#tufted head board

[abconcerns]

Master - Bedroom

Gray walls and no fireplace characterize this idea for a medium-sized traditional master bedroom.

[adventuresinmonsterland]

Master - Bedroom

Gray walls and no fireplace characterize this idea for a medium-sized traditional master bedroom.

[phauxtography]

Master - Bedroom

Gray walls and no fireplace characterize this idea for a medium-sized traditional master bedroom.

[vegetarianburrito]

Atlanta Bedroom Bedroom - mid-sized traditional master bedroom idea with gray walls and no fireplace

[shirtlessfrank]

Master - Bedroom A picture of a medium-sized, modern master bedroom with a brown floor and a medium-toned wood floor, white walls, and no fireplace

[glennkotche]

Bedroom - Transitional Bedroom Huge image of a transitional master bedroom with a beige floor, a standard fireplace, and a wood fireplace surround, and blue walls.

[twispicalstephen]

Bedroom - Midcentury Bedroom

Picture of a medium-sized guest bedroom from the mid-century modern era with a gray carpet and no fireplace.

[wnltl]

Master - Bedroom

Gray walls and no fireplace characterize this idea for a medium-sized traditional master bedroom.

[markruffalove]

Master - Bedroom Gray walls and no fireplace characterize this idea for a medium-sized traditional master bedroom.

[whatsernameanyways]

Atlanta Bedroom Bedroom - mid-sized traditional master bedroom idea with gray walls and no fireplace

[birdcageromance]

Tampa Bedroom

Mid-sized beach style loft-style bamboo floor bedroom photo with blue walls and no fireplace

[nehi-soda]

Push Your Luck -

Jackson!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Explicit; Minors DNI 18+ only.

Summary: You loved lying with Joel and listening to his music, but tonight, your need for him was impossible to ignore. So you decided to push—just a little. Maybe tonight, you would be lucky.

Word count: 2.6K

Warnings: established relationship but reader’s first sexual encounter with Joel, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected P in V sex, pulling out method as a form of contraception (be safe, don't be like them), descriptions of arousal and masturbation, fluff, smut, general filth, dirty talk, grumpy!joel, a dash of soft!joel, jackson!joel, cum, saliva, pet names (honey, baby, darlin'). No use of Y/N. Mood board is for aesthetics only; the reader's features aren't specified.

A/N: This was inspired by these images by @elliespuns, which have been playing on my mind and making me feral. Enjoy!

Joel's room was warm, the gentle crackle of his old records filling the quiet space with the soft hum of Johnny Cash. You were both sprawled on his bed like usual, your right leg resting over his rough jeans, a comfortable mess of limbs. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward—just the kind of stillness that comes after the world outside has been shut out for the night.

Joel had one arm tucked under his head, his other hand resting on the curve of your hip. His thumb absentmindedly traced lazy circles on your skin. But what he didn’t know—what he was completely unaware of—was that those small, soft touches were driving you insane. Each pass of his thumb sent ripples of heat straight to your core, making it impossible to think about anything other than how badly you wanted him.

Every time his skin grazed yours, your body responded, a subtle shift of your hips, a quiet shudder in your breath. The warmth of him pressed against you, the solid weight of his body beside yours—it only made the ache between your legs grow sharper.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to move, to press yourself against him, to grind your hips just enough to get some relief. You wondered if he could feel the heat rolling off your body, the throbbing need emanating from between your thighs.

His gaze was distant, fixed somewhere on the ceiling, lost in thoughts you couldn’t quite reach. There was always that slight hesitation in him, a part of him that held back, even when you were this close.

You shifted slightly, turning toward him, your fingers playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt. Joel’s breath hitched, and you noticed how his muscles tightened under your touch.

Without saying anything, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of his jaw. His stubble brushed your lips, rough and familiar. He closed his eyes as if surrendering to the moment, even if just for a second.

“Joel,” you whispered against his skin, the sound of his name more of a comfort than a question. Your lips moved lower, trailing a path down his neck, slow and deliberate, feeling his pulse beneath your mouth. He exhaled, a sound caught between a sigh and a groan, his hands resting on your hips as if he was trying to hold himself back, trying to keep some semblance of control.

His shirt was already half undone, so you pushed it open the rest of the way, revealing his thickly tufted chest. He was broad, built from years of hard work and survival, but there was a softness there, too, a gentle curve to his belly that you adored. His skin was smooth but scattered with old scars and faint marks, each one telling a different story of a life lived in a world that hadn’t been kind.

Your lips found the base of his throat again, lingering there for a moment before you started your descent. You trailed tender kisses down his chest like drops of rain rolling down weathered stone. 

“What are you doin’?” He asked, almost sounding annoyed.

You didn’t answer, instead you dragged your tongue across his pec, feeling the way his breath caught as you moved lower, tasting the salt on his skin. His chest rose and fell beneath your lips. He tensed as you kissed down to his belly. You nipped at the flesh there, teasing him, hearing the low growl that rumbled up from his throat, a warning or maybe an invitation.

Your hands gripped his sides as you made your way down, slow and purposeful, your lips grazing the faint trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. The heat radiating from his body was intense, pulling you in. His scent was raw and earthy, a mix of leather and something so uniquely Joel —it was all so intoxicating.

You’d never gotten past this point without him tugging you back, always stopping you before things could go any further. He was the one who kept that line drawn—held it tight. 

When you reached the top of his jeans, you slid off the edge of the bed to settle between his legs, your bare knees sinking onto the rug beneath you. Your lips pressed to the spot just above where the denim began, breathing him in more.

His cock already strained against the fabric of his jeans, the outline thick and urgent, demanding attention. 

It would be rude not to oblige.

You unbuckled his belt slowly and undid his jeans, your fingers brushing against him as you pulled back the fabric. He let out a deep breath as you ran your hand over him, feeling the heat, the need that he was trying so hard to hold back. “Relax,” you murmured, freeing his cock out of the waistband of his boxers. “Let me take care of you.”

Your hands gripped his thighs as you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the base of his cock. He groaned, his hand coming to tangle in your hair, not pulling, just holding, as if he wasn’t sure if he should let you continue. “Baby, you don’t have to…” Joel’s voice was rough, strained with the effort of keeping himself in check, but you could hear the desperation in it, the way his words trailed off as you licked a slow, teasing line up the length of him, tasting him. You looked up, meeting his gaze as you took him into your mouth. His hazel eyes darkened as you started to move, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive underside before taking him deeper. Stop being so nice, you wanted to say to him.

“Fuck,” Joel hissed, his head falling back as you set a steady rhythm, your hot mouth working him over with a practised ease that had him groaning, his hips jerking up involuntarily. You loved the way he responded to you, the way his body betrayed the control he tried so hard to maintain, the way he was falling apart under your touch.

You took your time. You wanted him to feel good. The soft clink of his belt was a monotonous beat to your movements. Joel’s fingers clung onto your hair, sending pleasant tingles to your scalp, his grip tightening as you increased the pace, taking him deeper, feeling him grow harder in your mouth. His moans filled the room, his voice a low, desperate sound that made you so wet. You could feel him getting close, his body trembling as he fought to hold back. “Shit,” he gasped, trying to pull back, but you didn’t let him. You wanted to give this to him, to let him lose himself in the pleasure, to show him that with you, he didn’t have to be in control all the time.

He was big, bigger than you were used to. Your eyes stung, tears blurring your vision as you fought to take him deeper, every inch of him filling your mouth so well. It was intense, and the mess only made it better— you could feel the sloppy trail of your saliva running down his shaft, gathering around your fingers as they gripped what your mouth couldn’t take, desperate to keep up with the size and the pace.

A mixture of your spit and his precum pooled at his base, slick and messy, dripping down onto his jeans. You think he liked seeing you like this, eyes watering, lips stretched around him, struggling to take all of him in. The way his cock throbbed told you as much, each twitch between your lips as you hollowed your cheeks, his size pressing against the back of your throat.

“Yeah, filthy little mouth... takin’ it all like that,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

And there it was.You knew he couldn’t be a gentleman with you all the time.

Your jaw ached, your throat tightened, and you could feel your body rebelling, but the thrill of it kept you going, pushing you to take more, to make him feel every desperate, hungry inch of your mouth. You took him as far as your body would allow until you were gagging and forced to draw back, spluttering for air.

His cock glistened, throbbing in your hand as you stroked him slowly, dragging out every second of his pleasure.

“Christ... you are a filthy thing, aren’t ya,” he rasped, his accent thick as the words rolled off his tongue. 

The way he looked at you like you were the most depraved, beautiful sight he’d ever seen sent a wave of heat straight to your aching pussy. Fuck he was so handsome. You could feel yourself dripping, your own arousal pooling between your legs, soaking through the fabric of your panties, desperate for any sort of relief.

You smiled up at him, lips still wet and swollen from where you’d had him, your eyes gleaming. 

The way you looked—sweet, sinful, shameless— made something flash in his eyes and his cock twitch in your hand.

“Don’t go lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, voice low and rough, the warning in his tone almost lost in the sheer need coursing through him. But you didn’t back down, didn’t look away, just smiled wider, eyes locked on his, waiting to see how far he’d let you push him before he broke.

“What, you like suckin’ cock or somethin'?” 

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, licking your lips as you held his gaze, your hand still lazily stroking his length.

“Only yours,” you whispered, your voice husky as your thumb swirled around the tip of his cock again, collecting more of that wetness. You leaned in, letting your breath ghost over him, close enough that he could feel the heat of your mouth, but just out of reach, playing with him, making him wait for it.

The low groan that rumbled from his chest told you everything. His grip in your hair tightened, that roughness in him rising up again.

“Only mine,” he laughed, half under his breath, letting his head fall back against the bed. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, hips jerking forward, pushing his cock closer to your waiting lips, telling you he didn’t want you to stop. Not now. Not ever.

Your lips parted, and you took him in again, slow and deep, letting him feel just how much you wanted him. Your hands gripped his thighs, fingers digging into the hard muscle, anchoring yourself as you moved faster.

His hips moved with you now, fucking your mouth with deep thrusts, each one bringing him closer to that sweet release you both craved.

You could feel him losing it, his body taut, every muscle straining as his cock pulsed harder against your tongue. He was close—so fucking close.

You stood up and hiked up your dress, the fabric bunching at your hips as you climbed on top of him. Your knees sank into the mattress on either side of his broad body. He barely had time to catch his breath before your hands were on his chest, and you were grinding down against him, your soaked panties brushing against the hard length of him.

Joel’s eyes widened just a fraction, that flicker of surprise quickly replaced by raw need as he felt your heat. His hands instinctively came up to grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, urging you on. You didn’t waste any time—your hand slipped between your legs, pulling your panties to the side, exposing yourself to him, wet and ready.

You lined him up, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, teasing, torturing him for a moment before you sank down onto him in one quick motion. The stretch was immediate and intense as he filled you completely, every thick inch of him sliding deep inside you. Your breath hitched, a low moan escaping your lips as your walls clenched around him, taking him in until there was nothing left to take.

“Goddamn, honey,” Joel groaned, voice strained as he felt you squeeze him. His head tipped back, jaw clenched. 

You didn’t give yourself a chance to adjust—you started moving, rolling your hips, grinding down on him, taking him deeper with each thrust. You braced your hands on his chest, fucking him harder, faster with everything you had. His cock pulsed inside you, hitting that perfect spot with every movement, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned, head falling back as you lost yourself in the feeling of him inside you.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel rasped, a hand bunching your dress, his other gripping your ass now, pulling you down harder onto him, guiding you, urging you to take it harder. His hips bucked up to meet your movements, fucking into you from below.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” you whispered, voice low, teasing, grinding your hips against him slowly, making sure he felt every needy inch of you, how wet you were for him. “You love being deep inside my pussy, Joel… don’t pretend otherwise.”

He groaned, fingers digging into your hips, his breath coming out ragged, but he couldn’t muster a response.

“You like watching me take it all, don’t you?” you continued, leaning down so your lips hovered just above his, your breath hot against his skin. “Seeing how fucking desperate I am for your cock. You feel that?”

A deep growl rumbled in his chest. “Fuck… I feel it,” he strained, “Keep talkin' like that and I ain’t gonna last, darlin’.”

You smiled wickedly, rolling your hips in that slow, teasing rhythm, feeling every inch of him stretch you, fill you up in a way that made your whole body tremble. The heat between your thighs was intense, a clawing, pulsing ache that begged for more. You moaned, the sound low and breathless, your hands gripping his chest for balance as you rocked your hips again, the friction of your clit rubbing against the roughen hair at the base of his cock, sending shocks of pure bliss through your whole body.

“God, you feel so fucking good inside me, Joel,” you moaned. Every movement had you teetering on the edge, the way his cock brushed against that spot deep inside that made your legs shake. 

“Oh, fuck!” Your voice broke, shaking as your orgasm ripped through you, leaving you trembling and breathless. Your hands clung to his chest and flannel for support as you rode out the aftershocks, your thighs quivering around him, your release coating his cock as you ground down on him, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure.

Joel groaned, clearly on the edge himself, his cock throbbing as you tightened around him, making it harder for him to hold on. His breath came in ragged bursts.

“Shit—gotta pull out,” he growled, pulling out his cock.

His grip tightened as he lifted you just enough, sliding out of you, his cock twitching desperately. The sudden emptiness left you still aching with need, but you watched as he grabbed himself, stroking fast, desperate, along his thick shaft.

He moaned, deep and guttural, as he came hard, hot ropes of cum spilling across his hairy stomach. His chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths as the last of his release dripped from the head of his cock on to the mess he’d made of himself.

“See, wasn’t so bad, was it, Joel?” you teased, your voice full of satisfaction.

“Don’t push your luck,” he grumbled.

divider credit to @saradika-graphics

[goldfades]

baby Hayes and mommy having their bonding time, mommy ticking and making funny voices that makes Hayes laughing up a storm until he hears Joe trying to join in and he just gets side eyed by his year old son cause why is he trying to get into him and mommy’s business right now 🫧🫶🏼😮‍💨

The soft afternoon light filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting golden stripes across the living room floor. The hum of the quiet house was broken only by the sweetest sound—Hayes’s laughter.

That belly-deep, can’t-catch-his-breath kind of laugh. The one that made his chubby cheeks glow and his tiny dimples pop. The one you’d do anything to hear again and again.

He was sprawled on the soft throw blanket in front of you, little legs kicking with all the power a one-year-old could muster. His hair—Joe’s hair, that perfect sandy blonde—stuck up in uneven tufts from all his rolling and giggling.

"Who’s my big boy?" you cooed in a sing-song voice, dragging the words out, watching the anticipation build in his wide blue eyes. "Is it youuu? It is you!"

Hayes squealed, arms flailing.

Your fingers swooped in, a wiggly tickle monster, tapping lightly at his sides. “I’m gonna get that belly! I’m gonna—boop!”

The second your fingers tickled his tummy, Hayes shrieked with joy. That giggle—oh, that giggle—burst out of him, bubbly and pure, his tiny body curling inward as if he could protect himself from the attack.

"You better run, baby!" you laughed, exaggerating your words, making your voice all high and ridiculous. "Mommy’s coming for the toes! The tickle monster loves toes!"

Hayes rolled onto his back, kicking those baby feet into the air, laughing so hard he had to gasp between breaths. His little nose scrunched up, and his eyes sparkled—Joe’s eyes, all mischief and sweetness rolled into one.

You leaned in closer, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“The tickle monster only comes for the funniest little boys. Are you funny? Hmm?”

Hayes gave a delighted screech, his hands reaching for your face, as if he couldn’t get close enough.

"That's right," you grinned, nuzzling his cheek. "You're hilarious."

He erupted again, tiny body convulsing with joy, and you felt your heart swell in a way that was almost too much. It was ridiculous, how much you loved this kid. Every laugh, every breath. You could live inside these moments forever.

Just the two of you.

But then—

“What’s all this laughing about, huh?”

The familiar deep voice echoed from the hallway.

You glanced up—there he was.

Joe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing that slow grin that always tugged at the corner of his mouth when he caught you with Hayes.

"Are you two having fun without me?" he teased, stepping into the room. His socks made no sound against the floor, and his eyes softened when they landed on Hayes, still breathless from laughing.

But Hayes—oh, Hayes had other ideas.

The giggles stuttered. The little boy turned his head slowly, dramatically, in a move that seemed far too advanced for a toddler his age.

He side-eyed Joe.

Flat. Blank.

The kind of look that said, And you are…?

You bit your lip, fighting a laugh.

Joe paused mid-step. “Whoa. Whoa. Did I just get side-eyed? By my own son?”

Hayes blinked at him. Silent. Serious. Like Joe had interrupted the most important board meeting of his life.

You couldn’t hold it in. A laugh burst from you, and you clutched your stomach. “Oh my God, Joe—he really just gave you the look.”

“What? What look?” Joe protested, glancing between you and Hayes like he couldn’t believe the betrayal. “This is our thing, too, bud! Remember last night? Dada made you laugh! Remember that?”

Hayes remained unimpressed.

Joe stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was about to share the world’s best secret. “C’mon, little man. Daddy’s funny too. You gotta let me in on this.”

But Hayes turned his head right back to you, resting his cheek on the blanket like he was done with the conversation.

Dismissed. Like Joe wasn’t even there.

You were wheezing at this point, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Ohhh, no. No, you did not just get iced out like that.”

Joe put his hands on his hips, staring at Hayes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re telling me you’re team Mommy right now? After everything I’ve done for you? I taught you how to throw a ball!”

Hayes let out a small hum, like he was contemplating the information.

Then, slowly, he shifted onto his side.

Reached out—

And grabbed the hem of your shirt, burying his face in your lap.

Joe gasped, hand to his chest, as if his heart had been shattered into a million pieces. “Wow. Cold-blooded.”

You snorted. “I mean… don’t take it personally.”

Joe shot you a glare, but you could see the smile tugging at his mouth. “Oh, I’m taking it personally. This is war now.”

Hayes peeked up at you, giving the smallest of smiles, and you stroked his hair, heart so full it could burst.

“Momma’s boy,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his soft curls.

But you caught Joe’s determined look—the glint in his eye that meant he wasn’t giving up that easily.

And you had a feeling that whatever happened next?

It wasn’t going to stay peaceful for long.

[sobbingscripter]

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋💙་༘Morning Glow˚˖𓍢ִ💙.ִ࿐

Tags: [mlw][mdni][AGED UP!Damian Wayne][somnophilia][oral (m! receiving)][palette cleanser][drabble][established relationship]

Word count: 1196

Having a boyfriend is the human equivalent of having a skateboard.

You take it outside, you show it off, sometimes you fall off when you're riding it and sometimes, you end up on your knees.

The nice thing about having Damian, however, was his uncanny love for experimentation. A love that granted you consent to do whatever you wanted to him, within reasonable bounds, of course.

Damian sleeps soundly, brows furrowed into that perpetual little frown he seems to have constantly, lips tugged downwards and his arm tossed over his forehead. One muscular thigh peeks out from beneath the Egyptian cotton, while the other thigh remains raised, spread obscenely wide.

Steady breaths leave him, his broad chest heaving, the golden locket around his neck resting limply to the side of him, and you sit up just a bit, your movements quiet and precise, as you carefully move his hair away from his forehead, leaning down to press a kiss against the flesh.

He doesn't stir, simply letting out a heavier breath, a relaxed sigh as he shifts his hips, and your eyes lower.

It might be a bad idea.

But if boyfriend ASMR taught you anything, it's probably not.

You shimmy beneath the covers, positioning yourself between sinewy thighs, and you carefully peel down his boxers, just enough for your hand to pull his still soft cock out from beneath the fabric. You've seen it soft before, but there's something so sweetly intimate about seeing it now.

And a little bit terrifying because it looks like it's nearly half a ruler's length.

You wrap your hand around him, feeling the warmth of his flesh and your gaze darts up at him from beneath the covers, watching the way his breaths deepen and you're so gentle when you tongue at his slit. Tasting the taste of precum that seems to leak at even the slightest sensation.

Damian's brows twitch just a bit, his hips shifting but he keeps his legs asplayed, which is a big bonus because he would most likely, be able to crush your skull.

Soft, pouty lips wrap around the flushed head, and Damian's brows scrunch, his hips lifting the tiniest bit and a shaky breath leaves parted lips.

But he stays asleep.

You can feel the cutest twitches against your tongue, and you take him just a bit deeper, feeling the way warmth oozes onto your tongue, and he gasps softly, brows pinching and lips tugging into the most adorable little frown as he tries to figure out the warmth. All without waking up.

You feel the way he hardens in your mouth, cock stiffening to the stature of a board against the roof of your mouth and you watch the way his arm moves from his forehead, instead, resting above his head. And his face buries itself in his bulging bicep, a poor attempt at hiding the blush that overtakes his features but the way his ears burn a bright red almost makes you coo.

"I love you more when you're not calling me a degenerate." You murmur softly, head tilting as you drag your tongue up the side, wet muscle tracing the veins that bulge beneath the surface before your tongue curls around his tip.

You feel the way his hips twitch, desperately trying to get more of the warmth and you give in easily.

Manicured nails carefully feeding yourself inch by inch, while your free hand cards and scratches at the tufts on his pubic bone. Inky strands in a neat little trail that makes you drool whenever you catch a glimpse and you feel Damian hit the back of your throat.

Your eyes nearly bulge, and you nearly gag, but you tuck your thumb in the palm of your hand, your fingers folding so gently over the pudgy digit and you breathe through your nose.

That's basically all you can do as you bob your head beneath the covers, lips wrapping around his cock so prettily and your thighs clench when Damian lets out that sleepy 'oh' sound, perfect lips forming an 'o' and his brows raise.

Washboard abs dip inwards, the edges of his ribcage poking out the tiniest bit as he lets out a gasp, lashes fluttering but heavy eyelids keep his eyes shut.

Although, you do suppose thats what happens when he gets home at 3AM, sweaty and musky.

You doubt he even showered properly before crawling into bed beside you.

You can still smell the sweat clinging to his skin, alongside the scent of smoke and oud, cardamom sprinkling and tickling your senses just a bit.

The smell is intoxicating and your nails dig into your palm when his hips buck just enough to hit the back of your throat, and make your lungs burn at the sensation.

"Mmfff....—s'good..." Damian's voice is sleepy, a loopy sound, his plump bottom lip wedging itself between his pearly teeth because even in slumber, Damian Wayne will never get caught letting out a whine.

He breathes out your name so prettily, his back arching and his body shifting as his thighs twitch, nearly clamping but just enough to brush at the shells of your ears. Before falling back to their previous position.

"...ssssuck...mo— ah— more..." Damian instructs, barely intelligible and so, so sexy to hear.

To watch the way his chest heaves, sweat prickling at his skin, his brows knitting into a groan and his lips parting to let out those pretty sighs that make you breathless.

"Juss...the...tip, just— fuck— jusst the tip...",

And you follow his instructions, your head lifting and you focus on his pretty, swollen tip. A fiery red mushroom-y head, beads of precum rolling down his saliva-coated base and your tongue flicks at his slit, once, twice, thrice and he moans.

A low cadence that makes your pussy throb, undoubtedly making you leak through your cotton panties and you sigh around him.

"Juss...like...thatt.."

Damian sighs, hand moving on it's own. Undoubtedly preparing to grope at his hardness, through what should be the dampened and slick fabric of his boxers, but instead, muscular, tawny fingers curl in your hair.

And Damian fists the strands, tightly and painfully, his eyes shooting open and he meets your gaze.

Emerald pools burn, full brows arched and creased, a face burning with realisation and his tongue drags across his teeth, coming to a stop at his canine before a breath leaves him.

His grip on your hair relaxes, fingers massaging away the stinging pain of your scalp and his head tips back against the fluffed up pillows.

You raise your head, letting him slip out of your mouth with a wet 'pop!' and he bounces up, reaching just below his navel.

"G'morning." You chirp sweetly, voice just a bit slurred and he grumbles.

His lashes fluttering shut once more.

"Keep sucking, degenerate. The time for pleasantries is long gone."

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[etherealevangeline]

Thinking about handler!simon <3

You’re his demi human pet who bites and pounces everywhere, trying to get a hold of what you can in his living room. He’s cooking up a mean dinner, trying to work on his skills since he’s sick of canned food, frozen food, and anything considered cheap meals. Simon understood he might be trying to fit into this new role of being a caregiver, and all the cozy things associated with it. Having a house smelling good, wealthy with food, abundant with activities.

He can’t blame himself entirely. Ever since he’s got you, his pet, Simon has been living life a little differently. He sees the pure, sweet and innocent look to your eyes, the way you pant excited from playing, or when you’re curled up in your bed and sleeping peacefully on your back. He’ll reach out to give your belly some rubs. On some days, depending on your mood, you’d have a feral wild bite to you.

He loved it all. And now, it seems as though he wants to try. So, he cooks. He makes his steaks juicier, he learns the difference with non stick and stick pans, grabs the best oil there is (avocado cooking oil) buys himself a new knife set, finding it rather ravishing the way it glints ever so dangerously in the light. He buys a bloody chopping board, and no, no apron.

He despises aprons despite trying to fit in.

“Bloody ladies dress,” he’d curse under his breath. He preferred the rough and tumbled look. Unbuttoned shirt, revealing tufts of chest hair, rolled up sleeves, patchy, washed out jeans. Hands covered in flour, oil, all the likes.

So he cooks.

And now he’s got the house smelling all warm, full, wholesome.

Simon, who tosses a towel rag on his broad shoulders, whistles to get your attention. It’s quick, punctual, and his hands make a move, sautéing the onions, garlic, peppers. The pan sizzles.

You were on the couch, pawing at the patchy and old couch, ears perking up at the sound of his whistle. You sniff the air and bounce down from the couch eagerly, clumsy on your legs as you walk to him.

“Didn’ I tell ya you can’t be bitin’ my things?” Simon scolds, gruff. His back faced you.

You make a mock whimper and playfully nudge at his leg, giving him your best puppy eyes. He fawns inwardly at the sight, disheveled at the sight of you being meek and playful.

Simon hides this and sighs through his nose, and in the light you could see the soft glint to his deepset eyes. His mask was off revealing his unguarded self to you, at least physically, trying to earn your trust.

“Alrigh’ alright, I know I avent’ been around. You’re clingy, needy. Enough o’ tha’.” Simon mumbled, though his eyes kept wandering to your sitting form on the carpet, itching to bite and pounce at anything.

Simon knew these days he’d been busy with base meetings, discussing a possible mission deployment. He knew what it meant for you.

And somewhere inside him it caused his gut to clench, the idea of leaving you to fend for yourself in this hippy, happy to go state. You had to be fed on time, given toys, and not just any, but the kinds you liked. You had to be put to bed too, since you were affectionate and needy. Simon got used to sitting on the bed, book in hand, his other hand patting your head absent mindedly as you drifted off.

He didn’t mind the moments now, he was slowly thawing off after all.

You made a small noise for his attention wondering where his mind was at. Simon looked down for a moment before cooking the tuna in, mushing it around with his wooden spatula. “Easy, why don’t ya go play?“

Simon did need to finish the food anyway.

You moved, curious and eager. As you walked passed him into the open space of the living room, your eyes landed on his mask laying on the wooden table. It was decorated with a dingy yellow table cloth, soft and flowy. It was a gift Simon got a long time ago. When he saw how sad and disengaged you were from the lack of decor, he tried putting it up.

Apart of you missed his scent these days, and wanted to be closer. Of course, he’d been missing from the home, so tonight was a welcomed sight to see him cooking.

So, you moved, grabbing the mask with your teeth and pawing at it. The cloth shifts slightly. You sit, unassuming, and pawing and nibbling, going quiet.

After a while, Simon figures you’re not making noises and something isn’t right. He finishes the tuna, mixed with onions, pepper, garlic and such, and adds some rice to it. He sets his plate down, tosses the rag to the counter, and saunters to you. His old work boots creak with effort.

“Pet, is tha’ my—“

It is.

He pauses, not sure whether to grin wolfishly, or sigh at your needy, peckish behavior. You’re scrabbling, almost playing tug of war now with the poor mask. Sniffing, pawing, bumping your head into the table and all like a clumsy thing.

Simon whistles.

You look up, jaw still clenched around the mask, and there it is that same wide eyed, caught red handed look.

“Oh no—“ Simon chides when you try to paw at the mask, continuing with your peckish behavior.

“Up here.” He orders softly, with a sense of firmness however, crouching down. He tugs the mask gently away from your teeth and a pitiful whine leaves you.

The confused, sour look to your face—the furrowed brows, downturned lips, tail thwacking the floor impatiently tells him you’re displeased.

“Do you want or hug or wha?’” Simon gruffly said.

You look slightly surprised, and perk up. Your ears, specifically. You tilt your head at his new approach and slowly move to him, wondering how and why he changed.

“Look, I can’t ave’ you bitin’ my masks remember, lovie? Either its hugs or no biting.” He chides gently as you clamber up in his lap, perching yourself neatly.

You sit, waiting.

He almost has to laugh lowly at the way you sit expectantly now, waiting for some pat or cuddle or praise. He slowly and gently brings his hand to stroke your hair, the delicate curve of your spine.

He admires the way you listened despite having a bratty streak, and he has to commend you for it.

“Good girl, wasn’t so hard was it?” He found himself saying, the words slipping out like sugared honey. He tilts his head, admiring the way your eyes shut, a rumbling low noise of comfort leaving your body at his touch.

“I know you miss me, can’t do much bout’ life gettin’ annoyin’ right?” Simon mutters mostly to himself. He lets you lean in for warmth.

For a while he just holds you, smelling the warm aroma, and letting you find comfort in him. It’s a first that he ever felt this sense of peace. Wholesome, sweet, and loving. Connected with you.

He makes it a point to spend more time with you before he leaves for deployment, and another point to drill down the sitter he’ll be having in place for you. Leaving you in someone’s incompetent hands is not an option for him.

[crescenthistory]

Hiii congrats on 2k🎉🥳

Could i ask for a moonwater + hospital AU ?

thank youuu🫶🏼

hiii lovie, thank you for a moonwater request! they have my heart<3

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i will ARGUE for prompt 8 "hospital au" with poly!moonwater

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: gn!reader, muggle au, doctor!regulus, established relationship, remus' lycanthropy is replaced with (implied) ehlers-danlos syndrome, mild injury

wc: 0.7k

“How's my favourite patient doing?”

Your head jerked up from where it had been resting on Remus' shoulder at the sound of your boyfriend's melodic, teasing voice, smile already tugging at your lips – it always did, in his presence. Remus was a tad bit more sheepish where he sat beside you, but you could feel him melting from Regulus' warmth too.

“I think dove's alright, aren't you?” Remus said, turning to you as if you were the patient in question.

You shook your head fondly and squeezed his thigh. “I would be doing better if we could get your ankle in a cast or something.”

Remus gave in and dropped his chin to his chest in defeat, but his shoulders shook with morbid laughter. Regulus walked in from where he had been standing in the doorway to your little waiting room at A&E, dropping into a crouching position before your chairs to catch Remus' avoidant eye. He flipped his little notice board over to be clutched under his shoulder so that he could settle his hand on top of yours on Remus' thigh. The act was equal parts attractive and endearing.

“If you wanted to come visit me at work, amour, you could have just called.” Despite his teasing his thumb brushed over from your knuckles to Remus' corduroy. “Did you do anything to your ankle or is it just throwing a fit again?”

Remus looked up at him through his eyelashes and a tuft of tawny hair that fell into his eyes. You made a cooing sound from the back of your throat and brushed it aside with your free hand, not missing the involuntary smile that spread over his lips at the display of affection.

“You see, Reggie, I made the awful mistake of trying to walk up the stairs in our flat.” Remus deadpanned at the statement, clearly cross with his own body for betraying him.

Regulus' lips turned down into a light frown. “Without your crutches?”

The look in Remus' eyes told you that this could turn into another disagreement of "I just wanted to move freely in my own body" and "without the proper precautions, your body will just make you suffer more" that you thought no one needed a rehashing of. You turned more sideways in your seat to face both boys properly, placing a hand on Regulus' shoulder in his crouched position.

“He rolled his ankle again,” you offered softly. “Quite badly. I don't know if he needs tape or that plastic cast again, you two are the professionals here.”

“Probably the cast,” Remus murmured, not meeting either of your eyes. As a physical therapist he did know better – but you empathised with the need for freedom every now and again.

Regulus seemed to soften at your touch and Remus' obvious plight. “Oh, mes amours,” he said in that soft tone he only ever saved for you. “I'll go get the equipment ready and then I'll patch you right back up, okay? I'll ask Dorcas if we're good for me heading home a bit earlier.”

All of Remus' self-pity washed away as his head perked up in concern. “You don't have to do that–”

Regulus cut him off by palming his cheek softly and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I want to, my dear.” He then turned to you with a cheeky expression before kissing your nose in similar fashion. “Can't leave this one alone with you for too long, it would be a violation of my oath to do no harm.”

The scoff that escaped Remus was closer to being classified as a laugh as he rolled his eyes fondly. “I think I've got dove covered,” he said faux-crossly, stretching his arm around your shoulders to pull you further into his side.

“That you have.” Regulus winked at the both of you right before turning the corner. 

You couldn't wait for him to come back into view – and you knew Remus couldn't, either.