbed his shoulder and sat down on him. As he entered you again, his hands gripped your hips as he thrusts up, meeting your rhythm. The change in angle sent a new wave of pleasure through your body.

You moaned, your head tossed back, your body trembling with the force of his thrusts as he met yours. Hugh's fingers found your clit, rubbing it in circles as he fucked you, pushing you closer to the brink.

"Come for me, baby," he urged, his voice a rough whisper in your ear. "Let me feel that tight pussy milking my cock." His dirty words were the final push you needed. Your orgasm exploded, rippling through your body like an electric current. You cried out, your muscles clenching around his shaft, milking him as he continued to thrust. Hugh groaned, his own release building as he felt the walls of your pussy pulsating around him.

With a final, powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside you, his hot cum filling your hole. You could feel his pulse as he came, his cock twitching within you. He collapsed in the seat, hands still on your hips, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

You sat there, sated and exhausted, your bodies still joined, the evidence of your passion dripping down your thighs. The explicit lyrics of your song continued to play in the background, a fitting soundtrack to the raw, primal acts you had just committed.

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

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[xoxoxkisses]

“I vow to never hurt you again.”

Warnings: angst, small fluff at the end, arguing, miscommunication, characters are aged up + married, not proofread ————————————————————————

Your husband, Muichiro, had been busy training lower ranked slayers. He knew it was his job as a Hashira to provide training, but it was taking a toll on him. He was lashing out more, being more on edge, wherever he was anyone could feel the tension radiating off of him. He had the stamina to do it for days, but everything else on top of it was exhausting.

You hadn’t seen him much, and you understood that. You weren’t a slayer yourself, but you understood everything he felt. You tried your best to be the best wife to him. You cooked his breakfast and dinner everyday, cleaned for him, I mean you did everything.

He walked in later than usual, you were sitting at the table finishing your dinner. “Hi sweetie!” You gleamed at him. He just stayed silent. “Come have dinner, you need to eat.” You called him over. “I’m not hungry.” He brushed it off and started towards your shared room. “But Muichiro, you need to eat.” You got up and hurried after him. You reached out to stop him, but he turned around and pushed you away. “Gosh Y/n! I said I wasn’t hungry. Leave me alone.” He looked at you coldly, your heart dropped. “B-but, it would make me feel-“ he cut you off, “It would make you feel what? I’ve felt miserable coming home to someone who doesn’t give me the space I need…” he just continued on, you were so heartbroken you spaced out mid conversation. You couldn’t believe all he was saying.

It was as if you were in a daze, everything was fuzzy, your body moving as it would like. You went to the dinner table and packed the left over food and put it away. Then you cleaned. Muichiro was just watching you, confused. He felt bad for what he said, he didn’t mean to lash out on you like that. Once you were done cleaning you brushed past your husband and went into your shared room. He walked in after you and noticed you lying in bed facing away from him. He could hear your sniffles from the door.

He quickly changed and got into the bed with you. He pulled you in close, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’m sorry Y/n. I love you.” And he kissed your hair. Your breathing slowed and you fell asleep and so did he. ————————————————————————

The next morning, you woke up. He was already gone. You went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror, your eyes were swollen and red, and your throat hurt. You looked sick. You decided you weren’t going to do much today.

Muichiro came home and noticed all of the lights were off. “Y/n?” He called for you. He went to your bedroom and saw you in the same position you were the next before. He sighed and went back to the kitchen to get the left overs from the night before. He was starting to feel even worse about yelling at you. You did nothing wrong, he enjoyed coming home to you, but he just had to lash out at you.

After eating, he changed into his sleep clothes and jumped into bed. He pulled you close again, but hugged you a lot tighter. “Y/n, please talk to me. I’m sorry for what I did I love you so much.” You turned towards him, tears pouring down your face. You hugged him back, crying into his chest. He was comforting you the best he could, telling you he loved you over and over again. Eventually, you both fell asleep. ————————————————————————

You woke up and as usual, he was gone. You got up and went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror again. At the bottom corner however, it read: “Good morning my beautiful girl, I had to go train again today as usual. I love you so much and I hope you have a great day. P.s. I made your favorite breakfast :)” you smiled for the first time in 2 days. You went to the kitchen and saw he had indeed made your favorite breakfast. You sat down and ate and noticed another note. “I will be leaving early today, I’ve felt bad about not spending time with you, but today I am.” Your heart beat faster, he’s never ended a training session early for you.

He came home around lunch time. You were in the kitchen making lunch. “Y/n! I’m home.” He called. You came out of the kitchen and stood there. He came towards you and pulled you into a hug and gave you a peck on the lips. “I’ve missed you.” You smiled at him. “Me too, darling.” The two of you just had a chill afternoon, but it was special, it’s been forever since the two of you had alone time without tension in the air. Muichiro thought to himself, reminding him of the words he said to you, how you reacted, how you cried.

He vowed to never do that again. Especially make you cry.

[livwritesstuff]

Something Eddie had learned during his and Steve’s past few years living in mid-western Massachusetts was that nobody parties harder than middle-aged suburbanites with their young children in the next room.

Sure, it’s a different kind of partying than what Eddie had participated in when he was younger, but still just as impressive, or so he's thinking as he stands in the crowded kitchen of a ridiculous McMansion decorated to the holiday nines, fancy IPA in hand (in a matte can and everything), four days before Christmas.

He's mingling.

Well, he’s kind of mingling. He’s had one eye on Steve, who is on the other side of the kitchen, pretty much the entire time, because Hazel, their youngest daughter, is sacked out and Steve is holding her in one arm as if she’s a newborn still and not a couple months past her first birthday like she really is (it’s providing Eddie with yet another reason he needs that kid to stop growing up, already, because he’ll never get tired of watching that man hold a baby).

Moe and Robbie are…honestly, Eddie doesn’t really know what all the kids get up to at these things. They are loud – and with an unending consistency that makes any silence deafening (and a telltale sign that some type of shit went down that they should probably check in on) – and occasionally one or two of them will barrel through the kitchen on some imaginary mission.

Eddie isn’t really even drinking. Steve is certainly doing enough for the both of them, and his way of getting himself into trouble with the other parents once he’s got a couple beers in him is entertaining enough for Eddie to not need alcohol to get through the night.

“Dude, fuckin’ Dan is making drinks,” Steve tells him early in the evening, “If he offers you a dirty Girl Scout, say no. He’s a father.”

“What the fuck is in that?”

“Vodka, creme de menthe, and chocolate whiskey.”

“Shit, that…actually sounds kind of good.”

“I know, but we’re declining in protest.”

Some time after that, Eddie ends up with Hazel. She’s awake and curiously mouthing at a peppermint cookie when Steve makes his way back to him.

“Lisa is mad at me I think,” he says as he sidles up behind Eddie, pressing himself against his back and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Watch it, handsy,” Eddie warns him, “There’s children present. What did you do to Lisa?”

“All I said was that maybe the start of a recession isn’t the best time to buy a timeshare and suddenly I have a tone.”

“Well, what did you expect?”

Not even twenty five minutes later, Steve returns.

“Evan’s parents probably aren’t gonna invite us to their New Year’s party,” Steve tells him, with the tiniest slur to his voice that might have worried Eddie if he wasn’t also holding a very large bottle of water.

“Why?”

“I dunno, man. All I said was that the fourth Christmas tree might be compensating for something and it was like I said the Armageddon was coming.”

“Alright, I think it’s time for us to head out.”

[gingerjolover]

Sleep it off - Julien Baker x Reader

Sypnosis: Julien has had a rough few weeks, resulting in some conflict with her soft!gf :(

G's notes: I am so sorry I am flaky, I hope this long one makes up for it :') Also I'm sure Julien is a great partner, this is in no way meant to be taken as the truth

WC: somewhere around 5.7 k (i'm not sorry)

Warnings: RPF, angst, fluff, some anti-cig comments, smoking, mental health struggles, light arguing, mean/stressed!julien, light touching, kissing, no fundamental physical descriptors besides hair that can be pushed away from your face?

Julien sits outside; the darkening sky and pre-spring chill surround her. The porch stairs are cold under her jeans, goosebumps on her arms as she strums absent-mindedly; her ¾ sleeve shirt provides little comfort from the breeze.

She’s been in better moods before, that’s for sure.

The impending album release and subsequent press tour put pressure on every bone in her body, her chest tight. She’s stoked, obviously, to be able to release another project with her best friends in the world. The project that gave her a voice ignited her will to live, pushing her further out of her comfort zone and simultaneously pulling her into a warm embrace. 

Even in her gratefulness, she’s annoyed. The lack of sleep, an upcoming busy schedule, and the numerous cigarette butts on the ground contribute to her sour mood. She’s happy, happier than she’s ever been. To finally be home, her dogs padding across the floor, and her beautiful partner cooking dinner in the kitchen should be reasons enough to forgo the attitude, but it rises quickly and sticks to her bones like the chill. 

“Babe?” 

Julien can hear you call from somewhere in the house. The front door is wide open, and the mesh of the porch door allows the breeze to filter in and cool down the warming house. Julien can hear the dog's nails tapping against the wood floor. 

She turns her head in your direction, fingers still moving on the guitar. “I’m outside,” she calls, humming a melody. 

“Jules?” you call again, obviously not hearing your girlfriend’s response the first time. 

A loud sigh escapes Julien's mouth before she can stop it, rolling her eyes at the second inquiry of her location. Her hands pause on the guitar, grumbling as she holds it in one hand by the neck and stands up, leaning against the column on the porch, making no effort to go inside. “Yeah, baby, I’m out here,” she responds, her tone dripping in annoyance. 

“Oh, there you are!” you say brightly, trying to ignore your girlfriend’s obvious irritation.

She’s been snappy since she got home a day and a half ago, the stress building up in her body, crawling out like a monster; her first instinct recently is to direct her frustration at the closest uninvolved party. 

Your hair was messy, eyes sleepy, and cheeks flushed, causing Julien to relax her face, a crooked smile appearing softly. She feels at peace staring at you. Her obvious agitations calm momentarily, her guitar heavy in her hand. “What did you need, baby?” she asks softly, the guilt of her previous irritation already creeping in. 

“Pasta or rice with dinner?” you ask, standing in the doorway, the porch too cold even for your fuzzy sock-clad feet. 

“Pasta… I’m in the mood for pasta, babe…thank you,” she says gratefully. Leaning against the porch’s railing, her eyes look up and down your bare legs, the oversized boygenius crewneck falling mid-thigh. Julien is thanking the universe for the misprints of the crewneck, your lack of pants leaving little to her imagination, cheeks heating up staring at you. 

“Okay,” you respond softly, leaning out of the porch door, puckering your lips towards Julien. 

She chuckles lightly, stepping towards you, one hand on your cheek and leaving a sweet kiss on your lips. She presses a few more pecks before pulling away, eyes closed. 

“Hey baby…”

“Hi?” you whisper back, watching Julien’s eyes flutter. She stares into your eyes lovingly. “You’re so cute,” Julien murmurs, her hand running down your leg, caressing your knee softly before kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“I love you… you know that, right?” Julien asks her tone almost a little pleading.

Your eyes soften, seeing the conflict in her face. “I know…I love you too…” you whisper back, kissing her nose. 

“Can we just…lay down? You, me, the dogs… just cuddle in bed, watch shitty tv or read or… whatever. I just…need some grounding,” she asks, practically a plea to rekindle some normalcy. 

“You okay?” you ask, rubbing the lines between her brows, her face in a slight frown. “Dinner first, then I’m all yours, deal?” you suggest, keeping the tone light. 

“Deal! Now let’s go inside; I’m freezing my ass off out here,” she says dramatically, opening the porch door wider. 

“I told you to put on a hoodie!” 

“I don’t need a hoodie, I have your body to keep me warm… my lil space heater,” she teases, pinching your ass as she pushes you inside and shuts the front door. 

"Babe, can I ask you something?" She asks, her voice becoming a little more serious.

“Yeah?” you call from the kitchen, stirring dinner in a Dutch oven.

"You know how you always feel better at home... do you ever think we make each other too comfortable? Like, you know, we get into a relationship slump almost when we're at home together because we feel comfortable enough to be ourselves... does that make any sense?" she pauses, stepping away from the door and making her way into the kitchen, leaning against the wall as she stares at you. She was still nervous about the answer she would receive, but she figured it was at least worth starting a conversation about.

“Hmmm, I mean… maybe? But you’re touring most of the year anyway, so I guess… I don’t know, I kind of relish when we get comfortable… because I know it’s not forever, and I try to enjoy it when I can,” you say softly, the direction of this conversation slightly worrying. 

"You're happy, though? I make you happy?" she asks, a hopeful look in her eyes, the answer being the most important thing in her mind. It was almost an anxiety-inducing question for her, as if she needed you to tell her without a shred of doubt. She needed to be satisfied with where the relationship was, needed to know that you were actually happy and in such a good place mentally and emotionally. It was the most important thing to Julien.

“I— yeah… I’m happy, I’m— I’m really happy…” you say, turning around. “Are you— not happy?” you ask nervously, fearing Julien's bad mood indicates something deeper.

Julien quickly shakes her head, "God no, I'm incredibly happy, babe. I just want to make sure you're happy too..." she quickly closes the space between you two, holding your hips. Julien plants a sweet, quick kiss on each of your cheeks, her hand moving to rest on your head as she speaks.  "You're my girl, I love you so much..."

You nod, smiling nervously as you relish the normal affection from Julien, having missed it the last 36 hours. “I love you too,” you reassure. 

"My baby..." Julien murmurs before she pushes her mouth against yours. She wraps around your torso, pressing her body flush with yours, lips connecting and tongues meeting. Julien felt her hands wander as she continued the kiss, running her left hand under your crewneck and back. It was a passionate kiss of desire and love; she wanted so desperately for you to feel how much she loved you. 

“Hmph,” you pull away, breathing heavily; there’s a stale cigarette taste as you pull away. “How many cigarettes did you smoke out there?” you murmur teasingly.

Julien broke the kiss to answer your question, looking you straight in the eyes as she did. She was caught. Of course, Julien would never admit to it, but she couldn't hide it from you. You are the one person on the planet who could read her like a book, and Julien felt no shame. "Five... not even kidding."

“Babe!” you exclaim softly, typically finding it hot that Julien smokes, but combined with her exhaustion and bad attitude, it's worrying. Julien playfully sticks her tongue, mistaking your worry for banter. "Babe, you try being outside in practically a t-shirt and jeans in 30-degree weather for more than five minutes with the wind whipping around you and tell me you wouldn't have wanted to hit a cigarette to calm your damn nerves!"

“You could’ve come back in!” You sigh, chuckling at her excuse, ignoring that Julien said, ‘Hit a cigarette,’ alluding to just one. 

“Babe, I— never mind,” you say softly, rubbing your temples, pulling away from Julien, and starting to stir the pot on the stove again.

Julien rolled her eyes, "No, no, you can't pull the 'never mind' thing on me; I know you, I know what you're about to say, so please, give it to me straight... I've been smoking too much lately, haven't I?"

“Among other things,” you mumble under your breath. “You’re supposed to tour in just a few months. You’re about to go on a press tour and do all these acoustic sets, and I’m worried about you and your voice,” you say, her voice firm and worried.

Julien quickly interjected, the frustration seeping into her tone. "What other things? What the hell is going on, babe? I feel like I'm missing something, so please just be blunt. I want to work on these things, but I can't if I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Please tell me." Julien knew what was wrong, but she didn’t like being called out on it. She subconsciously ignored that her agitation was why you’re off in the first place.

“You’re just snappy, Jules, like you get so annoyed with me so quick, and I’m not even doing anything,” you breathe out, unsure how your worried comment pushed her so far so quickly.

Julien laughs, exasperated at your comment, placing her hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. "Babe, you can't be serious... I have been working my ass off on my album; I'm stressed, I haven't seen you in weeks, and I am quite literally physically exhausted. I'm sorry that my attitude has been shitty, but let's take a second to think about where it's coming from, okay?"

“I’m not attacking you, Julien, you asked what was wrong, and I told you. I know you’re stressed. I never said that you weren’t, but it’s not fair to me,” you say quietly, surprised by her outburst.

"It's not fair to you? You haven't seen my ass in weeks, and I come home stressed and worried about my career and how I will be able to juggle this new album with a tour, and suddenly I'm the bad guy for being snappy? That sounds like an issue with you, not me! If you know I'm stressed and you know why, then you should understand that this is a part of my career, babe. It's just the way it is." Julien says, her voice harsh and defensive. 

“Okay, I—“ You say, taking a shuddering breath, holding your head in your hands, breathing for a moment while trying to formulate your thoughts and figure out how this went so south so fast. 

"No!" Julien snaps, interjecting before you can even start to respond, your shuddering breath setting her off. "Don't try to do that thing where you turn it all on me and make me the bad guy because you start crying because you don’t like what I said. I love you, I love you so goddamn much, but…”

“I didn’t even say anything!” You interrupt, exasperated. “I was literally thinking, I don’t know where all this anger came from; I’m not trying to fight with you,” your voice thick with emotion, not understanding why Julien is acting like this because it’s not her normal behavior.

Julien sighs heavily. Suddenly, she knew her anger was irrational, and she felt terrible letting it get this far in the first place. She could only blame her worries and stress for how she behaved. She wanted to push every ounce of it onto you because you were an easy target at the moment. The only issue was that you did not deserve to be treated that way, and she needed to apologize.

"Baby, I... I..." A pause filled the room for a second before she spoke. "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

“Just— go cool off, Jay,” you say, wiping your tears and turning to the stove. 

"Babe, you know I can't just leave mid-fight, not when I'm in the wrong. Yes, I was being an ass; I have been an ass for a couple of weeks now, and I'm realizing that now. So please, just let me apologize properly, okay?" Julien asked, now standing behind you, feeling very guilty about her words and tone.

“Julien, I love you, but I really don’t want to talk to you right now…” you say, voice shaky.

"I understand that, babe, but I need to talk to you. I'm struggling, okay? Not just with my work, but I know I'm pushing you away, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of it, and I just want everything back on track because I've felt like I've been out of control lately, and I feel like I've lost sight of what's really important, and that's you, baby, you're what's important." Julien murmurs, speaking from her heart. She doesn’t know where her harsh words came from; watching your face fall and seeing you turn around breaks her heart.

“Just go,” you dismiss her harshly. 

Julien was quiet for a few seconds, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. The silence that filled the kitchen was deafening as Julien felt like part of her heart had just been crushed. She didn't want to leave like this. She needed to make this right.

"Honey... please..." Julien pleads.

“I just need a minute to myself, okay?”

Julien sighs heavily and takes a step back. She knew she had to respect your wishes in this moment, as much as she desperately needed to be close to you. "Okay. I'm going to go for a walk, okay? Please... I don’t want to go to bed like this," she whispers, her eyes filling with tears as she realizes at that moment what a toll all of her behavior and stress had taken on your relationship. She hated it.

“Take the dogs,” you whisper. 

"Okay..." she responds softly, opening the door quietly and leashing the two dogs out before looking at you briefly. She didn't need a verbal response to know you were mad. She would make this right, but not now, not when you needed space. She had finally noticed her wrongs and would do anything it took to make things right. "See you soon..." she whispers before closing the door behind her in defeat.

When Julien leaves, the dam breaks and your sobs are loud; unsure how everything escalated so fast.

. 

As soon as she was outside, Julien let out the breath she had been holding in, her whole body trembling with emotion. She knew she had pushed a lot and never wanted to get to that point with you. After one or two more deep breaths, Julien began to walk down the road, the cold air hitting her almost immediately. Her mind was reeling from the entire conversation; the conversation that should have been a playful banter just turned harsh before she realized it. 

Julien facetimes Phoebe and Lucy, the dogs tugging at their leashes, expecting Julien to speed up walking through the small suburban neighborhood. She explains the fight, both of them siding with you, not so much about the cigarettes but about how Julien has been quick to anger recently. 

Julien's voice was shaky with emotion as she spoke with her friends. The cold night air was not helping as she sucked in deep breaths between sentences, trying to level her breathing. Both of them ask the same thing. "Have you told her you're sorry?” and “What were you thinking?!” 

“You act like an ass post travel babe,” Lucy says, without remorse. “Have you been sleeping?” 

"Look guys, I— it's just... I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on her, which is totally not okay, and she's in her right to be mad at me; she's been putting up with my bullshit for God knows how long, and I'm just..." Julien trails off. “Sleep has not been coming easy…” she sighs. 

“Look, she loves you so much… we know she’ll forgive you, but maybe hear her out, don’t get angry… you’re usually so well-spoken and eloquent,” Lucy says on the tiny screen, only visible from her nose and above. 

"I— I know I'm just-- I'm a massive fucking idiot. I don't understand why she puts up with me sometimes. I can only imagine what she's thinking about me right now. I need to fix this; I just... I hope she forgives me. She deserves better, so much better, man." Julien's voice wavered with emotion.

“She doesn’t put up with you, JB. You’re in a relationship, and she’s like…so down to have a conversation, and I’m sure it can’t be easy for her to see you struggle, and she probably empathizes– you just got all on her ass about it,” Phoebe says, her tone soft but firm. 

"I know... I know this... you guys are right. I'll go back there and talk to her, apologize, grovel, and do whatever it takes to make this right. She loves me. I know that. I know, and I love her even more, and I've been taking that for granted, so I just— I need to make this right, even if it means I have to kiss her ass for the rest of my life, yeah?” She says, breathing heavily, feeling slightly less terrible at this time.

“Let us know how it goes. Or if you need anything?” Lucy says softly, Phoebe agreeing.

"I will, yeah... I love you guys; thank you so much. I feel a little better. Can you just tell me that I really am a dipshit right now?" she asks, laughing.

“You’re a fucking idiot, JB,” Lucy laughs loudly. “But we love you!” Phoebe concurs. 

“Go get your girl!” Phoebe says. “And kiss her for me,” Lucy teases.

"Oh my God, Luce, shut your filthy mouth… and I will," Julien teases back in response. The laugh that escaped her lips was relieving.

Julien says goodbye to the band and starts the walk home. Wiping the dogs' paws before taking off their leashes, she lets them into the house, following them into the kitchen where you are cleaning the kitchen, seemingly finished cooking dinner.

Julien pads into the kitchen, still feeling very emotional. Your demeanor tells her what she needs to know. You’re definitely upset, maybe angry. She would just have to continue working on things and hope for the best. She wasn't going to push it tonight. "Hey..." she says meekly. 

“Hi,” your voice is as meek and quiet as Julien’s, avoiding eye contact as you praise the dogs, giving them treats. 

"Listen, I'm sorry, I know I was an absolute jackass today. You didn't deserve any of that... None of that was aimed towards you. Everything built up and poured out of me, and it was just a shitty day." she pauses, moving closer to you. You can feel her staring at you with glassy eyes. "Can you please look at me?"

Looking at Julien post-sobbing proves to be more challenging than the fight itself; showing her how badly her words affected you almost brings…shame? And for what you’re not sure. Your nose is wet and your eyes puffy as you have a hard time looking at the love of your life, usually so gentle and articulate. 

Julien feels even more guilt-ridden at seeing you upset. She hadn't seen you this upset in such a long time, your relationship so well-rounded, and your communication skills top-tier regardless of conflict. Julien immediately goes to you, pushing your hair away from your face. Julien pulls you into a hug, kissing your cheek softly over and over. 

"I am so, so sorry... For everything, I love you, you know that?"

“Mhm,” you nod, only half leaning into Julien. 

"Do you love me?" she asks, her voice quiet. The last thing she wanted to do was push you further away, but she needed to hear the words out loud. She now needed reassurance, although she knew she didn't deserve it.

“Yeah,” you say softly. 

"Do you love me enough to forgive me for being a jackass?" she asks, tears sliding down her cheeks as she looks at you. Julien did not want to sleep anywhere but in your arms tonight, her skin prickling at the thought this fight to cruise you both into uncharted territory.

“Mhm,” you barely nod, sniffling and looking at the floor. 

"Honey..." Julien's voice was a plea; she genuinely felt like a terrible girlfriend, and the one thing she needed right now was to make you feel better; forgiveness and reassurance would come at some point. She needed to know that you still loved her, even if you were mad. "Please... talk to me, baby, we can make this right if you let me fix it. Please say something."

“I don’t like that you blamed me for being upset that you’ve been snapping at me… that hurt my feelings,” you sniffle. “I don’t like this new thing where you take stuff out on me. I— I don’t deserve that. I know the last few weeks have been hard since we were apart, but you’re not the only one struggling when you’re away, Jay,” she sniffles again. “I wasn’t attacking you, I didn’t want to fight, I did what you asked me to, I told you what I was feeling, and you threw it back at me and said ‘it’s part of the job’ and that’s not fair, and frankly that’s bullshit because we’ve never had this issue in the years we’ve been together,” you say firmly, faux confidence seeping your tone as you lay everything out before your partner. 

"Wow... I feel like an absolute ass hearing you say it like that... I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me today... I'm so used to you giving me some playful smart-ass remark, and I know you're worried, but for some reason, it just ticked me off. I couldn’t stop from getting so angry… and I’m not blaming you right now. This isn’t an excuse; I just– I don’t know– regardless of what happened, you didn’t deserve me snapping at you," she grimaces, looking at you now with a sad and conflicted look in her eyes. " I feel terrible about blaming you for your own feelings about my actions. I'm an absolute jerk. I was stressed and took it out on you, which was incredibly unfair and unnecessary. I need to learn to cope with this better. You deserve a partner who does not let themselves take out stress and anger on you, and I've been letting myself do that with my bad moods." she places her hand on your cheek, now leaning your foreheads together. "I am so sorry… you know this isn’t me, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t wrong."

“I just— I don’t mean to lecture you, but you haven’t toured in over 6 months, and the number of cigs can’t be good for your voice, and I know you smoke a lot when you’re stressed, but it hurts that you don’t even talk to me about it you just immediately turn to cigarettes and then you get mad that I’m not aware of how you’re doing or what you’re going through,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

"I know... God, this sounds terrible when you put it like that. I have not been myself at all, baby. I've been lashing out for no reason, blaming you for things out of your control... I've been so selfish and shitty, and you do not deserve it, and I am so sorry." she continues, looking at her love with a look full of longing and regret. 

“I just need some space, I think,” you conclude sadly, a little unsure. 

Julien looks at you and nods. It was hard for her not just to scoop you up and run away with you, but she would give you the space you needed. She loves you too much to risk pushing you too far and was already walking on thin ice. 

"I love you, okay? If you need me, I'll be in my studio, and you can come get me anytime you're ready." she kisses you on the forehead affectionately. 

“Here,” you say, pushing the tray on the counter towards Julien, her dinner, some Advil, her favorite drink, and her meds on the tray. You were hoping to leave it on the counter for when she got home, but her returning sooner messed up your plans. 

Julien notices now the kitchen is clean, the dinner put away beside her plate. 

"Wait, is this for me?" Julien asks, a sad smile on her lips. The gesture's thoughtfulness was sweet, but it was apparent she had hurt you tonight and didn't deserve such love right now. “Did you eat?” 

“Yeah, it’s for you…I had a few bites, but I’m not hungry,” you breathe out. (Don't be skipping meals, babes x)

“I’m gonna go shower… can the dogs stay with you in your studio until I’m done?” you ask softly, changing the subject. 

"Yeah, yeah... I've got the dogs. Are you going to be in bed soon?" she asks, still wanting nothing more than to have you in bed with her tonight, but she figures it would be better for them if she just slept on the couch. That was the consequence of being a jackass and hurting the most important woman in her life.

“Maybe… just need to shower and stuff,” you say meekly, your usual soft behavior even softer now. 

"Okay babe... please... just come say goodnight to me once you're done..." Julien asks quietly, looking at you with pleading eyes. She wanted nothing more than to hug you and make this right but now wasn’t the time. She had to earn your presence again, and she knew that.

You nod, walking upstairs to their bedroom and jumping in the shower. 

Meanwhile Julien goes to her studio, the dogs lying on the couch in the room. She eats her dinner, picks around it before taking her meds and an Advil, and drinks water to alleviate the deep pain in her chest. 

After about an hour, you pad downstairs to Julien’s studio, her dinner and meds long gone. When you knock softly, Julien is watching a video and working on a song. “Am I interrupting?” your voice whispered, still respecting the studio's rules, in case Julien was working.

Julien pauses the video and turns around in her chair, looking at you with tired eyes. "No... No, not at all. I'd actually really appreciate the company right now, babe…”

“I just wanted to say goodnight… and grab Winnie,” you say meekly, still needing some space, leaving Blue, your bigger dog, with Julien. 

Julien felt a little sad, but she knew that was just one of the consequences of her actions tonight. She nodded and looked at you with hope in her eyes, wishing you would come closer. But she knew she was asking for too much right now. She stays in her chair and lets a small smile form. “Okay... goodnight, babe. I love you,” she whispers, feeling defeated.

“Love you,” you whisper, grabbing a sleeping Winnie, your smaller runt of a dog, and head back to your room. 

Julien listens to you climb the stairs and close the door. A silence she wasn't used to settled in the room. She hated fighting with you, and she hated herself for having no self-control tonight. She would have to give you room to breathe, the two of you never navigating conflict like this.

Blue looks up at Julien, tilting his head as if he could sense that his moms were fighting. 

Julien takes a deep breath and lifts Blue into her arms. The dog's comfort was something she desperately needed right now, even though he was too big to be cuddled like this. She felt her emotions rising as warm tears fell down her cheeks.

Blue happily nuzzles into Julien, licking the tears off her cheeks, wiggling a little, not fitting in Julien’s lap or her chair. 

Julien let out a little laugh as her legs and the edge of her desk were assaulted by Blue's wagging nub of a tail. She hugs him closer to her body and lets out a few more tears. This day was a mess; she just wanted to curl up in bed with you and forget everything. But that was off the table for the night, at least. She sighed and closed her eyes as Blue did his best to comfort her.

A few hours pass, and Julien eventually takes Blue outside, watching him go to the bathroom. The cold hair helps ground her momentarily before they both climb back up the stairs. 

Walking through the kitchen and towards the office, she sees you standing with your hand up near the door as if you were going to knock. She freezes up, not expecting to see you for the rest of the night. She smiles softly, your messy hair and sleepy eyes drooping. “Hi, sweet girl,” she says quietly. Blue runs up to your legs, headbutting you gently. 

“Hi,” you gulp. “I can’t sleep, can you… can you come to bed,” you ask anxiously.

Julien feels her heart swell as you ask her to come to bed. She nods, biting her lower lip in relief. She was so afraid that you were going to reject her now. She takes a step forward, closing the space between you both. "Are you sure, babe?" she asks, her voice soft and nervous like yours.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay… I’ll be fine,” you say sheepishly. 

Julien can’t believe you would say that. Of course, she wants to go to bed with you. "No... I want to... I want to go to bed with you more than anything. I just... I'm worried that I'll hurt you tonight. I'm worried I will lay there and overthink all the shitty things I did tonight, and that will somehow make me say something mean to you again... and I don't want that tonight." she replies honestly. She knew you could sense her genuineness, even regarding her insecurities.

“We don’t have to talk tonight… I just, I already sleep so many nights alone, and I just… I want you next to me,” you respond, the distance already hurting, the thought of sleeping in the same house but not next to Julien cracking your heart despite the harshness from earlier lingering like a bad perfume. 

Julien's mouth spreads into a little smile. She was still anxious, given your conversation earlier, but she wanted nothing more than to hold you in her arms. It was all she needed right now. She steps closer now, kissing your lips before responding. "Then let's go to bed."

You nod, whistling for Blue to follow you as you head upstairs, leaving Julien to close up her studio and clean her plate.

Once she enters the dark bedroom, Julien closes the door behind herself and undresses, leaving only her underwear on. Her eyes were focused on your body lying in the bed. She honestly couldn't get over how beautiful you were. Her heart clenches in both love and sorrow all at once. Looking at you overwhelms her, and knowing she made you cry is worse than a punch in the gut.

 "Can I hold you, pretty girl?"

“Mhm,” you hum, turning over, another oversized misprinted boygenius t-shirt riding up your legs, boyshorts hugging your hips. 

Julien moves closer to you, hooking her leg over yours, now lying in an intimate 'C' shape. 

"Did you... did you know that you hum when you're nervous... or when you're happy?" Julien whispers, pulling your body closer as she kisses your clothed shoulder.

“Do I?” 

"Yeah, you do... You did it in the kitchen tonight, which almost broke my heart." Julien whispers. The love she feels for you bubbling up, overwhelming her chest, spilling out of her mouth.

“I didn’t notice that I did that.”

 "You do it when I hold you in your sleep, too. You hum and mumble in your sleep." Julien explains, voice soft. "It used to keep me awake, but now I look forward to it. I just... I love you so much it hurts."

"You smell so good..." she whispers, burying her nose into the back of your neck, relishing in the closeness.

“It’s that new body wash… something with rose or ginger or something,” you try to recall nonchalantly, your skin heating up at her chest flush your back, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs. 

Julien snickers softly. She doesn’t care what the body wash is, she just loves the way you smell. It was intoxicating, filling her with a sense of security and safety at the end of a long day. 

“Whatever it is, it’s amazing,” she says quietly, burying her face back into your neck. You hum again softly, eyes fluttering shut, finally comfortable and warm in bed.

Your little hums continued to play in Julien's mind as she tried to fall asleep herself, her eyes growing heavy as the day's events finally catch up to her. She knows there is work to be done in the name of forgiveness. The impending distance looming over her head, there’s only so much time until she’s traveling again and leaving you behind. But for now, you’re in her arms, and the best she can do in the middle of the night is sleep it off.

[sirenmoth]

Warm Winter

Werebear x Human!Reader

Synopsis: Your teddy be- i mean werebear partner doesn't like you out in the cold

Cold weather was a given living so far out in the woods, winter was when it got bad with the mountines of snows and skin biting blizzards, below freezing temperatures and scared fresh food other than meat and canned rations. Keeping a ental note to try and make and indoor greenhouse somewhere in the cabin to grow fresh produce when the spring thaw arrives. The small cabin as big enough and sturdy enough to keep the harsh elements of a mid november snow storm out, through the wind crept in through what cracks crevices it could find, another mental notes of what needed repairs.

Your partner slept more during these months to conserve energy, curling up on a makeshift bed of fur pelts and stolen camping equipment. You, however, didn't have that biological need to sleep for months on and off, becoming restless staying in bed all day. So you built a routin for the colder months, put in place when the sun starting setting earlier over the dusted white treetops and frozen over lakes. Keeping as quiet as possible, as not to disturb the ball of nesting fur in the bedroom. You saved the outdoor activities and chores for the warmer seasons, those usually consisted of fixing and repairing the damange the winter war has done, building up the little fort the two of you call home al over again, hoping it can survive another battle against the elements.

The cabin didn't have a lot of rooms, just a bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom, not much but it's home. You always leave the bedroom for later, giving it a deep clean in the fall before your partner goes to sleep and in the spring when your partner wakes up.

The first thing you do is start a fire, the small woodburner in the living is enough to provide heat for most part in the cabin, a massive wood pile sat beside it, another one sat in the kitchen by the stove. All lovingly chopped by your partner before they decided to crash for the winter.

Next you start on the kitchen, checking the food preservatives in the pantry and marking down what was running low and what was due to be expired soon down on a clipboard they brought a year years back when you asked if they had another to keep records for food during winter, knowing your partner it was from a campsite of unsuspecting campers who didn't know or didn't care they were in a bears' territory.

Picking up a bucket and broom on your way out, wanting to dust and sweep both the living room and kitchen. Thankfully the place stayed clean throught most of the colder months due to your being the only one active. Walking over to the bathroomand putting the bucket in the tub, the sink was too shallow for it, and walking back out to pick dust the shelves and organise. A quick glance outside, the snow has picked up into a light blizzard, white specks dances around in the air in rapid movments, the landscape now a frozen white desert. It was going to be a rough night, silently you prayed the cabin could stand up against it and keep you both warm and safe.

Finding a new place at the moment is less than desirable.

Retriving the bucket from the bathroom and turing off the tap, it was barely half full but everything needs to be conserved during the winter season. A loud bang rang out throughout the cabin, startling you, nearly making you drop the bucket. The source of the noise was one of the indoor shutters that flew open from a strong gust of wind, hastily you put the bucket down and , as quickly as you could, placed it back in its place, hoping no heat escaped.

An errie quite falls over the space, listening for movement, waiting to see if the noise distrubed the snoozing mass. A low growl emitted throughout the small space, the beast was awake and fully aware of a certain human missing from the nest. The sound made you froze, stopping the sudden repairs on the window shutter.

"I'll be there in a minute." you call out, finishing securing the shutter in place and closing it, latching it shut. Turing around you come face to face with the recently awoken werebear, grumpy and tired their sleep was interupted, standing hunched over in the door frame, staring you down. "I was just cleaning, I was going to come back to bed once I'm done." You attempt to explain.

Your explaination does very little as you're lifted up into the air and over their shoulder, dragged back to the bedroom, all chores supposed to be done be damned.

A strained groan leaves your throat as you get dropped with force onto the makeshift bed, then a heavy, hulking figure practiaclly collapse on top of you as soon as you make contact with the pile of fur and equipment. Smiling, you put up a fake struggle, squirming around to try and break free. Another growl is heard, a warning to stop it, still you continue to movie, trying to find a comfy spot. A strong paw traps you, pinning you down by the waist and pulls you in, close enough to feels your bears' warmth but not enough to suffocate you in their fur.

"I had work to do. Who do you think maintains this place while you sleep?" You poke at the soft pile beside you, which grunts in response, too tired to properly respond to your sarcastic remark.

"Mhm, I love you too." another grunt in reply. Rolling over to cuddle in closer, sighing contently, pressing your face into their chest. Feeling them curl around you like a personal heater, a furnace, keeping you warm from the cold. Sleep once again entered your mind, knowing you're not going anywhere any time soon, you let it.

Hopefully you'll be able to get everything you missed done tomorrow, along with what is also planned for that day. Knowing you hace your work cut out for you. Right now you let youself be effectively trapped and pinned to the bed, you decide staying isn't so bad, beside you need rest for the double work you've got set up for tomorrow.

[rook-knavery]

WIP Wednesday

//

Currently Untitled.

Spite comes to learn that Solas is lurking in Rook’s dreams. He does not like it.

//

Dinner preparations started almost immediately after the mid-day meal. Breakfasts and lunches were a casual affair. People drifted through at odd hours of the day, grazing off of leftovers or foraging something quick from the pantry. The eating practices were inconsistent and not sustainable for an outfit vying to strike down gods. So dinner attendance was mandatory, a rule Lucanis himself implemented after joining Rook and her team — because the eating habits of the women who originally welcomed him to the lighthouse were absolutely abysmal at best, and horrifying at their worst. After integrating himself into the cooking rotation (and booting Harding out), he made sure to put in the effort to provide the team with hearty, well-balanced, and flavorful meals.

It was the night before, as he sipped his coffee and avoided the grasp of sleep, Lucanis decided that the evening meal would consist of gnocchi; potato dumplings covered in fresh pesto, and paired with roasted chicken, oyster mushrooms for Emmrich, and paired with a dry, crisp white wine. It was not a difficult meal to make. In fact, it was quite simple, but when making enough to feed an army of eight it took considerable time, and Lucanis enjoyed every single moment.

The process was perhaps a little tedious, and repetitive. The dough was rolled into a long tube, and cut into chunks. His fingers were used to measure and keep the dumplings consistent; inconsistent sizes meant inconsistent cook times, and so a great deal of care was put into measuring each piece. Then came the meticulous shaping of the dumpling. Each piece of dough was carefully rolled over the tines of a fork to give it the signature rigatura. Lucanis let himself get lost in the motions, pressing the dough over the fork with the pad of his thumb, watching as it pressed and curled under the pressure. Save for the occasional crackle of the fire, the room was quiet, and Lucanis was at peace…

Right until he experienced a surge of acrid, barely contained rage that came upon him like a rabid mabari. The poor lump of dough was crushed between the tines of the fork before Lucanis could manage to process that the anger wasn’t even his.

“Spite?” Lucanis asked the empty room after he had taken a steadying breath.

The demon had been notably absent since breakfast, not that Lucanis was complaining. The lighthouse afforded the two of them a kind of freedom that hadn’t been available in the ossuary, or anywhere else. Spite could wander the grounds of the lighthouse completely unhindered, but they suffered a short leash everywhere else. It was a comfort knowing that Spite couldn’t actually hurt anyone, and no one could hear or see him or be bothered by him. Well, everyone but Emmrich but the demon seemed to hold the necromancer in higher regard than Lucanis himself.

Who is Solas?

The voice was a whisper across his consciousness carrying the impressionable weight of raw, seething, hatred. The feeling resonated within him like an echo; everywhere but nowhere. Existing within him but not actually his.

“Why?” Lucanis asked as he re-rolled the ruined dough between the palms of his hands.

Who is he?

The fury surged, and Lucanis abandoned rolling the gnocchi before he could succumb to the feeling that left him wanting to tear the kitchen apart. Another breath; slow, steady as he paced away from the prep station. Lucanis was not mad. Lucanis was relaxed. Or, at least, he had been until Spite had to come barging back into the forefront of his mind.

“The lighthouse is technically his, but he has been imprisoned in the fade. Rook says he visits when she sleeps. What has you so concerned about him all of a sudden?”

A growl vibrated his senses. Lucanis tensed, ready for the demon to lash out and instead he flinched when the door to the courtyard swung open. Rook shuffled in. Spite was just a step behind behind her. Disheveled would have been a kind way to describe how the elven woman looked in that moment. In fact, she looked more like the embodiment of misery. It was a far cry different from her typical sunny disposition.

“Rook?”

Rook cracked open one of her eyes, and the grimace that accompanied it made even Lucanis wince. It was then that he noticed the hint of red that rimmed her eyes, the puffiness of her cheeks.

What happened?

Ask, Spite growled, sending a glowing glare his way.

“Oh,” she rasped. “Hey, ‘canis.”

It was not her typical greeting. It didn’t come with the usual kindness and warmth as she bid him and Spite a good morning – and it was only then that Lucanis even realized that Rook hadn’t been to breakfast, or even lunch.

“Are you well?” She wasn’t. She very obviously wasn’t.

“Head feels like it’s going to explode. Solas was a right prick last night,” she grumbled, completely oblivious to the demon that was trailing behind her like a shadow. If anyone else saw him they would likely assume that Spite was on the war path, ready to kill the unsuspecting elf at the earliest opportunity.

But when the demon snarled it was at Lucanis.

What. Did. He. Do.

[victoriansecret]

Servants and Upward Mobility

This is focused on paid servants in England in the mid-late 18th century. One thing I find fascinating about the structure of domestic service roles was the existence of what essentially we might call a career ladder today. It was not uncommon for a servant to start their career near the bottom of the hierarchy as, say, a boot boy who cleans the shoes and boots of the household, or the scullery maid who does all the dirty kitchen work like scrubbing iron cooking vessels or plucking chickens, but progressively move up the list to better positions.

Part of why this was the case was that it was typical in England to hire servants for one year terms at a time. Often they'd be hired at festivals on the quarter days of the year, which as part of the festivities would often include what today we'd call a job fair. For some reason, Michaelmas (September 29) seems to be the most common as far as I can tell. I had never really thought about why that might be until I started planning this post, and I now wonder if it might have something to do with that being right around when harvest time usually comes in England. I could easily imagine people, especially young people, being on the cusp of another labourious harvest and thinking that maybe they could find another job instead. Related tangent: There are a number of remarks in the period that servants from the northern parts of England were considered to be much more respectful than servants from more populated, urban areas. Those communities were (at least considered to be) a lot stricter about remembering one's place and respecting your social 'betters', and their behaviour as servants was believed to reflect that. Some people would actively have their agents look to hire people from those rural areas, and apparently it was easy to attract potential employees: there are a number of remarks about how when a fancy carriage would drive through a small town, with the fancily-liveried footmen riding on the back, it would bring young people to stare in awe and want to be part of that. Which as someone whose interest in domestic service started in part because of my obsession with livery, I can understand. Anyway, back to the main point: because they often served one-year terms, there was an annual chance for both parties - the servant and the served - to review and determine how to move forward. A servant who was favoured might negotiate for a new position in the household, at least one step higher on the ladder (if not more), and they had leverage because they could leave the field entirely or possibly go off to a new household and find a higher position there. There was also a practice of asking for your master or mistress to provide a "character", essentially what we would today call a reference: a letter to show potential employers detailing their behaviour and skill in their role. Certainly there were times that some employers refused to give a good character, and sometimes that was explicitly because they wanted to keep the servant because they were a valuable asset to their household, but it was considered part of the obligation of the master class to be honest in these.

And it is not at all uncommon to find people who have served many different people/households throughout their career. The most I have seen is 28, although that's slightly misleading: that was a man who decided he wanted to travel, so hired himself to gentleman going on journeys for the duration of the trips, many of which were only a couple months. (The book he published, which he wrote about his travels and the "exotic" places and people he encountered, is interesting, and for my purposes super helpful because he turned out to be a narcissist and wrote a lot about himself, including his career as a servant. It's the only quasi-memoir of a paid servant from this time I am aware of. I might write a post about it/him sometime. I digress.) [continued in next post]

[hannah-banana-lou]

Come back to me

Husband william afton x Wife female reader AU

it's here!! sorry for the delay. i have been super busy!!

(Pt.2)

i'm not the best at writing smut but i'm trying! i promise!!

Content warning: Marriage issues, verbal abuse, smut!!! (lots of it in this chapter!!!), age gap couple - William (early 50’s) Reader (mid/late 20’s)

UNDER 18’S DNI!!!

Come Back To Me (Pt.2)

You’re home. He kissed you for the first time in months, less than 40 minutes ago. It’s sparked hope within you. Maybe that tiny bit of affection means that he will change? Go back to normal?

Think again.

He is back to his cold, distanced, usual self. You find yourself in the kitchen. Making a late lunch for your twins. He is standing next to you. You finish what you’re doing and smile over at him, placing your hand on his. He immediately recoils. Your eyes widen, confused. Before you can question it he storms off upstairs, into his home office. Slamming the door with force, which made you and your toddlers flinch.

You spend the next few hours confused. Your mind is miles away. Searching your brain for Answers. Clues. Anything.

the rest of the day goes by quickly. running errands, dropping the twins off with your mom for the weekend. you hope that the weekend alone with your husband might provide some answers. fingers crossed.

you get home. he is out. nowhere to be found. not sure where he is or when he is coming back. the clock reads 9:00pm. he should be back by now. you made dinner, hoping he would sit with you and enjoy the meal. like old times. it's now gone cold.

Sitting in the living room, the silence is uncomfortable. you've been alone in the house before but this, this just feels weird. like you're waiting for something to happen. alas, nothing does. your thoughts are consuming you. where is he? why isn't he back yet? is he okay?

as if you manifested it, your mobile rings.

Caller ID: the pizzerias landline.

you pick up the phone, answering it immediately "Hello? will?"

"Hi, i won't be back for another hour" his voice is strained, rough. almost breathless

"oh" you respond. suspicious at the sound of his voice "what are you doing at the pizzeria so late?"

"working" he responds quickly. you hear thudding in the background.

"what was that?" more like who was that? you think to yourself.

"What was what? anyways. i have to go, i'll see you in a bit" he cuts off

"love you" you respond, voice soft, deflated.

For a few seconds you hear silence on the other end. "bye" he grunts out before he hangs up.

you sigh. breaking the silence of the house as you get up off the sofa and head upstairs to what used to be yours and William's bedroom but now it's just yours.

you climb into bed, crawling under the duvet. closing your eyes, trying to sleep. ultimately failing. the bed feels so big, so lonely.

After what feels like hours, you start drifting off to sleep before you hear the front door open and slam closed. keys jingling as they're inserted into the lock.

Heavy footsteps ascending the stairs.

The bedroom door creaks open. the landing light flooding the darkness of the bedroom.

Silence as he stands in the doorway.

Eyes directed towards your, assumed, sleeping figure. you hear him walk closer. the bed dipping as he sits on the side that was once allocated to him.

Silence again.

Staring at your back. he takes his boots off and gets under the covers, letting out a tired groan. you stay silent, waiting for his next move. why was he in bed with you?

he rolls over to you, wrapping his arm around you, hand resting on your hip, head rested on your shoulder as he plants kisses upon the skin.

"you awake?" he whispers into your skin

"mhm" you respond. soft. tired. a whisper.

you feel his hand gently move away the hairs adorning your neck. moving his kisses from your shoulder up to your neck. the hand resting on your hip, gently caressing your side as he trails it up and down.

"i miss you" he whispers out, kissing and painting your neck with saliva.

you let out a soft moan at his ministrations. confused to say the least. the mixed signals messing with your mind.

he snakes his hand down your side, fingers sliding under your pajama pants. no panties. no resistance. he paws at your thighs, before dipping his finger between your soaked folds. index finger circling your sensitive nub. eliciting a moan from you.

he growls, moving his finger down and plunging it inside your tight hole. moving it at an agonizingly slow pace.

in... out.... in.... out...

he slips another digit inside. speeding up. another moan from you. you bite your lip, attempting to suppress any thing else from coming out.

he curls his fingers, rubbing deliciously against your sensitive spot. mouth open, moaning loudly. you grab his arm, unsure why. Not trying to stop him at all.

he chuckles "Look at you" he whispers, mockingly. fingers working faster inside of you. you're close. he can tell. the soaked digits abandon your dripping cunt. you let out a protesting whine.

he rolls onto his back in the middle of the bed. you sit up, looking over at him. his cock straining against his pants. "here" he snaps his fingers, pointing to the space in between his legs. you obey. crawling between his legs. moving your hands up and unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down with his boxers. his cock springs free. standing to attention.

Big. thick. adorned with bulging veins. pink tip. as you remember it.

you place your hand around the shaft, leaning your head down, licking a stripe on the underside of the shaft to tip. mouth wrapping around the tip. he lets out a groan. a hiss.

your cheeks hallowing as you suck. hand stroking the base. working in unison. His fingers raking through your hair before grasping at locks. pushing you down onto his cock. taking him in your throat. causing you to gag slightly. he bites his lip, pulling you off and pushing you back down. thrusting his hips into the air with each suck.

after a while he pushes you off completely. you look up at him confused. he Shifts his body, getting onto his knees, turning you around and pushing you down into the bed. ass up in the air. he yanks your pajama pants down to your knees. moving his face down. kissing your cheeks before spreading them open. your pussy dripping. he accumulates the wetness on his fingers, sucking on them. letting out a groan at your taste. one he's missed.

silence.

you try to move your head up and look over your shoulder but he pushes your head back down into the duvet. you gasp as you feel his tongue dive into your soaked sex. tongue fucking your hole before licking stripes. sucking on your nub. obscene noises. rubbing his face into your pussy. beard scratching against your skin which only adds to your arousal. fingers back inside you, working in unison with his tongue. moans and groans from both of you. your core pulsating, grabbing the bed sheets as you're edging closer and closer to orgasm. getting desperate. grinding against his face as you feel your release closing in. before you know it you're screaming, cumming. shaking.

he plants a firm slap to your overstimulated pussy causing you to flinch and jump forward. you hear a small grunt as he grabs your waist, pulling you back to him.

"you wanted my attention, now you've got it" he growls out. grabbing his cock and aligning it to your tight entrance.

he pushes in abruptly. not even caring about if you can take it all or not. you did a while ago. in his mind, you should be able to now.

a loud whimper escapes your throat. he's quick to comfort you. shushing you.

"shh...shh i know, it's been a while bunny" he smooths his palm over your ass cheek with a modicum of affection.

"Relax bunny" he continues, slowly sawing into you. not the speed he wishes to go but your pussy is like a vice clamp right now.

a few soft and slow thrusts into you. whimpers and moans leaving your lips and he feels you relax. He takes that opportunity to stop lazily sawing into you, instead he speeds up, pounding into you at a unforgiving pace. moans, grunts and skin hitting each other, filling the silence of the room. grasping at the bedsheets as you feel yourself reaching peak again, toes curling, a loud squeak causing him to chuckle. a firm slap against your ass cheek, causing a red mark. his hands firm on your hips, pulling you back onto him with each thrust.

he's panting, in a frenzy as he feels himself get closer. before you know it he's filling you up. his seed painting your insides. pulling out. collapsing back on the bed with a thud, you follow suit. he wraps an arm around you possesively.

planting a soft kiss to your forehead. "i'm going to try and be better. for you. i promise" he mumurs between panting breaths.

you hope his promise was true. not some fake excuse to stall you on getting a divorce.