#or rinse off your hands you dip them in more water and you go back to it it’s very calming and centering and you feel very connected to

[moreaujeans]

genuinely felt like a swamp monster just now that was a ghastly amount of slip

[bodhiscurls]

put me to work, dollface. ( johnny storm )

all the ways in which you utilise your boyfriend johnny whilst refuses to let go of you, including the moment you get ready to meet his family for the first time. (kinda long soz in advance!)

human torch! johnny storm x fem! reader

themes: fluff mainly. mentions of insecurities, wealth disparity. no spoilers for the new movie!

masterlist.

johnny storm being the best cuddler known to mankind is a secret you get to indulge in every single morning. hours before, he wraps his arm firmly around the middle of your body, buries his head into the crook of your neck; your favourite shampoo filling his nostrils and he sighs in bliss. his breath tickles at the shell of your ear but you can't focus in the slightest because all you feel is the heat. it surrounds you, engulfs you and melts you whole- you relax into him as you're pretty sure that when you get up, there'll be a you shaped hole indented on his front from being pressed so tightly.

he's careful not to overheat, just to your liking and he's out like a light. as the midnight hours shift with the tossing of limbs, his form has slightly separated from yours. you're no longer on your sides, he now has you trapped underneath him with half his weight. that same arm still wrapped around your waist though this time its a little lazier as you feel his hand stretched wide across your stomach. he lies on his own, the other arm disappearing under the silk pillows that are way too expensive for your liking but they make his hair feel fantastic, he argues. no pun intended.

"johnny," you whisper into his skin, he peeks open one eye sees your alive and well- there's no threat around and then closes it almost immediately, returning back to sleep. you scoff, and squirm in his hold to try and free yourself but the move you move, the more firm he holds you down. "it's time to get up, sleepyhead."

he groans in protest but you put up a fair fight, squeezing through the gaps between your joined bodies until he groans really loudly, rolls over and pins you down. he's on top, staring at you so intently with a quiet fury from being woken up and you shoot him your cheesiest of smiles; anything to soften the blow. its golden light, like the kind that peeks through your apartment curtains and he lowers his head in a gentle dip, kissing the grin off your face.

you treat him to a few minutes of bliss before pushing your hands onto his chest and off of you; his koala form destroyed as he collapses back into the rumpled sheets as you make a beeline for your bathroom. "big day today!" you call out from behind you, you splash your face with ice cold water- a stark contrast to the warmth fire you've felt all night long and grab your toothbrush from the stand, brushing harder and longer than usual. "i'm fucking nervous," the sentiment leaves you quickly as the toothpaste foams up.

johnny doesn't catch the end of your sentence; furrowing his brows softly at your mumbling and stands behind you a moment later. his hair is all ruffled, the indents of his pillow pressed into his cheek with his eyes half shut. he keeps a hand on your hip as he navigates around you, reaching for his own toothbrush from beside yours and brushing with his free hand. you bend and rinse, before turning in his hold, "we have lots to do today," you mentally check off your to do list you've made weeks before, "i've already did the grocery shop, you just have to stop by at that bakery and pick up those cookies ben likes- i haven't got time to make them, i'm stumped with sue's cake or maybe i could? if i cut out time for a shower i could probably totally-"

"yeah no way," he cuts you off, spitting out the rest of his toothpaste and rinsing. throughout your spiel, he stayed quiet, let you ramble, nodding as he listened intently but hearing you're thinking of cutting out shower time with him? to bake for ben? not on his watch. "babe you're a fucking smokeshow- my smokeshow, and i'm not losing you to ben," he rolls his eyes and you soften, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight interlock as he finds your waist, fingers gently gripping your skin. he sways you against him, rocking your body to the beat of the morning air and birds chirping.

"okay," you breathe, pecking his nose with a mintiness that causes him to scrunch it in return.

"you missed," he mumbles, bringing his lips to yours and before you know it, he's walking you backwards into the shower- undressing you like its second nature, he can do this with his eyes closed and makes sure that before the water touches your bare skin, it's warm enough just as you love. he lets the droplets wash over you before he has his hands in your hair with the shampoo, then all over you with soapy suds and presses you into the wall to cool down when he gets a little too focused on you, the glass steaming up a lot more than when you first entered.

and when you finish, you're really glad he let you talk him out of skipping your usual routine.

"alright," he drawls as he emerges into the kitchen, still shirtless with little water droplets hanging from his chest, trailing dangerously low into a pair of grey sweatpants. "put me to work, dollface," he lifts his brows, waiting and you gush at the sleep still laced in his voice but the fact that he's here, ready and waiting for you to give him the first order of the day.

you lift your mug in his direction and rolls his eyes, flaming at the liquid and heating the tea, sweetened with honey back to a barely drinkable temperature. he rolls his eyes but does it without so much of a fuss, fingers overlapping yours from where you hold your favourite mug and the sensation of heat fizzles through you, in a teasing motion.

you murmur a thanks of appreciation before shoo'ing him in the opposite direction to do the bakery errand and he moans, grasping onto your now interlocked hands unwilling to spend a moment away from you. you have yo basically push him back up to the bedroom to change and then out the door, and one thing about johnny storm is that he can be real damn convincing when he wants to be- which is every single second he spends in your orbit.

"no funny business," you sternly remind him, "today is important," and he presses his forehead into yours.

"oh trust me baby, not a single one of them are funny so it won't be hard," and he rolls his eyes. your heart drops a little at the sarcasm, detecting a little lack of enthusiasm for tonight's dinner but before he has the chance to press on it, you're sending him on his way with a gentle pat to the chest and a determined look in his.

you're going to be your absolute best today and love these people slightly less than what you love johnny storm at. he stands at a higher pedestal, obviously being your favourite but something stirrs in your stomach; a growing feeling of insecurity bubbles and rises. you're differen to johnny- where he's loud and carefree, you've always played life safer, settling into the background- you've never needed to be loud not when johnny loved you in the quiet moments more than anything. its a classic golden retriever-black cat momentum your friends had joked about the first time meeting him.

you want his family to love you, accept you more than anything and it terrifies you how small you feel. so over the next few hours, you clean like crazy, dusting shelves you know no one can even see. you create your appertisers, entrees and two delicious trays of roasted chicken and vegetables sit in the oven cooking- you're unsure of just how much ben can eat and you don't want to be known as frugral.

you look around at your living room. it's small for sure, most likely smaller than anything his family are used to- you know johnny comes from money and his brother in law reed is stacked to the max. you think your set up is quaint, homey, lived in with touches of you all over. in fact it was johnny who decided that he'd rather live at your place than you move into his- it felt more like home than anywhere he's ever been. you felt like home more than anywhere he's ever been and never once has he made you feel any less than what you know he's used to.

if reed, sue and ben are anything like johnny then you know you'll be fine but you can't help shake the feeling of "he could do better" that lingers in the back of your mind. comparison is an ugly monster that preys on you in your moments alone, stepping away slowly once you feel the familiar sensation of hands land at your shoulders and a head peer into your line of vision.

"smells fucking amazing," he moans in delight, "i'm so fucking lucky to have you, baby," and without even knowing, johnny's squashed whatever doubt was lingering in your mind right to the back where it inhabits like a demon. you beam in pride and he stares in awe as pure radiant sunshine takes over your face.

it breaks for a moment, a sharp pang shooting through your stomach and he's there in less than a fraction of a milisecond holding you up against him, baring your weight. "cramps," you mumble, and he nods in head in understanding, stretching his hands across your pelvic region and attempting to soothe your crumpled system.

"bitch," he curses at the pain with a daggered glare, "if i could get rid of periods, i would," and at his declaration, a bubble of laughter escapes you through a wince.

"oh my god, i see why you're so popular with the ladies," you make it out barely through a breath. he rolls his eyes, the tips of his ears blushing a growing red and lets out a feign scoff. he softens after a moment, the murmur soft on your ears and melts into your soul.

"are you sure you're okay? we don't have to do this," he stares into your eyes. you immediately shake your head,

"johnny, we've been planning this date for weeks-"

"no baby, i don't think you understand. we really don't have to do this, like at all, it's not a big deal-"

"johnny storm." and the glare you send him sends a chill down his spine.

"yes ma'am?" he braces himself, he knows he's said the wrong thing already, you've got your serious face on. his least favourite of your faces if he had to pick one purely because it scares him shitless. he's travelled to space, fought fucking aliens, dealt with reed richards for a good portion of his life, but no one can stop the beat of his heart and spit pure fear in his veins the way you can. and whats worse is, behind the fear, johnny storm actually secretly loves it when you're in control and put him in his place.

"did you just say me meeting your family is not a big deal?" you speak slowly, voice reaching the lowest timbre you have in you and it runs down his spine.

"no," he immediately defends himself, reach out to you then shrivels back into his spot where he's being scolded- you're clearly not finished with him. "no," he repeats softer, hoping it reaches through the mental defences you're putting up against him.

"you've been unenthusiastic about this the whole week, it might not be important to you- but its fucking everything to me," you breathe, "i want these people to love me because they love you- they're important to you so they're important to me but it just feels like- it feels like we're not on the same page. why?" you look up to meet his panicked gaze.

"i just-" and you wait, patiently.

"it's fucking ridiculous, and i don't want you to think i'm insane baby, okay?" and you furrow your brows, placing a hand on his cheek tenderly.

"johnny my love, you are fucking insane, it's why i love you," you nod and he groans again, embarrassment filling his body.

"i've, i uh, i've never had somebody to bring home before," and his admission stuns you. johnny storm? absolute king of a man, never brought home someone before?

"johnny what-" your incredulous return is cut short by his rambling.

"you're the first person i've ever felt this way about before and its scary like i'm in love with you, deeply. like, absolutely, i'm all in and no one's ever even made much of an effort before like you're doing today like babe, this is fucking incredible and i feel like i don't deserve you," and you want to cry because insecurity is a funny little thing that has been making you feel the exact same way.

"johnny my love, if anyones undeserving its me,"

"oh stop ruining my pity party," he jokes and you smack his chest lightly, "i fucking love you and i'm so thankful you're doing this and if we're being honest baby, i don't really want to share you with the rest of them. they're weird and uncool and they're my family i guess," he teases, "but that means you'll also be theirs and i'm a selfish guy."

a chuckle slips past your lips and you rest your head onto his chest, focusing on the way his heartbeat drums lightly in your ears. "i'll always be yours," and its an oath spoken straight to his soul. "thank you for letting me in, my head was doing gymnastics earlier- i really thought you didn't want this," you confess.

"oh honey, i'm sorry- no, i want you- i want this- i do not want some 600lb monster destroying our kitchen dinner set," and you grin, the laughter light and airy, settling into the air and he spins you around the kitchen.

"come on dollface, let's get this show on the road," and you lean down to take the chicken out of the oven, cooked to perfection as he tries not to stare at your ass- emphasis on tries. you swat him with the oven mitt, which he catches effortlessly and drags you into his embrace again.

and when the rest of the fantastic four arrive, filling up your space, johnny stands guarded with his hand firmly on your hip, gripped protectively against him. he gave them a plethora of warnings beforehand and you're met with sue's kind smiles, reed's intense respect and ben who tries to grapple you into a hug but johnny stops him with a forceful shove to his chest.

"pack it up, pal. you can look from over there," he rolls his eyes and ben shoves his shoulder.

"wow johnny, trying to be all brave infront of your girl?" he jokes. and johnny grabs you closer to him and you chuckle into his side.

"my girl," he boasts, "i fucking love you, baby," and as his family gush, eat your food flushed with compliments and praise youve never blushed so hard in your life. i guess you could say, that tonight was a success- the first of many family nights to come.

riya saying hi: hellloooo!!! i've not watched the new movie yet but ive seen many things about joseph quinn and ugh he is mighty fine!!! hopefully this is my first venture and not my last into the marvel side of fanfiction- possibly bob sentry next??? let me know what you think! I LOVE U AND THANK U MWAH💘

[rafesteddy]

Here’s a little teaser of my DILF!Rafe x MILF!reader I'm working on… 💕🤭

it’s a standalone but you can read more dilf/milf au here

+18 -> c/w completely unedited, swearing, 18 year old boys being gross, suggestive, Rafe doing DILFy Rafe activities aka washing a car #fuckingpurr

You lean into the counter, squeezing lemon after lemon into the pitcher, not really thinking—just letting the juice run down your fingers. It’s cold and sticky, soaking into the creases of your palms. The whole kitchen smells like sugar and citrus, with that warm, soft hint of cookies still cooling behind you.

The plate is already half gone, scarfed up by the group of teenagers congregating in the common space. They’re all tall, tan, and way too loud—sprawled out like they own the place.

“Sugar, please?” You ask as you gesture to Kelce’s son, perched on the counter, completely blocking the one cupboard you actually need.

“Yes, ma’am,” he hums, giving you a sweet smile as he hops to the floor and retrieves it for you.

His hand brushes yours when he passes it off. You thank him, sweet as always, and turn back to stir.

“Fuck, she wants me so bad,” he mumbles to your son, just out of your earshot.

Max groans, head thudding back against the cabinet door. “Fuck off, Tripp. Don’t fuckin’ start, alright?”

“Why else would she be in here squeezin’ her lemons?” Tripp groans, somehow making that sound as suggestive as possible.

“Hi, Mom!” Winnie calls, stepping in, her sandals slapping against the marble. Her boyfriend Jackson follows behind, arms already full—carrying the twins, their hair still wet from playing in the sprinkler, freshly dressed like they’re going out.

“Is it cool if we take the twins out for ice cream?” Winnie asks, only half-focused on you as she throws a displeased look at one of the boys who’s giving her an obvious up-and-down.

That same boy yelps when Max throws a punch, nailing him in the arm.

“M’gonna fuckin’ kill you,” he mutters, going after his sister too, which makes the other boys hoop and holler like it’s all one big game.

“Of course, sweetie,” you coo, walking toward the counter to grab your purse. You pull out some cash without hesitation.

“Oh—no, Mrs. Cameron, really, I’ve got it,” Jackson says quickly, but you glance back at him with a warm smile.

“That’s very sweet, but not necessary… Thanks for taking them off my hands for a little bit.”

You kneel in front of the twins, pushing back one of your daughter’s curls, brushing your son’s cheek.

“You two be good for your sister and Jackson, okay?”

You lean forward to kiss their cheeks, and without realizing it, your sundress shifts. The neckline dips—your breasts softly press together, your backside teasing the hemline—and you stay bent a moment longer than usual, whispering something about sprinkles and chocolate.

Behind you, the boys fall completely silent. The one who had been on the counter swallows hard. Another one stares like he forgot how to breathe.

“Max… dude. This is your life?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Your son mutters.

“I’d move in tomorrow. I’ll be your stepdad today.”

“Bet she tastes like sugar—”

“I said shut up,” Max snaps.

Another one of their friends walks in from the hallway, catches you mid-bend, and grins like the damn Cheshire Cat. He lifts both hands in the air like he’s holding your hips, thrusting behind you with an silent moan.

The rest of the boys lose it—coughing, snorting, trying to swallow their laughter as you stand up and smooth your dress, still completely unaware.

“All right, go have fun,” you sing out as the group starts to head for the door.

You return to the pitcher, lifting it to the sink.

You fill it slowly—water churning the lemon juice and sugar together, rising to the top—when your gaze drifts out the window. And you see him. Rafe...

Out front on the cobblestone walk, his white shirt soaked through, hose in one hand as he rinses down the G-Wagon. Sunlight hits the spray like glitter. Water clings to his tee, molding the fabric to every cut of his chest and arms. You freeze, breath caught, as he turns—hat flipping backwards with one hand.

Your thighs press together. Your grip tightens on the handle of the pitcher just as the water spills over the top, running down your hand in a sudden splash. You fumble for the sink and shut off the tap, your eyes never leaving him.

His shirt clings to his broad back, light blue swim trunks riding low on his hips and high on his thighs. One hand grips the bucket, the other coils the hose. The sun glints off his biceps. The thin cotton darkens, outlining every muscle, his chest shifting and flexing with each slow move.

“Have fun, boys,” you chirp, draining a splash of lemonade into a glass, your eyes locked on your husband until the very last second.

[covenofagatha]

The Psychology of Love (Part 16)

The Balcony

Word count: 7.9k

Warnings: thigh riding, semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism, mommy kink, fingering, oral sex, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, oral fixation

The other side of the bed is empty when you wake up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore and sunlight streaming in through the cracked-open blinds on the French doors. 

You groan and stretch and roll over to check the time on the clock sitting on the nightstand. A quarter past nine. You can’t remember the last time you slept through the entire night and woke up this late. 

The plush carpet is soft against your bare feet as you pad across the room to the bathroom. You’re still naked from last night and the sight of the tub makes your cheeks heat up. 

It had started out as you both relaxing there after sex—you laying on Agatha, your back on her front, while you soaked in the warm water. It felt nice for your stiff joints after kneeling on the ground for so long. 

But then Agatha’s left hand had snuck between your legs again and made quick work of the mess between them, two fingers buried inside you with her thumb on your clit. 

She had tilted your head to the side with her other hand and sunk her teeth into the spot right below your jawline on a particularly hard thrust and you had barely gotten “Mommy, can I come?” out of your mouth before you spasmed all over her fingers. Luckily, she said you could. 

Looking in the mirror now, you get a thrill from the marks on your throat and chest and on your inner thighs. You trace over them with a featherlight touch and it makes you shiver. 

Agatha really did a number on you. 

Your toothbrush rests in the holder right next to hers—did you put it there last night?—and it looks like it belongs there. The domesticity of it all tugs at your heartstrings but you push it down and brush your teeth while you examine yourself more in the mirror. 

There’s a certain glow to your skin, a bright sheen in your eyes. You look different, almost. As if having sex with Agatha somehow changed your appearance. Foolishly, you start to worry that other people might notice. 

You spit the toothpaste into the sink and rinse your mouth out. A smirk spreads across your lips when you stand back up straight. 

Part of you hopes they do. 

The duffel bag you packed is still resting on the floor by the closet, right where you dropped it yesterday. You dig through it and find a short, sky blue, silk dress and pull it over your head, not bothering to put anything underneath. It hangs loose from your body, the cowl neck dips low on your chest, and the slight sunburn on your shoulders is visible. 

The clothes you had on yesterday that Agatha threw somewhere in the room as she took them off you are neatly folded on top of the dresser across from the bed. A warm feeling spreads through you and the desire to see your professor becomes too great. 

You open the door to the bedroom and walk out down the small hallway into the living room. Agatha isn’t there or in the kitchen, but the sound of the ocean is much clearer in here. 

It doesn’t take you long to realize why. 

The sliding glass door is slid open, just a bit, and you go toward it and peer through. Agatha is sitting outside in a padded blue deck chair, the breeze tossing her hair over, while she types on her laptop. There’s a stack of papers on the end table next to her. 

She doesn’t look up when you push the door open and step out, but maybe she can’t hear it. The smell of salt hits you while you take in your professor. She’s wearing a white, long-sleeve, button down shirt and jean shorts and your cunt starts to throb just from seeing her. 

Memories of last night whirl around your brain in a blur—Agatha leaning over you while she was fucking you with three fingers, her mouth on your clit, you sucking on her tits, you on your knees for her. 

Mommy’s going to come—oh, fuck—please.

You almost stumble on the wood deck and now she looks up. She gives you an easy smirk that turns hungry once she takes you all in. 

“Good morning, honey,” she purrs. You murmur it back to her. 

The balcony is set up well with two of the chairs like the one Agatha’s sitting in, a small table in front of her and two matching end tables on each side of a chair, and a gray knit rug underneath. 

You could sit in the chair beside her, but you walk in front of her and carefully sit criss-cross on the rug, facing the ocean, and you rest your cheek against the outside of her right thigh. 

A quick glance up at her laptop shows a gradebook, and you see your name, along with others that must be your classmates. 

Agatha’s hand strokes through your hair and you sigh happily. With her touching you like that, the sunlight, and the view of the beach, you could stay like this all day. 

“It’s no real surprise, but you definitely got the highest grade in the class,” Agatha says with a snort. She sounds proud and you turn your head to press a kiss to her leg. Her fingers tighten in your hair, just barely, but enough for you to notice. You smile to yourself, loving the effect you have on her. 

“What was the lowest?” you ask, just for fun. 

Without even looking up, you know that she’s smirking again. “So far? A fifty-three.” 

A laugh tears itself out of your throat before you can stop it. “Oh my god,” you exclaim and Agatha chuckles above you. “That is just…bad. It wasn’t even that hard.” 

“Well,” she hums, “it probably would’ve been hard if you hadn’t studied. We covered a lot and most of your classmates don’t pay attention in class. They’re usually on their computers and they don’t look up once during the lecture so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re just watching a movie.” 

There’s not much you can say about that, because you’ve certainly been guilty of doing that before. The biology class you took your freshman year? You’re pretty sure you skipped more than you went, and when you did go, you were doing a crossword puzzle or online shopping. 

“Oh, I haven’t noticed.” 

Agatha gently tugs on your hair, pulling your head back, and you meet her bright blue eyes. “That’s because you’re too busy staring at your professor.”

There’s no use denying that, but it sparks the familiar heat in your core. Arousal courses through your veins and your breath hitches. It’s unfair how easy you are for her.

She recognizes the look on your face and raises an eyebrow teasingly. “Really? Already so needy for mommy again?” 

A gasp stutters from your chest and you nod, hazy fog already settling in your brain. You’re hungry, so hungry for her, and you can already feel the stickiness between your legs. 

Agatha lets go of your hair to lean forward and put her laptop on the coffee table and then pats her thighs with a heavy sigh. But the twinkle in her eye that you catch when you eagerly stand up shows you that she’s all too willing to give you what you need. 

She sits back further in the chair and you straddle her legs, one of her thighs between yours so you can press against her core too, and you hike your dress up just enough so the fabric doesn’t hinder you. 

When you sit down and she feels the wet heat from your unrestricted cunt, Agatha gasps and her hands fly to your waist. “So fucking naughty,” she tuts. “You’re just such a slut for mommy, aren’t you?”

The degradation gets to you as much as the praise does and you bite your lip and nod. Agatha’s chest flares and she starts to guide your movements. 

The first drag of your clit against her thigh makes you keen loudly and Agatha’s eyes flash warningly. 

“Got to be quiet, baby,” she says mockingly. “There’s people on the beach below us. Don’t want them to know how desperate you are for me.” 

In the sliding glass door, you can see the reflection of the shoreline. You can see the couple walking hand-in-hand, you can see the group of men huddled around a cooler, you can see the older woman sunbathing. Agatha’s condo is right on the beach; if you are too loud, they could easily look up and see you riding her thigh right now. 

“I don’t care,” you gasp, at least semi-truthfully, and your hips jerk, smearing more of your wetness on her skin. Agatha lets out a quiet groan, either at the feeling or your admission. 

“Oh, yeah?” she asks, grabbing your chin with one hand to make you look at her. Your unfocused eyes meet her dark ones and another thrill runs through you. You buck frantically against her thigh to relieve the throbbing ache inside you and Agatha smiles dangerously. “Use your words, honey.” 

It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts because of how good her strong muscles feel against you. The tension travels to your lower back and up your spine and you grab onto her shoulders to gain more leverage. 

She’s still looking at you expectantly and you know that you would tell her anything right now. 

“I’m a slut for you, mommy,” you agree, a loud whine ripping from your throat. Agatha’s breath catches and she looks up at you with a revering awe. “Let them see. Let them see who I belong to.” 

Her lips are on yours the moment you finish talking, furious and passionate, the kiss full of teeth, tongue, and possession, and she bites at your bottom lip before both hands grab your waist again and grind you down hard against her leg. You moan into her mouth, rocking your hips in time with her movements, and you wonder if she can feel your clit pulsing. 

“Get up,” she growls against you. You scramble up out of her lap and she follows, dragging you in for another kiss, and you step toward the door, but she pushes you forward. 

Your back hits the rail of the balcony. 

“What—?” you ask, chest heaving, lips swollen. 

Agatha stalks toward you and puts her arms on each side of your body, effectively trapping you. “You wanted them to see,” she reminds you and then turns you around so your stomach is pressed against the railing. Your body reacts viscerally; a harsh sound falls from your mouth, your skin burns, and more wetness seeps from your throbbing cunt. 

Her hands slowly push your dress over your ass and you situate yourself so that your forearms are resting on top of the railing and your back is arched, giving your professor a clear look at your soaked pussy. 

She traces a pattern on your asscheek until you realize with a jolt that she’s outlining her hand print. It must still be there from Thursday. 

And then she spanks you again and you jerk forward with a gasp. It stings because of the still-bruised skin, but it settles right in your cunt and only makes the heat inside you burn brighter. 

No one on the beach has looked up yet, but there’s the all too present knowledge that they could. At any point, they could glance up and see you bent over the balcony with your professor’s fingers buried inside you. 

“Mommy, please,” you whine, pushing your ass back even more. She’s still touching your ass, but when you make your plea, Agatha chuckles and ghosts two fingers over your slit. You moan and your head drops forward, only to be lifted back up by Agatha’s hand in your hair. 

“Look at them,” she hisses in your ear, fingers fully against your pussy now. “You’re going to keep looking at them and you’re going to show them how good of a girl you can be for me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” you choke out. 

The touch against your cunt is gone and the same hand smacks your ass not a second later. “Yes, who?” 

“Yes, mommy,” you gasp. 

Agatha leans forward so her whole body is pressed against yours and then bites the top of your shoulder blade. You shiver and let out a pathetic whimper and you feel her smile against your skin. 

And then she sinks two fingers inside you and your mouth drops open with an obscene moan. Your walls clench around her tightly and you quickly cover your mouth but she tugs your hand away. 

“What’s wrong?” she taunts, setting a bruising pace inside you straight away. “Don’t want them to hear you? I thought you wanted to show them what a slut you are. You’re taking mommy’s fingers like such a good girl, you know.”

If anyone sees, you’ll both be in so much trouble. This could be how you get caught and Agatha could lose her job—but she doesn't seem too concerned with that right now. 

She twists her fingers roughly, filling you perfectly, and tingles dance up your spine. It’s too good and you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out. 

The couple that was walking on the beach strolls into the water. Another woman joins the one sunbathing. The men start to throw a football around. None of them have any idea that three stories above them, you’re getting fucked. 

You can feel wetness running down your thighs and you begin to push yourself back on her fingers, making them go deeper inside you. Agatha makes a noise when you start moving and she curls her fingers harshly. A moan tumbles from your lips before you can catch it and she huffs from behind you. 

“Fuck, you’re so desperate,” she groans, but there’s not a hint of exasperation in her voice. “So desperate for mommy that you’d let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn’t you? Even if people were watching?” 

“Yes, fuck,” you gasp and she thrusts harder. You can’t get a second to breathe and you’re panting, mind completely blank except for Agatha. 

She spanks you with her other hand and you jump. 

There’s a new group of people walking onto the beach right below you. All you can do is hope that the ocean drowns out your sounds. 

“You’re making such a mess for me,” Agatha coos and you know—you can feel it too. 

But to emphasize it, she pulls out of your cunt, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness, and then she spanks you hard with that same hand. It makes a wet slap and when she pulls away, your ass is sticky. 

She presses her body even closer against you and snakes her hand around your front to effortlessly find your clit. She rubs it and you moan, sparks skating under your skin. 

The waves are crashing harder now, breaking furiously on the shore, and spitting mist up. You feel it collect on your bare arms and you can taste the salt. It mixes with the scent of her perfume and makes the coffee, vanilla, and spice even more distinct. You inhale it deeply and Agatha’s finger swipes your clit roughly. 

“Look at them,” she croons from behind you, only this time, it’s not an order, it’s an observation. “So oblivious to you being such a slut. That’s good.” 

She pushes two fingers back into you with her other hand so she can keep toying with your clit. Her strokes are languid and lazy, a stark contrast to the frantic bucking of your hips to try to get more stimulation. Your body is stiffening with the little pleasure you’re getting and you bite your lip again, chewing at the peeled skin that’s already there. 

Agatha rests her head on your shoulder so she can whisper into your ear. “They don’t get to see you like this. Only I do. You know why?”

You shake your head, silently begging for more. Tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes from her dragging it out. Her fingers move slowly out of you and then they inch back inside you. The light touches to your clit are just barely enough to make your nerves light up, but you need more. 

“Because,” she says, punctuating it with a sharp thrust, “you’re mine.” You stifle your moan and she sets a bruising pace, finally, and you feel the taste of copper fill your mouth. “You’re mommy’s good girl. You’re mommy’s slut. Only I can make you feel this good.” 

“Yes—fuck—only you,” you cry out and she roughly circles your clit. “Please, mommy.” 

You’re getting closer, the pleasure fraying your mind, and all you can do is mumble intelligently, asking for more. She grunts behind you with the effort and when your head drops to rest on your forearms again, she doesn't say anything. You pick your leg up and rest your foot on the bottom piece of the railing, giving her just a little more room to work with, and you’re instantly rewarded when her fingers enter a new depth they couldn’t get from the previous angle. 

She’s so deep, you’re so full, and the tension is spreading throughout your entire body. You can’t control it, you can’t hold it back any longer—

And she knows.

“Beg for it,” Agatha says in a dangerous, low voice. “You don’t have permission yet.”

A tear drops from your eye and runs down your cheek, mixing with the saltiness from the ocean. “Please, mommy, let me come, I need it—I need you, fuck, it feels so good, can I come?” you whimper and you can almost hear her smiling. 

She bends down to scrape her teeth along the strap of your dress, thrusts hard, curls her fingers, and rubs against that spot inside you. It steals your breath away and you whine pleadingly. It’s going to happen, you’re trying to fight it but you can’t. 

“Come for me, honey,” Agatha says and you let the flood of pleasure wash you away. Your walls convulse around her fingers, the tension in your body finally alleviated, and your mind goes white for a few seconds. 

More people are starting to walk onto the beach and Agatha quickly slows down her thrusts before pulling out of you completely and tugging down your dress. You take a moment to recover before turning around to face her. 

Her eyes are dark with blown-out pupils and the same red tinge from last night in her cheeks is there. Her jaw is clenched, forehead vein throbbing, and your mouth waters at the thought of hopefully getting to taste her again. 

She holds up her fingers and you eagerly take them into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself, and her breathing grows heavier the more you suck at them. 

You have quite the oral fixation, don’t you, honey?

Just for her, you think. 

“We could’ve gotten caught,” you tell her once she pulls her fingers out of your mouth, like she wasn't aware of that. 

Agatha winks. “I knew you’d be quiet.” As you open your mouth to say something else, she kisses you sweetly. You melt into her and she pulls back just enough to murmur, “It would’ve been okay. Mommy would’ve taken care of it.”

It makes you feel better, even though you have no idea how she would do that, but her hands stroke up and down your arms, pushing all other thoughts from your head.

“I was thinking that once I finish grading these papers, we could go into town and get breakfast? And then we can spend the afternoon at the beach?” Agatha says. 

“Can I, um—” you swallow and she raises an eyebrow teasingly, “I want to taste you.” Your voice has dropped to a rasp and your professor bites her lip hungrily. 

She examines your face and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear before leaning in. Her lips are only a breath away from yours. “How about we go inside and you get on your knees for me—” your breath hitches and she smirks, “and if you make me come before I finish putting these grades in, I’ll give you another reward tonight.” 

You’re nodding before her words even register and Agatha gives you a Cheshire-cat grin. She grabs her laptop and the stack of papers and slides open the door and you look back at the ocean one last time before following. 

Agatha walks over to the kitchen table and drops her stuff before unzipping her shorts. You’re still in a daze and you groan as she slides them down her legs. Even though she was naked in front of you yesterday, it’s like seeing her for the first time. She has blue cotton underwear underneath and she leaves them on when she sits down in the chair that she pulls out. 

You fall to your knees, even though you’re by the couch. Agatha’s chest heaves as you start to crawl to her, not even registering the burn in your knees, and she scooches the chair back against the wood floors to give you space to get under the table. 

She moves to the edge of the seat and you can already see the dampness on the gusset of her underwear. Your breaths come out ragged. 

“Is this for me?” you rasp, but it doesn’t sound as confident as when she says it. 

Agatha doesn’t answer, just reaches down to move her panties to the side, revealing her swollen folds. You can see strands of clear liquid smeared around her lips and you feel your body start to overheat. Her clit peeks out and your mouth waters. “You don’t have very long,” she warns, shifting above you to grab a paper. 

You can hear her typing on her laptop when you drag your tongue through her cunt for the first time. Her taste fills your mouth and you moan involuntarily. Her thighs tensen around you, but she doesn't make a noise. 

She scribbles something on the paper and you enclose your lips around her clit, rolling it under your tongue, and then you suck. Agatha’s hips jerk and she gives a muffled cough, but she keeps grading. She’s so unaffected that it turns you on and makes you all the more desperate to get her to lose composure. 

You start to lap at her clit, making sounds of your own right against her pussy, and she shudders. One particular hard lick has her gasping and you hear the slight crinkle of paper. It makes a thrill run up your spine. 

Agatha is getting wetter—you can feel the slickness on your face again and you close your eyes to fully immerse yourself in her cunt. You suck on her folds and whimper at the squelching sounds it elicits and her hips start to roll just a bit, like she’s really trying to restrain her reactions. 

Her keyboard clicks and she goes back to writing on someone’s paper. She tries to close her thighs, either on purpose or unknowingly, but you hold them open with your hands. 

You lick up inside of her, as deep as you can, and Agatha whimpers. She swears under her breath and you do it again. 

One of her hands entangles in your hair and her writing sounds like it’s gotten messier. You go back to suckling at her clit and position a finger at her entrance. 

She pulls on your hair and you take it as a go-ahead. 

Her walls clench around you as you begin sliding your middle finger into her and you keen. She’s slick and wet and so fucking hot, and you dig the nails of your other hand into her skin. 

“Fuck,” she says and you curl it slowly, looking for her g-spot while you keep tonguing at her clit. You find it and she lets out a high-pitched noise. 

Your wrist starts to burn from the angle but you pick up your pace, fucking into her and sucking at her clit, because her legs are trembling and her noises are less restrained. 

“I only have three more,” she says in a taut voice and you push another finger into her. Her walls grip your fingers, trying to pull them in deeper, and her wetness is slipping down your hand. She spasms around you on a hard thrust and her clit pulses against your tongue. 

Agatha’s hand tightens in your hair and yanks on it and you hiss at the sting. It travels right down to your cunt and you dig your nails into her thigh harder, revealing in her moan. 

“Fuck, honey,” she says quietly, jerking her hips, and she squeezes around you. “You’re going to make mommy come.”

You whimper against her cunt and she gasps at the reverberations. 

All sounds other than yours and hers have ceased—she isn’t writing or typing anything anymore. 

Good. 

Her thighs stiffen around you, her breathing is labored, and the grip she has on your hair almost becomes painful. 

“Right there, sweetheart,” she moans and you curl your fingers quickly. “Oh—god.” 

Agatha groans as she convulses around your fingers, coming all over your mouth and hand, and you keep lapping at her while you gently move your fingers. Her body jerks and her legs shudder but you’re pulling more sounds from her so you don’t want to stop. 

“Baby, baby, please,” she pants and you finally sit back on your heels, your tongue lasciviously licking her wetness from your lips. She groans when you slide your fingers out and she grabs your wrist to bring your arm up so she can clean you off. 

Her hot mouth around your fingers makes your eyes widen and your mouth drop open and she gives you a sultry wink before letting them go. 

You surge up, straddling her just like you were doing earlier, and kiss her ferociously, letting her taste herself even more on your tongue that sweeps into her mouth. She sucks on your bottom lip and then nips at it and your arms cross over the back of her neck to get closer. 

You’re content to stay there all day, never mind grading or the beach or anything else, but then your stomach grumbles. 

Agatha breaks the kiss with a laugh and pats your hips. “Should we go get some breakfast?” she asks and you nod sheepishly. “Why don’t you freshen up, I’ll finish up these exams, and then we’ll go?” 

Although you hate to leave her lap, the promise of food is appealing. You stand up onto shaky legs, but not before kissing her one more time. “Don’t forget about the reward,” you remind her and she smirks before playfully slapping your ass. 

In the bathroom, a wave of pleasure washes through you when you see the glistening on the lower half of your face in the mirror. Agatha. You’re covered with her. You barely recognize the wild eyes in the reflection in front of you and you take a deep breath. 

There’s something still so surreal about this, like at any moment, it could all get taken away and you’ll wake up in your dorm room with Wanda right across from you. 

But you hear Agatha humming something to herself in the other room and you meet the eyes of the reflection. 

They look more like yours now. 

You splash some water on your face, reluctantly cleaning off the proof of Agatha’s arousal from it, and then dry yourself off with the washcloth. You grab the bottle of Good Girl and spritz yourself and then slide your sandals onto your feet. 

With one last look in the mirror, you nod approvingly and go back out to the living room. 

Agatha inhales when you perch on the edge of the table next to her, smelling the almonds, cocoa, and flowers. She smirks knowingly without even looking up at you. She’s sadly put her underwear and shorts back on and you wonder how long she’ll keep them on for. 

Hopefully once you get back from breakfast, not for long. 

You watch her work for a few minutes, dragging her red pen down the pages of the exam, making quick work of counting the number of wrong questions and then inputting the score into her laptop. You’re definitely not supposed to be watching this and seeing what your classmates got, but Agatha isn’t going to say anything.

It wouldn’t be the first rule you’ve broken either. 

“All right, you ready?” she asks, closing her laptop, and smiling up at you. You nod and she pushes back her chair to stand up and walk to her room. 

She comes back a moment later with flip flops on and she grabs her keys before stopping. You bite your lip while she works something out in her head. 

“How about we bring the beach stuff so we can just go right there after eating?” she offers. 

“Oh—yeah, that sounds good,” you say. 

Agatha grabs a tote bag and throws two towels, sunscreen, and a swimsuit into it while you grab your two-piece to put on now because you still don’t have anything underneath. The purple bottoms are rather skimpy and you can’t wait to see Agatha’s reaction to them. The black top ties around your back and around your neck and is also more on the scandalous side, showing a good amount of your cleavage. 

With any luck, the two of you will end up in the same position as you were yesterday night in the water, but this time, she won’t even bother bringing you back to the condo before fucking you. 

Can that be your reward?

If only there was a nude beach around here. 

She eyes you suspiciously when you come out of the bathroom looking a bit too excited, but doesn’t say anything. She shrugs the bag over her shoulder and leads you out of the condo and to the elevator. There’s a soreness in your body but you drink it in because it’s a physical reminder of what happened. 

People step to the side to let you both in when the doors open and you immediately stiffen because you and your professor are together. 

But they don’t even give you second glances and you’re able to relax a little. These people don’t know who you are. They don’t know that you being here with Agatha is dangerous.

The back of her hand brushes against the back of yours and the touch is enough to be reassuring. Even if you long for the day where you’ll be able to hold her hand without fear of being caught, you’ll take what you can get for right now. 

After all, what you have behind closed doors is more than enough to keep you satisfied. 

The doors slide open on the ground floor and Agatha puts a hand on your lower back to guide you out, making you shiver from the casual dominance. She exudes it and you find yourself sinking further and further into it, letting yourself get wrapped up in it. In her. 

“Feel like walking?” she asks, already steering you away from her car and to the boardwalk where it seems like forever ago that you were walking back from dinner with her. “It’s not that far.” 

You happily agree. The sun is bright but not too hot on your skin, the seagull calls fill the air along with the waves and the happy whoops from people on the beach, and the fresh air fills your lungs. You can’t remember the last time you felt so free. College feels so far away and you’re already dreading having to go back tomorrow. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks, looking sideways at you. She’s walking with her hands in her pockets while you fiddle with your fingers. 

You shrug. “Think we could just stay here forever?” 

Agatha snorts but then smiles. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You chuckle and duck your head, thrilled that she’s indulging you. 

“Just you, me, and the ocean. And your bed, of course,” you add and Agatha tosses back her head with a laugh. The breeze blows her hair into your face and it smells like Black Opium. 

“And the balcony,” she says with a smirk and your cheeks grow hot. “And the kitchen chairs. And the bath. We haven’t gotten to the couch yet, but we’ve got time.” 

With each step you take, you can feel the throbbing between your legs grow, can feel the slickness coating your upper thighs. 

The smirk on her face is wicked and she steps closer to casually bump against you. “You know what I really want to do?” Agatha murmurs and you raise a shaky hand at the couple that walks by you. “I want to bend you over the sink in my bathroom and make you watch yourself get fucked so you can see how pretty you look when mommy ruins you.” 

You have to grab onto her bicep before your knees buckle. She simpers and keeps walking, practically pulling you along, and that thought blocks anything else from coming in. 

It’s hard to remember how to speak, but you eventually choke out, “Is that my reward?” 

She presses a quick kiss to your cheek after looking around to make sure no one is watching. “That could be part of it.” You think your professor might be just a little evil for how much she enjoys toying with you. 

It’s close to ten-thirty when you get to the breakfast restaurant, but it’s not too crowded. It’s a small, cozy place with some chairs outside, umbrellas shielding the table from the sun. Steps lead up to the main entrance and a lime green awning hangs over it. 

“Good morning, how many?” the host asks when you stop in front of him and Agatha answers for you. He grabs two menus and gestures for you to follow him. He leads you to a table in the back and you both thank him before sitting down. 

Almost immediately, a waiter comes over to take your drink orders. Agatha orders a coffee and you get a lemonade. 

The menu is a lot easier to take in here than the restaurant last night, so when the waiter comes back with your drinks only a minute later, you’re able to order for yourself. Agatha gets poached eggs on avocado and feta toast while you get the two-egg breakfast with bacon and potatoes. He takes your menus and walks away. 

“This is a neat place,” you say, looking around at all the vintage records on the wall. 

Agatha snorts. “Do you even recognize any of these bands?” 

Your cheeks heat up and you grab your glass of lemonade, sliding it toward you. “Some of them,” you retort, taking your straw between your teeth and chewing on it. A question is weighing on your mind but you’re not sure if you should ask it. 

She must be able to tell because she raises an eyebrow at you. There must be something specific about your silence when you want to say something—you’re not surprised she picked up on it. 

“Does it bother you?” you ask timidly, stirring the straw in your drink. Agatha hums, prompting you to go on. “I mean, like, the age difference.” Your stomach twists and you look down so you don’t have to meet her eyes. 

Agatha places her hand onto the table and slides it so it’s on your side, just inches from your fingers. She sighs heavily and takes it back to ruffle her hair, like she’s figuring out how to respond. “It doesn't bother me,” she says finally and relief whooshes through you. “It’s just complicated right now with me being your professor. This has to stay a secret, okay?” 

“I know,” you say empathically. “I promise. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

She gives you a wry smile and clears her throat. “It is exciting, having a pretty young thing that will do anything I ask.” 

Heat ignites in your core and you squirm in the chair. 

“You would, wouldn’t you?” she presses, fire dancing in her eyes. In this light, their color looks almost more gray and you’re once again reminded just how beautiful she is. 

“Yes, mommy,” you answer, mouthing the last word, and there’s no missing her shiver. You don’t think she’d protest if you were to drag her to the bathroom right now because you can feel the liquid pooling in your underwear and you think she might be feeling the same. 

You want her to test it, want her to ask you to get on your knees right now for her.

There’s a good chance you wouldn’t be able to say no. 

But she just leans back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with your response. “You’re such a good girl, you know that, right?” 

“Agatha, please,” you whisper, needing her to either stop the teasing or take you somewhere to fuck you because your clit is aching. 

She bites her lip, like she wants to see how far she can push you. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” 

A sharp gasp rips itself from you and you grip the table, giving her a pleading look. She chuckles and picks up a packet of sugar, rips it open, and dumps it into her coffee. 

“You’re too easy,” she says with a smug smirk, and it should embarrass you, but you’re also too far gone for her. She has you wrapped around your fingers and she fully knows it—she loves it. 

She didn’t even really have to condition you that much, if that’s what she was doing, because you did most of the work yourself. 

And that thought turns you on so much more than it should. 

But when Agatha gives you that look, the one that says she’s ready to risk it all, how can you not be okay with it? 

The waiter comes back with your food, way quicker than you were expecting, and puts your plates down in front of you. Your scrambled eggs look perfect, your bacon is crisp and smells delicious, and your potatoes look crunchy. 

Agatha’s food looks good too, the poached egg resting on top of the mix of avocado and feta cheese that covers a piece of bread. 

You pick up your fork and begin scooping your eggs into your mouth when Agatha’s foot touches your ankle. She leaves it there, just resting, and you don’t think much of it until she flexes her toes against your skin. 

She smiles sweetly when you choke on egg, bits of yellow flying from your mouth. 

She starts to neatly cut her food, unaffected and completely composed, while her foot slowly skims up the inside of your shin. You can feel the coarse fabric of her flip flop and you put all your focus into eating. 

Her foot slides back down and lies against your ankle and you shoot her a look before eating as quickly as you can before she starts again. 

She doesn’t move again, but the anticipation is there, just hanging over, like a sword that could fall at any moment. It’s a simple touch, nothing special at all, definitely nothing that warrants how you’re reacting, but just having Agatha’s skin against yours is enough to distract you. 

And that’s how you know that you’re in trouble. 

“How’s your food?” you ask, desperate to get your mind off of dirtier things. 

It seems that your professor has other plans. “Good, but not as good as you.” 

Your fork clangs loudly against the plate as you bring it down too hard and you curse under your breath. Agatha laughs and waves away the waiters who look at you from across the restaurant. 

You don’t say another word during breakfast, not wanting to give her any more fuel to mess with you. It’s not that you don’t enjoy it—you just don’t think other people will want to be around when you finally can’t take it anymore and you jump on her and shove her hand up your dress. 

Agatha pays the bill again without even looking at it and pops three of your potatoes into her mouth before standing up and nodding at you. She picks up the tote bag that was resting on the floor and her hand finds its way to the small of your back on the way out of the restaurant. 

Heat from her fingers seeps through the silk and goes straight to your core. She leads you down the steps out front and back to the boardwalk. 

“We can get some beach chairs from the complex,” she says. 

You burrow into her side and there’s a spate of arousal in your veins when you breathe in her scent. “Can we stop in your room first?” you ask, desperation leaking into your voice. 

Her laugh seems to mock you. “Aw, baby,” she coos and squeezes your waist. “Can you be patient for mommy?” 

You whimper dramatically and then pout. “I have been.”

“I know, hon. Let’s go to the beach now, just for a few hours, and then we’ll have all of tonight to do whatever we want.” 

“Okay,” you agree sullenly and Agatha presses a quick kiss to your head with a laugh. 

“You’re such a trooper,” she teases and you snort before straightening up. A few hours on the beach does sound nice: sunbathing and wading in the water and just existing with Agatha outside of the university. 

There’s no telling the next time you’ll get to just be yourselves instead of professor and student. You yearn for when you’ll be able to do that all the time, but you know the rules. You know that can’t happen yet, not for a few months at the earliest. 

It’ll probably be after graduation in May before you can really be something. And that’s not counting if she’s your graduate school professor. 

You feel your heavy sigh in your bones. Agatha glances at you but doesn’t say anything this time—maybe she knows where your thoughts are at and doesn't want to make you voice them. 

Is she having these thoughts too? You wish she were easier to read. You can rarely ever tell what she’s thinking. 

But you suppose that’s part of her charm. The unbreakable Professor Harkness—except you’ve gotten close to cracking through her facade. 

Agatha walks off the boardwalk into the sand once you get back to her condo and you follow her around the building to the back, where there’s a stand with a man surrounded by racks of folding chairs and umbrellas. 

The man hands you two chairs and a big beach umbrella and writes down Agatha’s name. His eyes flit to you, maybe wondering who you are, but he doesn’t say anything. 

She finds a secluded spot a bit farther down the beach and stakes the umbrella in the sand while you unfold the chairs. 

“I’m going to go change,” Agatha says, tossing the sunscreen and your towel at you from the bag, and you perk up immediately. “No. Stay.” 

It very much feels like you’re a dog and she’s ordering you around, but it works. You take off your dress and spray your body with sunscreen before rubbing some in on your face and then you shake out your towel and drape it over your chair. 

She comes back a few minutes later to find you leaning over in your chair and pouring sand on your feet and you choke on your own saliva when you take her in. She’s wearing a black one-piece that shows off the swell of her breasts and the curve of her ass, and it dips to the middle of her chest, blessing you with more than a hint of cleavage. 

Agatha likes your swimsuit too, if the darkening of her eyes and the faint pink in her cheeks is any indication. 

You lurch up out of your chair with the sunscreen bottle and a glint in your eye. “Need some help, Professor?” Before she can answer, you spray her legs and arms and step around to get her back. You toss the can down and step closer so you can sensually rub it in. 

“You’re not subtle,” she says through gritted teeth. 

“I just don’t want you to get burned,” you say innocently and she looks over her shoulder so you watch her roll her eyes. You smirk and lean in to kiss her, but she pulls back at the last minute and looks around. 

Even though she bent you over the balcony and fucked you just a few hours ago, she’s still a bit weary of affection in actual public places. You guess you can’t blame her. She has a lot more to lose than you do, even though her signals seem extremely mixed. Sometimes it feels like she doesn't care if anyone is around. 

She’s trying just as hard as you are to navigate what’s going on between you and figure out what’s safe and what’s not. 

If anything, it means that sometimes, she lets her guard down around you because she wants you too. Maybe just as much. You hope to god that that’s true. 

“Shall we?” Agatha asks, tilting her head to the ocean, and it’s so much like last night, except you both go into the water together this time. 

The waves are gentler right now and it’s warmer. You wade out easily until you’re a little above knee-deep with Agatha right behind you. 

You turn around to face her and she glances around to find that everyone else is either much farther out than you are, or back on shore. There’s no one around you. They can still see you, but there’s less risk. 

She pulls you to her and spins you around, your back against her front with her arms crossed over you, and you stand like that for what feels like forever. The water sways you from side to side but there’s something so peaceful about it, especially with Agatha holding you. 

Her left hand begins to creep down until her fingertips rest against the edge of your bikini bottom hem, but she doesn’t go any further. Just her touch is enough to make your stomach hot, but it’s not a burning heat. It’s softer and muted and you want to just soak it in. 

You feel her lips against your ear, a quick kiss, and then she does the same to your head. Her wet hair sticks to your back and you relax even more into her embrace. 

“We’re playing with fire, you know that, right?” Agatha murmurs. It sends a shiver down your spine and you nod. 

Her unspoken words hang over you: someone is bound to get burned. 

Even in the silence, it sounds like a promise. 

But for right now, until that happens, she has you. 

And you have her. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @500daysofmarissa @filmedbyharkness @autbot @claramelooo @dandelions4us @agathaallalongg @jujuu23 @21cannibal @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @jeridandridge @hannibalcanniballz @chloeelou02x @hapuchika @xblinkx2 @xanthreee @tobeawriter98 @warpdrive-witch

[justauthoring]

head over heels.

requested -> can i request sanemi taking care of reader? Like them being back from a mission after not seeing them for a bit? :) by -> anonymous

a/n -> eeeeeeeee i love this man <3

pairing -> sanemi shinazugawa x f!reader

you pause in your step the second you hear a familiar creak echo across the manor.

that could only mean one thing—

"y/n?" sanemi's gruff voice rings out in the silence, his footsteps growing closer as he makes his way to the entrance. "is that you?"

cringing, you press your hand harder against the side of your stomach. maybe, if you were convincing enough, he wouldn't even notice the blood.

sanemi comes around the corner a second later, his feet padding against the hardwood as he meets your eyes. the neutral expression on his face brightens, just a little, and momentarily you're warmed at the sight of him so happy to see you, but then, you see his eyes trail lower.

oh no—

"are you bleeding?"

okay, so, clearly it had been foolish to think that sanemi somehow wouldn't notice the profusely bleeding wound on your stomach. it was worth the hope, at least.

he's in front of you in a flash, face morphing into one a deep concern as he kneels, taking your hand away by the wrist and eyeing the wound itself. you cringe when you see the look in his eyes.

"i'm fine," you promise swiftly, voice somewhat breathless. honestly, you weren't fine—at least, not completely. your body ached from how hard you pushed yourself and even if you were desperately trying not to make it so obvious, the wound really did hurt. not to mention, you were exhausted and your brain felt numb as you desperately tried to get it to work properly.

setting a hand on sanemi's head and enjoying the feeling of his hair in your fingers, you smile down at him. "the demon ended up being harder than i thought it'd be, that's all," you explain, shaking your head. "he managed to get me with his claw and—oh!"

your words are cut off by a sharp squeal of surprise when you suddenly find yourslef being lifted in the air.

"s-sanemi!"

"shh," he cuts in, voice a little sharper than he intended but it does the job. your lips seal shut, seeing the slight tremble of his lips that he tries to hide. sanemi is gentle, making sure his grip isn't too hard and that he isn't pressing into your wound as he leads you through his estate, stopping when he reaches his bedroom.

he slowly sets you down on the cot and as he straightens out, you stare up at him with parted lips.

"take off your clothes," he explains, moving to make his way back out. "i'll clean the wound for you."

flushing faintly, you nod, watching his back disappear around the corner for a moment before complying with his order. you take your hoari with ease, but your slayer corps uniform takes a bit longer; shaky, exhausted fingers work to unbotton the damn thing, but every shift brings a deep ache to your wound.

you don't even notice sanemi make his way back until his hands are on yours once again.

eyes widening, you turn to him, seeing the bowl of water and clothe he'd brought, befoe focusing back on him.

"sanami—"

he just shakes his head, fingers pushing yours away as he easily unbottons the top of your uniform. your flush deepends when it's suddenly not just being topless in front of sanemi, but him being the one to take off your clothes. and, to be fair, it wasn't like he hadn't before but this...

felt a little more intimate, oddly enough.

he helps you pull your arms through the sleeves, gentle in the way that sanemi only ever really is with you. he folds your shirt and places it beside him, before grabbing the clothe and dipping it in the water before rinsing the excess and pressing it against your side. you expect it to be cold, but the water is the perfect warmth and your body visably eases at the sensation.

"why didn't you go to the butterfly estate?" sanemi asks after a moment more of silence, glancing up at you through his lashes.

"i..." and you hesitate, feeling incredibly vulnerable in that moment as your stomach flutters with butterflies and you squirm lightly in the spot until sanemi presses his fingers into your hip and you halt. sighing, you let your hands fall in your lap. "i wanted to see you," you confess.

sanemi raises a brow; "by tracking blood through my entrance?"

you pout; "sorry."

shaking his head, sanemi pulls the clothe away, falling silent for a moment as he leans closer to get a proper look at your wound. "i don't think you need stitches," he explains, "but we should probably get you checked out by shinobu in case."

your eyes widen; "no!"

"y/n—"

"i'm fine," you breathe, taking his hand in your own two and squeezing. "i promise you. i... i just want to be with you. i was gone for so long."

at that, sanemi hesitates. he eyes you for a moment more, looking like the argument is still on the tip of his tongue, but then it fades, second by second, as he takes in your pleading look and feels your hands around his own.

"fine," he concedes, "but you'll be resting. no straining yourself."

biting your lip, you hesitate; "you sure you'll be able to keep your hands to yourself?" you tease lightly, letting a small smile curl onto your lips.

sanemi liked to act tough, and you guessed, he was—with anyone else. he'd bend over backwards for anything you asked him to do, even if he denied otherwise or tried to argue. in the end, you always got what you wanted simply because sanemi was head-over-heels for you.

but you falter when you see a bright, proud smirk curl onto sanemi's lips. it's not what you're expecting at all, especially when he lets the clothe fall back into the bowl before shoving it away and putting all his focus on you.

he leans forward, hands falling on either side of you as you lean back, bare back falling against the cot as sanemi hovers over you.

"who said anything about me?" he grins ear to ear, a mischevious, somewhat devious twinkle in his eyes. "i told you to rest, but that doesn't mean i can't still... touch you."

you swallow thickly as his right hand trails across your stomach, the touch light and feathery and butterfly-inducing.

"besides," he adds after a moment of tense silence. "i still have to punish you for not taking better care of yourself."

your eyes widen; "but—!"

"uh-huh," he cuts you off when a light pinch to your hip. "didn't i tell you? shh."

and your stomach twists, heart racing, but still, you listen.

because really, you were head-over-heels for sanemi too.

[princesseilish]

ANCHOR

Navy!Paige x Wife!Reader

Warning: Fluff, angst, crying, emotional turmoil

Synopsis: Paige had never wanted to go home so bad in her life until now, this was her longest deployment, a whole eight months, a whole eight months without her wife.

A/n: this takes place easy 2010s bc I was bored

The last video call was on a Tuesday.

Paige was sitting in a cramped metal room aboard the ship, the hum of the engine vibrating beneath her boots as she leaned forward, grainy camera feed catching half her face.

“You would not believe the food they served us today,” she groaned, balancing her phone against a box of protein bars. “It was like… prison mystery meat. Genuinely considered filing a missing persons report for the chicken.”

You giggled from the other side of the screen, wrapped in your oversized hoodie—hers, technically—sitting cross-legged on the bed you shared. The soft golden light from your bedside lamp made everything look safe, and homey, and warm.

Paige stared for a second too long.

“What?” you teased, catching the shift in her eyes.

“Nothing. You just…” she sighed, gaze dropping for a second, “I miss you. Like, I knew I’d miss you, but this? This is different. I feel like I’m walking around with one lung.”

You smiled, soft and knowing. “You’re almost home.”

She didn’t say anything. Just nodded. Held the silence like it was glass.

If she’d known that would be the last time she’d see you breathing, laughing, blinking back tiredness while you begged her not to hang up yet—maybe she would’ve said it more.

Maybe she would’ve stared longer. Maybe she wouldn’t have joked about the food.

But Paige didn’t know. She was thousands of miles away when the message came in. Not a call. Not even a voice memo.

Just an email. Short. Dry. Devastating.

---

They wouldn't let her off.

Standard protocol. Active duty. And besides, it was already done.

So Paige moved like a ghost.

The ship was the same—metal hallways, sweaty gear, early mornings, cold water—but she was not.

She stopped sitting with the other girls during meals. They whispered about her now. She heard them sometimes.

“She hasn’t cried.”

“She’s just… blank.”

“She hasn’t even called home.”

But Paige had no home to call.

She kept the bracelet you made her wrapped around her dog tag chain. It was faded from salt and sweat, but still clung on. And on nights when she couldn’t sleep—and there were many—she’d close her eyes and pretend you were still on the other end of the call.

That your voice would float through her phone at any second. That your laugh was just tucked under the static.

She started whispering back to the silence. Just to keep from going crazy.

---

It was nearly midnight when she unlocked the apartment.

The keys jingled too loud in her shaking hand, and the door creaked open with a sound that felt wrong—too casual for a moment like this.

And then it hit her.

Nothing had changed.

Her shoes were still next to yours by the door. Your favorite coffee mug sat rinsed in the sink. There was a candle on the windowsill, burnt halfway, the wax dipped like a crater in the middle. You always forgot to blow it out.

The living room still smelled like your shampoo. There was a cardigan draped over the couch. One of her hoodies tossed on top. Everything was soft and warm and alive.

Except you weren’t.

She didn’t cry at first. She just walked in—slow, stunned, robotic. Her boots thudded against the wood floor and then slipped off at the mat, like muscle memory still expected you to scold her for tracking dirt in.

She passed the bookshelf. Your half-finished novel still marked with a receipt from the bakery you both loved. She passed the hallway. Her hoodie still hanging from the doorknob where you left it the day she left. She passed the bathroom, where your toothbrush sat alone in the cup.

And then—

The bedroom.

The blanket was still folded the way you liked it. Her pillow still dented from the last time you curled into her chest. There was a sticky note on the mirror. In your handwriting.

“Home soon. I love you.”

It broke her.

She dropped to her knees. Her chest heaved. Her hands slammed against the floor like she was trying to find the earth beneath it.

It wasn’t just grief. It was rage.

Because you were good. You were perfect. You were heaven on earth—stable and soft and real.

She hated how the apartment looked untouched. Like you were just in the next room. Like you were going to walk in and say, “Hey, baby,” and roll your eyes at her tears and tell her to take off those heavy boots.

But there was only silence.

And Paige—tough, fearless Paige—sobbed into the carpet like a child. She punched the floor once. Then twice. Then curled in on herself.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” she choked. “You were the only thing that made me feel like myself.”

She talked to you all night. Whispered into the air. Apologized for every missed call, every time she said “soon” and meant months. She told you about the ship, the cold, the ache in her spine from sleeping without you.

She begged for you to come back.

And when the sun started rising through the curtains you once picked out together, she was still on the floor—gripping your pillow like it could hold her together.

Her eyes were red. Her throat hoarse. Her soul somewhere in pieces.

But the bracelet still hung from her dog tag.

And your note still stuck to the mirror.

And Paige Bueckers still loved you more than anything on this earth.

Even if she was the only one left to say it.

---

It started with cleaning.

Not healing.

Not moving on.

Just movement. Something to do with her hands so they wouldn’t shake.

Paige had been home less than twenty-four hours, and the silence in your apartment was already unbearable—pressing, haunting, taunting. So she moved. From room to room. Straightened the mail you’d left stacked by the door. Put away the mug on the windowsill you always forgot to rinse. Folded the last hoodie you ever wore, still smelling like you—lavender and cheap dryer sheets—and placed it at the foot of the bed.

But it was the closet that undid her.

Not the clothes. Not the dust-covered shoes. Not even the still half-full laundry basket you swore you’d finish when she got home.

It was the box.

Tucked on the top shelf. Brown. Unlabeled. Taped once and forgotten.

She pulled it down like muscle memory.

And there it was.

The old Canon camcorder. Silver. Bulky. The one she’d begged you to let her buy on eBay back when everyone was switching to digital, but she swore the tapes had a better soul. You rolled your eyes and called her dramatic, but you secretly loved it—especially when she turned it on you.

And that’s exactly what she did.

Hundreds of times.

Paige sat cross-legged on the floor, breath shallow as she slipped a tape into the camcorder. The old whirring sound started. Then a beep. Then static.

And then—

You.

---

[CAMCORDER FOOTAGE – Date: May 14th, 2011]

You in the kitchen. Hair a mess. One sock on. Singing into a wooden spoon. Off-key. Loud.

“Babe,” Paige’s voice laughed from behind the camera, “I’m begging you to stop but also never stop.”

You turned, mid-spin, caught off guard and already blushing.

“You’re still filming with that thing?”

“Absolutely. This is blackmail material.”

“Good. Then you better marry me before it leaks.”

Paige zoomed in on your grin. “I already did, dummy.”

---

[CAMCORDER FOOTAGE – Date: September 2nd, 2012]

You in bed. Reading. Paige slowly zoomed in, no commentary, just the sound of her breathing.

You looked up. “Are you watching me again?”

“I can’t help it,” she said. “You’re my favorite movie.”

---

[CAMCORDER FOOTAGE – Date: December 25th, 2013]

The living room. Christmas lights. You in flannel pajamas, biting your lip as you held out a little box.

“Merry Christmas, Baby Bueckers.”

She opened it behind the camera. “Oh my god. Are these—?”

“Dog tags. With both our names,” you whispered, voice cracking. “So no matter where you are… I’m with you.”

---

The camcorder trembled in Paige’s hands. She pressed pause, but the image of your face froze—smiling, glowing, alive.

And it broke her.

She clutched it to her chest, forehead pressed to the old plastic, tears falling soundlessly now. Not sobs. Not screams. Just the ache of someone who finally realized:

You weren’t just gone.

You were never coming back.

Not through the front door. Not through the phone. Not even in dreams.

She would never kiss you again. Never pull you into her arms. Never make you laugh until you snorted, or hear you call her your “sweet girl” in that teasing, sticky-sweet voice.

This was it.

This was all that was left.

Ghosts in grainy footage.

Flickering memories through a scratched-up lens.

Paige curled onto the closet floor, camcorder clutched tight like it was the only thing anchoring her to Earth.

Because it was.

---

[millermouth]

chapter 9

series masterlist Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled. || angst & fluff, referenced intimacy but not explicit, Pre-Boston QZ, Stockholm Syndrome, slow burn, raider!joel, captor!joel, homestead, kidnapping, dark themes, mentions of violence, self-deprecating joel, reader comforts joel || a/n: yes, I did blast strangers by ethel cain while writing that one scene and yes it is corny! you cant stop me !!! one more chapter to go!! then the epilogue!!

Samson eventually found his way back to you, covered in brambles and streaked with mud, his tongue always falling from his mouth like he’d just spent the best day of his life alone in the woods. His fur was tangled with seed pods, his paws caked in wet earth, and the dried blood along his muzzle reminded you both what he’d done to keep you safe.

You and Joel coaxed him into the water, scrubbing him down as best you could, working through the mats and burrs with careful fingers. Joel held him steady while you picked the ticks from his ears, rinsed the dirt from his coat, washed away the memory of violence. When it was done, Samson gave one great shake, flinging water in every direction. You yelped as the droplets soaked your skin, Joel laughing beside you, wiping at his face.

It felt good. 

It felt whole.

You felt whole. Maybe for the first time in your life. 

The sun was dipping low behind the trees by the time you dried off and dressed again, the air cooling as the light turned soft and golden behind the treetops. You reached for Joel’s hand as you walked, curling your fingers around his thick pinky, or holding just his wrist, or his entire hand. You just wanted to touch him so badly. And he didn’t hesitate to touch you back, every so often stopping to press you gently back against a tree to kiss your mouth, to brush a smudge of dirt from your cheek, to tuck a loose strand of hair back into your braid.

“Tell me a story,” you said softly, the woods thick around you as he held you against a tree, lips kiss bitten and breathless. “About you. Before all this.”

Joel’s smile faltered slightly, his hands twitching where they’d held you firmly against the bark. You could see his eyes shifting, the softness in them emptying like a drain, the curve of his lip turning down, and something slipping from you as he glanced down, away into the deep trees.

His fingers fell from your body, stepping away slightly, dropping to the watch on his wrist. The old thing he never took off, cracked and no longer ticking, its leather strap softened with age. You’d touched it once while he was sleeping, your fingertip tracing the shattered glass, full of wonder and questions. You’d asked him about it once, too, though he’d only mumbled something and brushed it off. You hadn’t pushed.

“I had a daughter.”

You looked at him, trying to find something in his expression, though all you saw was his brows drawn, his mouth soft. Not angry or hardened the way he sometimes got. But worn.

“She was smart,” he said quietly. “So goddamn smart. She’d talk circles around me when she was little. Always had somethin’ to say. She was brave too.”

His voice cracked as he nodded deep in memory. He looked away, toward the trees, then started walking again. You followed, your hand aching from where his had left it, your chest aching more. You didn’t rush him, just walked behind, letting the silence hold space for the girl who wasn’t here anymore.

“I think you’d’ve liked her,” Joel said after a long stretch of quiet.

You smiled faintly at that, your gaze flicking to the ground as you stepped over a root, brushing a hand along a nearby trunk.

“She played soccer,” he said, voice a little rough now, like the words were catching on something inside him. “Its a…a game with a ball, you kick around with a team,” he added when he caught how your brows furrowed, “When she was eight, I remember this one game—she took a bad fall. Some kid slammed into her and her ankle twisted under her. I was on my feet, ready to run out there, but she just waved me off.”

He exhaled softly, shaking his head like he could still see it.

“Ref tried to stop the game, but she shook her head. Stood up on that busted ankle and kept playin’ like nothin’ happened. Got the ball, passed it clean across the field to her teammate, and went all the way back to defense like she wasn’t feelin’ a damn thing.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing.

“After the game, she could barely walk. She let me carry her to the car, and only then did she let herself cry. Like it snuck out before she could stop it. And even then, she apologized, I can almost hear her now,” His voice cracked again there, quiet and soft and reverent. “Sayin’ she was sorry, that she didn’t want to ruin the game. Her ankle was always twisting after that, broke a couple more times—never was really the same.”

Joel stopped walking, reached for the nearest tree, leaned against it with one hand like the memory had taken some of the strength from him.

“You miss her,” you said gently, your voice a quiet truth. It didn’t need dressing up, it simply was. You wondered how long it had been since he spoke about her, since he let her exist in the open air instead of just in the silence of his chest.

His hand dropped to the watch on his wrist again, fingers curling around it, thumb rubbing over the cracks in the face like he was trying to smooth them out. His eyes closed, and for a moment, he looked far, far away.

You stepped closer, like slowly approaching a wounded animal, not out of fear but obeisance.

Your hand rose to cup his face, thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone, and his eyes opened again. They were glassy now, rimmed red, the kind of look someone gets when they’ve been holding something in too long.

And you ached for him. In a new, deeper way—a way that made you want to gather all the broken pieces in your palms and press them back into place.

“What was her name?”

He leaned into your hand, the scrape of his beard harsh against your palms, but you let him nuzzle into you as his eyes closed again.

“Sarah.”

It hung in the air between you, a name carried like prayer, like grief. You let it echo, let it settle deep in your chest. Sarah. You tried it in your mind, said it out loud and his brows drew closer, his mouth tight. You tried to picture her: brave and small, biting down her pain so no one would worry, saying sorry with tears in her lashes and pride still in her voice.

“She would’ve liked you,” Joel said, after a moment. His voice was quiet, like it was traveling a long way to reach you. “You’re both stubborn as hell. And too …too good for this world.”

You smiled a little at that, though your throat burned. You weren’t entirely sure you believed it.

His dark lashes fluttered open, and you felt like you could suddenly see all of him. Every bruised inch, every threadbare part. And then his hand lifted, resting over yours where it still cupped his cheek. Holding it there, turning his face to press his lips into the heart of your palm. 

“Let’s get back,” he murmured.

You nodded, and let him lower your hand from his face, but he didn’t let go. His fingers twined with yours, warm and certain, holding on like it meant something. Like it always had.

And he held it all the way home.

Weeks passed in a haze of sun-dappled days and quiet, honey-slow nights. The rhythm of life unfolded around you like a well worn quilt—soft and familiar, stitched with comfort. Joel brought chickens to your homestead at some point, though you weren’t sure how he’d managed to find them. But you watched with amusement as he muttered to himself while hammering together a lopsided pen behind the house, Samson a little too interested in the flapping, confused fowl. Joel cursed at the wire, but never once raised his voice at the birds, calling them “ladies” like an old farmhand as they clucked around his boots.

He brought you more books, scavenged from forgotten shelves and dust-heavy corners of the world, their pages yellowed, their spines softened by time. You kept reading to him before bed and he never would oppose what you picked, never minded when you lingered too long in the same chapter or read the same line twice. Of Mice and Men had long since been set aside, replaced now by stories with richer worlds, softer endings. Each night, you climbed into bed with him and cracked open a new one, the two of you tucked beneath faded quilts with the dog across your legs.

You were almost certain there wasn’t a single corner of the house that hadn’t borne witness to your new kind of worship. The walls held your laughter, the floors your unhurried footsteps, the furniture the ghost of skin and sweat and low, hungry gasps in the dark. Something had been unlocked between you, some long-hidden seam of want that once opened could not be closed again. You ached for him constantly, without shame, and he came to you just as eagerly. His hands were reverent, calloused, always seeking, always sure. His mouth knew you like a prayer.

And God, Joel— though he’d only confess it in the softness after, when the moonlight painted your skin and the curve of his smile was warm and unguarded—was wholly, utterly yours. He’d press his face into your hair and whisper things meant only for the silence between your heartbeats, kissing your shoulders as they became bare for the impending summer heat, held your hand like it was home.

Life was simple, then. And good. The kind of good you didn’t dare speak aloud for fear it might vanish. But it lived in every cup of tea he brewed just the way you liked, in every sun-warmed sheet hung to dry, every time he reached for your waist just to feel you close.

It wasn’t just survival anymore. It was something sweeter. Something sacred.

It was a bright day, the kind where sunlight stretched lazily across the grass, the early summer sun gilding every surface it touched, warmth soaking gently into your shoulders as you stepped onto the porch with a quiet hum beneath your breath. You were calling for Joel, voice lifted softly into the still air, thinking only of the dinner you’d prepared inside for the two of you: eggs fried with crisp edges, vegetables cooked down in the cast-iron until they surrendered their sweetness, and that smoked sauce he’d taught you to make in stages, your hands learning it through repetition.

You called his name once. Then again, and a third time, still more curious than concerned. And only then came the reply. A deep, familiar rumble, his voice traveling low and slow from the side of the house. You followed it instinctively, rounding the porch with your bare feet brushing wood, your fingers dragging across the columns that held the roof as you passed. But when you found him, everything in you paused.

He was standing beneath the living room window, rooted there, his body stiff in a way that unsettled you before you even understood why. There was something about the stillness of him, the way his shoulders didn’t move with breath, the way his arms hung tense at his sides. It made the air feel strange, suddenly heavy, like the world had quieted.

“Joel?” you said carefully, your voice low, barely above the breeze. You reached for him, your hand wrapping around the strong line of his arm, muscle and heat beneath your palm. “Dinner’s ready, if... if you’re…”

But the words dropped away the moment your gaze followed his.

At his feet, pressed deep into the damp earth along the base of the house, were two footprints. Heavy, unmistakable insoles facing toward the window. As if watching. Listening. The dirt was still wet around the edges, the depth of them telling a story of someone larger than you. 

You swallowed dryly, and when you looked up at Joel’s face, what little of it you could see from the angle, it gave you nothing to hold onto. His jaw was clenched, his gaze still fixed on the ground, but there was something unreadable in the set of him—something slow burning and dangerous. 

“Could it be from when those men... before?” you asked, the question barely able to form.

He shook his head, a small motion, tight and final. “Too fresh.”

The way he said it made your stomach knot and your skin feel tight across your bones.

Then he reached into his back pocket, deep in thought, and didn’t look at you when he pulled it free, just held it out in his palm—his pocket knife, the one you’d seen a hundred times in a hundred quiet ways. On the nightstand or peaking beneath his pillow. Balanced on the windowsill beside whatever he’d been fixing. The one you’d used against him on the floor so many weeks ago. You’d always thought of it as an extension of him, something that lived on his body like a second spine.

“I want you to have this,” he said, and there was no gentleness in his voice, no softness. Just that firm, low certainty that brooked no argument. “I need you to keep it on you at all times. Do you understand?”

Your blood turned cold, heart beginning to thud in your throat, but still, you nodded, taking the folded pocket knife from him, its silver handle warm from living so close to his body. “Yes, but—”

“If anything happens,” he said, eyes shut tight, his face turned away as if something pained him there in the quiet, and when he opened them again, the light was sharper. It took something from him to force the words through, “If anyone comes after you and I’m not there. I can’t…You go for the neck. You hear me?”

You stared at him, your breath shivering in your lungs. The weight of it, the meaning, fell over you like a shadow. It made your chest cave inward, made your fingertips tingle from the cold that wasn’t in the air.

“Yes,” you whispered. “But Joel—”

He cut you off, stepped in closer. “Go ahead. Do it to me.”

Your brows drew together. “What?”

“No blade. Leave it closed. Just try.”

“Joel,” you choked, stepping back, “No. I can’t. I won’t—”

Suddenly his hands were on you, not hurting, but urgent, grabbing you by the arms and shaking you just enough to make your teeth rattle in your mouth. His eyes bore into yours, not angry, but desperate, burning old and aching.

“I need to know,” he said, voice rough like gravel scraped raw, “I need to know you’d try. That you’d do it. That if I wasn’t there, you’d still fight. That you’d survive.”

His hands trembled against your skin, and something inside you cracked.

Because suddenly you knew this wasn’t about just today or about a pair of footprints in the dirt. This was the weight of every loss he'd carried, every failure he'd punished himself for, and he was asking you not to become another one.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stepped back, gently pulling yourself free, and he let you. “Dinner’s getting cold,” you said softly.

He stood there like a man made of stone, like something carved into the earth with hands and teeth, trembling from the effort of holding himself together as his hands fell back to his sides. His chest rose in slow, uneven waves, each breath drawn as though it had to be wrestled out of his ribs, as if whatever lived inside him was trying to claw its way free. His hands were still clenched, not from anger but from restraint, every tendon pulled tight beneath the skin, violence living just beneath the surface, pacing like a caged dog.

“Come on,” you whispered, holding your hand out in supplication, an offering. There was a steadiness you didn’t feel but held onto anyway. Your heart sputtered and skipped, the back of your neck suddenly clammy and cold. But you would be strong, be steady, for him, in this. And when your fingers brushed his knuckles, slowly winding around his fingers to pull him inside, you knew what this was, at its core, at its very bones. 

It was fear.

He stayed up late most nights after that, and you knew only because he no longer fell asleep to your voice when you read. He would lie there beside you, quiet and still, but you could feel it in the way he held himself, the way his breath never quite deepened, the way he didn’t shift into rest. And long after you’d fall into sleep, you’d stir sometime in the middle of the night, half-dreaming, your hand would stretch across the bed to find only cool sheets and the ghost of his warmth. The pillow beside you would be untouched, its hollow unfilled.

One night, with a sudden pulse of dread, you sat up and crept through the house, the memory of those men who once came for you burning still in the back of your mind. But when you opened the front door, you saw him out there on the porch, silent and unmoving, revolver resting loose in one hand, the other curled gently over Samson’s head. The dog sat alert at his feet, ears perked, loyal as always. Joel's eyes scanned the tree line like it might open up and swallow him whole.

“Come to sleep, Joel,” you whispered.

He didn’t flinch. Only his voice shifted, low and hoarse, like gravel underfoot. “Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Not tired.”

You stepped toward him, barefoot and quiet, and placed your hand on the slope of his shoulder. He didn’t look at you, not at first, just stared and stared and stared out to the edge of the property.

You slid into his lap, soft and slow across his legs, your body curling into the shape of his chest. His thigh was solid beneath you, his flannel damp with sweat around the collar. You draped your arms around his neck and coaxed his gaze to meet yours in the dark.

“I know you’re trying to keep us safe,” you murmured, your voice the hush of a lullaby between you. “And you’re so brave, so strong. For me. For us.”

The moonlight caught his brow, faint and silvery, highlighting the line that always knit itself between his eyes when he was thinking too much, feeling too much. You reached up and smoothed it with your forefinger, gliding down the bridge of his nose, over the thick scar that bisected it, and then further still to the bow of his lips. His mouth parted slightly beneath your touch, and you pressed a kiss around your finger where it rested there.

“You’re so good,” you whispered, like a confession, like a secret.

He gently caught your wrist in his hand, pulling it from his face, holding it as he shook his head.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” you said quickly, not having any of it. 

“I’ve done terrible things, baby. Things you don’t even know about.”

“That’s okay,” you said, and you meant it. Meant it more than anything you might’ve ever confessed before. You didn’t care, none of it mattered. Not when he was here, holding you, so kind and gentle despite it all.

You kissed him again, softer this time, reverent. Your lips moved over his like you were memorizing him in the dark, tongue dipping out to taste the salt of him, the curve and shape of his lips you loved so much. His hand came up to your hair, gripping the base of the braid and holding you to him. He was kissing you back, something raw and desperate breaking through, tongue pushing past the slant of your lips suddenly, roughly, holding you close. 

You were gasping for breath by the time he pulled away.

“I’m no good,” he said again, panting, voice scraped thin, “But you make me want to be.”

You tried to shake your head, to protest, but he still had his hand on the braid, still holding you steady.

“Listen to me,” he said, firmer now, grounding you with the weight of his gaze. You tried to read the shadow of his eyes, but then he was kissing you again, firm and final before he said. “I’m no good. And you—you’re everything. Everything.”

“Show me,” you whispered, lips so warm and wet from him, “Come to bed, Joel.”

He stood then, with you in his arms, rising like it cost him nothing and carrying you inside, the revolver left forgotten on the porch. You held to him as he walked you to bed, your fingers twisted into the worn collar of his shirt, your lips pressed to his neck, his thick beard, and when he laid you down, he didn’t undress you with urgency or hunger. He was slow and savoring and…sad, you realized with the thickening of your throat.

“I want to be good,” he murmured against your throat, his breath warm, his lips brushing the fluttering pulse beneath your skin, “for you,” 

Your hands pushed into his hair, pulling it, keeping him close. His voice was so rough, low, almost pained as his teeth scraped your sensitive skin, “You don’t know how much I want that, to keep you safe. I’d kill for it. I’d kill for you. But it ain’t…I’ve never been…”

Your hands moved to frame his face, pulling him back so you could look at him in the moonlight that bathed the room, stronger here than out on the porch, “You are,” you said, and you meant it so fully it ached. “You are good, Joel. So good.”

He moved above you, carefully, with an unshakeable gentleness as every part of him pressed against every part of you, like he wanted to give you everything without ever taking too much. “You keep givin’ me somethin’ I never earned.” he whispered, lips collecting the silent tear that fell from the corner of your eye.

“I’m yours,” you said. “That’s all I want. I’m yours, Joel. ”

Your hands slipped down his back, nails digging into his skin as your hips met his, slow and rocking. Your mouth trembled near his ear as you broke open, like both of you were in confession, your bodies the altar as everything laid bare.

“I thought I was broken. I thought I was poison, that everything I touched, I ruined. But you make me good, Joel. You make me good because you are.”

He made a sound you’d never heard from him before. Half breath, half plea, like something inside him was breaking open in your hands. His body pressed closer, burying himself in you, like if he could just get close enough, maybe the fear would stop clawing at him.

His mouth found yours again, messy and breathless, nothing practiced about it. Just need, heat and ache and the desperate want to stay here, to stay tethered to you and nowhere else.

“You’re mine,” he said, again. Not like a vow or a promise. Like it hurt to say. Like he was asking if he still could be.

And you said it back, barely a whisper into his mouth, “I’m yours.”

It was the only thing that had ever felt true.

For the first time in days, Joel didn’t wake before you. He stayed curled in bed beside you, one arm heavy over your body, holding you close to his chest and his face buried in the back of your neck. You almost didn’t want to move, not when the room was so quiet, not when the light through the window was golden and soft, and his bullish breath steady against your skin.

Eventually, you shifted onto your back, and his eyes cracked open, still heavy with sleep. His hand drifted to your head, fingers slipping into your hair, combing slow and aimless through the strands with gentle ease despite the tangles. When you turned toward him, he leaned in and kissed your temple, quiet and warm.

“You always tear this braid out in your sleep,” he muttered, voice rough with morning as he huffed a laugh. “Like you’ve been fightin’ the pillow,”

You scoffed, fingers threading into his own mess of hair as you smiled back, “You’re one to talk.”

He began to take apart yesterday's braid and was finger brushing your hair more evenly as he said, “Still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. You climbed over him, seeking out the warmth of him, burying yourself in the safety of his chest, his arms, his mouth once again.

But eventually, after lingering in bed a while longer, skin damp and limbs tangled in the quiet warmth of morning, you rose and padded downstairs, where Joel sat in his armchair. He took your hair gently, brushing through the knots with careful fingers, before gathering it into a braid like he always did—loose at the crown, tighter at the end, the way you liked it. By then the sun had climbed just high enough to catch the dew on the grass, and you stepped into your boots and wandered outside, across the porch and down to the chicken pen, grain tin in hand. The hens came running like you were the best thing that had ever happened to them, their noisy clucking filling the morning air as you let them out of their cage for the day.

“Good morning, girls,” you greeted, scattering feed with a practiced hand. “Don’t start fussing, there’s plenty for everyone. Rosie, stop that, you’re not starving.”

One of the hens flapped her wings with particular offense, and you raised a brow at her.

“Don’t give me that attitude, Tulip. You’re not above manners.”

Behind you, the porch door creaked open. Joel stepped out to fetch firewood, shirt sleeves rolled, eyes still soft from sleep.

“You’re talkin’ to them again,” he called, and you could hear the trademark smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Named ’em too, didn’t ya?”

You didn’t even turn, just tossed more grain into the dirt. “They told me their names, actually. Not my fault if you’re not polite enough to ask.”

He grunted, trudging down the steps with a scoff that wasn’t all that convincing. “S’gonna break your heart when one of them ends up in the stewpot.”

You gave a shrug, still smiling to yourself. “Rosie would probably taste bitter anyway.”

Joel let out a warm laugh, low and rough, and you couldn’t help but return it, happy to see his eyes lighting up as you turned to him finally. He came up to you, watching the flock beside you, his hand resting on your back and kissing the top of your head as he asked you to point out which one was which.

And when you did and he didn’t say anything, you looked up at him. But he wasn’t looking at you anymore or the hens at your feet. He was looking over you, past the yard, past the brush and scrub and growth of summer.

His entire body changed in an instant, his shoulders tightening, jaw locking, that loose, easy warmth from just moments before vanishing like it had never been there at all.

“Joel?” you asked, voice a little hesitant now.

His arm shot out fast, not rough, but firm, grabbing your wrist and tugging you sharply back from the chicken pen. You yelped, startled, but he was already moving, already stepping in front of you, pressing you behind the shield of his body.

“Hey! What is it—”

But then you saw.

Along the treeline, in the morning light, shapes from the woods emerged. Inside the house, Samson's bark shattered the quiet morning, sharp and frantic behind the closed windows. The sound set your nerves on edge, a pulse jumping in your throat as you instinctively pressed closer to Joel, your fingers clutching the back of his shirt like you could anchor yourself to him, or disappear behind him.

Because at the edge of the treeline, where your little world began and the rest of the world ended, people were coming.

Terror seized you so suddenly it felt like your blood had turned to ice, every drop of warmth pulled from your limbs as if the very earth had gone cold beneath your feet. Your breath stuck in your throat, shallow and quick, barely enough to fill your lungs, and your fingers clutched at the back of Joel’s shirt like a lifeline. This wasn’t like before—not just two random men that Joel could seize control over. This was an invasion. Strangers stepped over the threshold of everything safe, boots and hooves of horses thudding into the soft earth you’d come to believe belonged only to the two of you. Your heart thundered so loud you thought they’d hear it. 

One of them rode closer than the rest, thick through the middle, perched atop a sweating, nervous-looking steed with foam at the bridle. The man atop it wore a crooked smile like he was proud of whatever filth he was about to bring. But your attention was pulled from him by the sounds coming from the trees. The clicking. That God-awful, unmistakable clicking.

At first you didn’t believe what you were seeing. You thought your eyes were lying, blinking rapidly to clear them.

Infected. Five, maybe six. Mottled and staggering, skin blooming with fungal growth. But it wasn’t that—they weren’t just wandering. They were tethered. Held on long metal poles by men behind them, handlers, like someone walking a pack of rabid dogs. One of the clickers jerked violently to the side, its head tilted back as it let out a sharp, echoing screech. Another dragged its feet, fungus splitting the skin across its face like the rind of overripe fruit.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You could feel the air charge around him like a struck wire. His body was tense with calculation, with pure and brutal intent as he held very, very still.

The rider finally stopped a few yards from the porch. He raised a hand, all mock politeness.

“Well, howdy,” he called, voice too bright for the horror he’d brought with him. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”

He waited. Joel said nothing. You didn’t dare speak.

The man grinned wider, and leaned a little forward in the saddle. “We’re lookin’ for a couple boys. We sent ‘em out this way a few weeks ago, for a little... surveyin’.”

You felt Joel shift slightly in front of you, a tightening in his shoulders.

The rider nodded like he already knew the answer. “Mm. Well, we came across what was left of ‘em. Out there in the woods, real crispy. Guess they weren’t too good at coverin’ their tracks now were they?”

He looked past Joel, straight at you, and that smile turned mean.

“Figured we’d stop in. Say hi. Set things straight.”

You glanced up at Joel, trying to read his face, but he was angled just enough to block your view, shielding your body with the breadth of his shoulders. You swear you could hear the grinding of his molars, the tension in his jaw wound tight as a noose.

“What do ya say, sweetheart?” the man called again, cocking his head, eyes dancing with a kind of cruel humor as he looked you over. “Think we oughta have a little conversation? After we take a look around, of course. Help ourselves to what’s ours. Fair’s fair, after what your fella did to our men, ain’t it?”

Joel shifted then, just enough to fully eclipse you, his voice low and violent.

“You talk to me. Say one more word to her and I’ll break your fuckin’ jaw.”

The man clutched his chest in mock fear, laughing from his saddle. “Jesus, you’re somethin’, huh? All puffed up with six guns aimed your way and a buncha freaks chompin’ at the bit behind me. You gonna scare me to death, big fella!”

His horse sidestepped, and the man took the opportunity to glance around your yard, scanning the porch, the stack of firewood, the chicken pen empty with the flock anxiously scoping out the predators in the yard. Your eyes looked around too, and your stomach dropped when you spotted Joel’s revolver, far, far away, where he’d left it the night before on the porch chair.

The man went on, lazily surveying your world like he already owned it. “We’ll just have a little look around. Then we’ll talk about our boys, yeah? Not like you two are gonna be stickin’ around much longer anyhow…”

Joel still wouldn’t answer. He only turned the barest inch toward you, voice so low it barely stirred the air as the man babbled on.

“When they start comin’,” he said, “you run inside.”

You opened your mouth, already shaking your head, but he didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to. His voice was deadly calm.

“No arguin’. You get inside and you lock yourself in.”

You swallowed hard, nodding imperceptibly, just enough for him to feel it.

And then, like it was nothing, like the wind had changed, the man on horseback brought two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle.

“All right, boys!” he called, voice bright and cruel with a smile. 

“Let’s get started!”

taglist: @orcasoul, @ilovetoomanymen, @niceforcum, @glaszdoll, @therewastherewas, @axionn, @aleariixx, @izzy698, @shivispunk@demonsasss, @pedropascalsbbg, @urlivingdeadgirl, @televangrl, @mani-pedro, @erska777, @samarav, @levlli, @harriedandharassed, @tomie-it-girl, @streamermattsgf,@uravitsy, @lostinthestreamofconsciousness, @umadirectioner, @quistals, @cinnxmxngxrl

[lovelymylene]

More Hamzah fics PLEASEEEE

the BLONDE

teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

It was 2 a.m., and the whole world was quiet except for the hum of the bathroom light and the faint scratch of a record spinning in the next room. The tile was cold under her knees, and Hamzah sat on the closed toilet lid, knees spread, head bowed slightly as she ran gloved fingers through his hair. His roots had grown out, dark waves creeping past the bleach, and he had been dragging his feet about re-dyeing them. But tonight, somewhere between a lazy kiss and a cigarette on the fire escape, she had decided for him.

“You’re dramatic, you know that?” she murmured, combing through the strands, sectioning them with careful fingers.

Hamzah smirked, eyes half-lidded. “You love it.”

She did. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.

Outside, the city was restless, cars rolling slow down wet pavement, a couple arguing on the next block, a distant dog barking at nothing. But in here, it was just them. The sharp scent of bleach, the softness of his hair between her fingers, the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You always do this for yourself?” she asked, dipping the brush into the mixture.

“Yeah.” He yawned, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “Tried to get Martin to help me once, but he almost burned my scalp off.”

She laughed softly. “Well, I won’t let you go bald. Again. Hold still.”

He closed his eyes as she worked, pressing her thumb to his forehead when he leaned too far forward. The silence between them was easy, comfortable, stretching out in the dim light. She could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“You ever think about just keeping it natural?” she asked after a while.

Hamzah cracked one eye open, smirking. “You don’t like the blonde?”

“I like you, dumbass.” She flicked his forehead lightly. “Just wondering.”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t know. It’s just… me, I guess. Feels like I should be like this.”

She understood that more than she could put into words.

She finished applying the dye and leaned back on her heels, peeling off the gloves. “Alright, we wait.”

Hamzah stretched, rolling his neck before grabbing her wrist and tugging her toward him. “C’mere.”

She let herself be pulled onto his lap, arms draped over his shoulders, fingers tangling loosely in the still-damp strands at the nape of his neck. He smelled like soap and bleach and cigarettes. Like him.

“You tired?” she murmured.

He hummed again, a little softer this time, forehead pressing to hers. “Not if you stay.”

She smiled, fingertips tracing lazy circles at the base of his skull. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And she meant it.

The bleach had been sitting long enough, and now it was time to rinse. She nudged Hamzah’s knee, motioning for him to stand. He groaned dramatically, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders and stepping toward the sink.

“Alright, put your head down,” she instructed, turning on the faucet, testing the water with her fingers until it was just warm enough.

Hamzah bent over the sink, arms braced on either side. She ran her fingers through his hair as the water rushed over it, watching the bleach swirl away in pale, milky streaks. His dark roots were gone now, replaced with that familiar platinum blonde that somehow suited him so well.

“You okay?” she asked, kneading her fingertips against his scalp, gentle but firm.

Hamzah exhaled through his nose. “Feels nice,” he muttered, voice slightly muffled by the sink.

She smiled to herself, rinsing out the last bit of bleach, then reached for the towel. “Alright, you’re done.”

Hamzah lifted his head, shaking out his hair like a wet dog before she could wrap the towel around him properly. She swatted his shoulder. “You’re irritating.”

He grinned, wrapping the towel around his head like some dramatic movie star. “I’m beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes, dragging him over to sit on the edge of the tub. “Sit still, I need to dry it.”

Hamzah sat obediently, hands resting in his lap as she plugged in the blow dryer. It roared to life, sending warm air rushing through his damp hair. She combed through it with her fingers, tousling it slightly, watching as the color settled in fully under the heat.

His eyes fluttered shut again, that same relaxed expression he had when she was running her fingers through his hair earlier. It was rare, seeing him this still, this quiet in a way that wasn’t wrapped in nervous energy or some joke he was waiting to deliver.

“You’re like a cat,” she said over the hum of the dryer.

Hamzah cracked one eye open. “Yeah? That’s pretty weird I’m not a cat?”

She smirked, switching the dryer off. “Nah. Just saying you like being taken care of.”

His lips parted slightly, like he was going to argue, but then he just shrugged, smirking. “Maybe I just like when you do it.”

She flicked his forehead again. “Cheesy.”

“Maybe.” He leaned back against the wall, looking up at her, brown eyes still half-lidded, long lashes casting shadows against his cheekbones. “But you like it.”

She ran her fingers through his now-dry hair, feeling the soft texture of it under her touch. He was right. She did.

But then she tugged lightly at one of the uneven strands near the back of his neck. “You need a haircut.”

Hamzah groaned, slumping dramatically against the wall. “I just got my hair done, and now you wanna chop it off? You’re fucked up.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can stop by my dad’s shop. I’ll tell him to fix it up for you.”

Hamzah immediately sat up straighter, brows lifting in mild alarm. “Your dad?”

“Yeah,” she said, completely nonchalant. “What, you scared?”

Hamzah rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I dunno. I feel like he already thinks I’m weird.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Why would he think that?”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up. “Because I am weird! And I always say the wrong thing! And I— I dunno, I feel like dads don’t usually like me.”

She laughed softly, leaning down a little. “Well, lucky for you, he doesn’t hate you. He actually thinks you’re funny.”

Hamzah blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she smirked. “But now that you’re all nervous about it, maybe I should warn him that you’re a weirdo before you show up.”

Hamzah groaned again, covering his face with his hands. “Forget the haircut. I’ll just grow it out, become a new person. Change my name. Start a new life.”

She tugged at his hair again. “Oh, shut up. You’re coming.”

Hamzah sighed heavily, letting his hands drop. He looked up at her again, still slightly wary. “…Fine. But if your dad actually does think I’m weird, I’m blaming you.”

She grinned. “Deal.”

I accidentally deleted something I’ve been working very hard on since last night and I’m so sick so this is very lazy but I’m so upset pls

@issysh3ll

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @b1gba113r @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo

[withwritersblock]

More Hearts Than Mine - Her Family's Christmas

~More Hearts Than Mine by Ingrid Andress~

Author's Note: Happy holidays! I love you all. I hope you all are enjoying some amazing treats! Summary: Luke spends Christmas Eve with her family Warnings: nothing too bad? Word Count: 5,997 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

Christmas was a huge deal in her family. Last year, she thought it was too soon to have Luke come to her family’s party and he agreed. But this year she decided it would be best to introduce him to her extended family. He’s already briefly met her uncles and her grandparents but nothing like a full family party.

Nothing like all of her aunts and uncles, grandparents, and little cousins all in one house. How fantastic. She loved her family of course, but everyone in one house? How fantastic.

She was anxious that it was going to be a hard holiday. Not that they wouldn’t like Luke, she knew that they were going to love him. But she was worried about the never ending extremely personal questions. Especially the questions about marriage or kids. She has to constantly remind her family that they are twenty-one years old and not everyone wants to get married in their early twenties.

Luke was standing in the bathroom, running his fingers through his hair as he was trying to style it. She walked past him, pulling some drawers open again to see if there were anything else she needed to pack. 

He smiled softly as he pulled his hands away from his hair. He turned on the water to rinse his hands of the gel. “Baby?” he asked softly, raising his eyebrows. She hummed as she pushed the drawers shut as she walked away from him. Quickly, he wiped his hands before he followed after her. “Baby?” he asked again. She spun on her heel and met his gaze. 

A long huff fell from her lips. “Come ‘ere,” he mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her frame. He pulled her body towards him. Her entire body relaxed in his arms as he ran his hand slowly up and down her back. “It’s only two days,” he mumbled before he pressed his lips to the top of her head. 

“There’s just so many of them,” she muttered against his chest. He chuckled as he leaned back slightly, keeping his arms around her. Looking up towards him, her lips fell into a dramatic pout. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers for a second. Y/N leaned her head against his chest.

“You have me, it’ll be okay,” he expressed as he slowly dipped his hand beneath her shirt to comfort her while delicately gliding his fingertips across her skin.

“What time did we say we would be at my parents?” she asked softly. 

“Eight,” he mumbled, “We should probably leave soon.” 

Pulling her head back, she looked up towards him. Her lips fell into a pout again. He raised his hand up as he delicately ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “We should leave in–” he trailed off as he glanced towards the clock on the wall, “fifteen minutes,” he mumbled. That’s all the permission she needed. She took a hold of his neck as she pulled him towards her kissing him urgently.

He smiled into the kiss as he reached down and took a hold of her thighs; lifting her up in a swift movement as he guided her towards their bedroom. “God, I’m going to need you to kiss me a lot in the next few days,” she mumbled after she pulled away. Her hands found his hair, she tugged slightly at the curls. Messing up the curls that he perfected for the last ten minutes. He didn’t care.

“Whatever you need, my love,” he mumbled before he urgently pressed his lips against hers again. Her lips parted allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth as Luke delicately placed her down onto their bed. 

“I am not kissing you in front of your family though,” he muttered before he pressed his lips against her jawline, lowering his lips towards her neck, carefully not to leave any marks on her body. She giggled as her hands continued to tug at his curls as she tilted her head back. Slowly, she glided her hands across his cheeks, desperate for his lips to meet hers again. 

~~

They only had ten minutes left of their car ride and she was singing softly along to the Billie Eilish song playing in the background. Luke was driving as he glided his hand up and down her thigh as they were sitting at a light. 

“How’s Jasmine doing since her breakup?” Luke asked as he met Y/N’s gaze. She let out a huff of air. 

“I’m just happy that douchebag has nothing to do with Jasmine and EJ anymore. But she’s good I think. She’s not good at sharing any emotions.” she explained as her gaze lowered towards his lips for a second. The light turned green and he drove ahead. His thumb rubbed soothing along the fabric of her jeans. 

“Hopefully seeing you will help her,” he said as he turned down the street that led to her childhood house. 

“Hopefully,” she mumbled as her attention switched towards the familiar trees of her hometown street. She missed it, a lot more than she would like to admit. “I should also warn you, my mom goes a little nuts with the decorating.” she explained as they pulled up closer to her house. He nodded as his eyes landed on the elaborate light show that was happening outside of the house. There were people standing outside, admiring the lights.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbled, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. Carefully, he parked in the small gravel part of the driveway as his eyes were still admiring the flashing light show. Her own gaze admired the lights, it was the same set up as the past few years but every year she falls in love with it more and more. 

He turned the car off as he shifted his gaze towards her. She smiled softly, “Are you ready?” he asked. Taking in a deep breath, she nodded. He reached his hand over, resting it onto her cheek. His thumb glided along the warm skin of her cheek. Leaning towards her, he delicately pressed his lips against hers.

“Now I am,” she mumbled. He nodded as they both climbed out of the car. She smiled towards her former neighbors who were still standing and admiring the lights. Luke loosely wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked towards the trunk to grab their things for the few days. Reaching down, she tried to take a hold of the bags but Luke quickly took both of them before Y/N shut the trunk. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she led the way towards the house. He smiled softly as he followed after her. She quickly rang the doorbell waiting for someone to let them inside. It didn’t take long for her sister to pull the door open.

“Thank god you’re here,” Jasmine said barely above a whisper before she walked back towards the living room. Y/N frowned slightly as she carefully stepped inside. To her surprise, her parents were sitting on the couch wearing matching red and white pajamas. “You have to tell them this is ridiculous,” she expressed pointing towards the other pajama set. 

“Oh my god,” she mumbled as she began to laugh. Her dad was frowning as he was sitting beside her mother but he was happy because she was happy wearing it. 

Her mother stood up and excitedly jogged around the couch to hug her eldest daughter. Her father stood up and began to walk towards Luke. He held out his hands to take one of the bags. “How are you doing, kid?” Her dad asked Luke as the pair walked towards the stairs to head up towards her room. Y/N smiled softly as she watched them. 

“How’s my girl?” her mother asked her as she kept her arm around her body. 

“Good, tired. Been a long day,” Y/N mumbled as she tilted her head against her mother’s shoulder.

“I’ve been wrapping presents all day, I forgot he had a game today! How did that go?” her mother asked. Y/N explained briefly how the afternoon game went before she saw Luke and her father reemerge from the stairs. Luke smiled towards her mother as he offered a hug. She smiled widely as she accepted the hug. “You feeling alright, Luke?” she asked him.

He pulled away and smiled politely towards her. “I’m doing good, thank you for letting me join you guys,” he expressed.

“Oh of course. Your brother is still with his girlfriend’s family right? If he needs a place to visit, he is more than welcome to join us,” she explained. Luke chuckled softly as he glanced towards Y/N.

“He’s all good, thank you Mrs. Y/L/N,” he mumbled as he met EJ’s gaze. He simply nodded before looked back towards his phone; a grin on his lips.

“Uncle Jonathan bought everyone these matching pajamas, so I expect you guys all to be wearing them on Christmas Day,” her mother explained as she pointed a finger towards each of her children, “There’s a set for you too, Luke,” she said as she pointed towards him before she walked passed him towards the kitchen. 

Luke’s eyes widened slightly as Y/N walked towards him. Delicately, she rested her hand onto his chest. “Aren’t you happy you joined us?” she mumbled as she pressed her lips against his cheek before she tilted her head against his shoulder. He forced a tight lip smile on his lips as he took a deep breath. He loosely wrapped his arm around her waist. 

“Get ready,” her father teased as he raised his eyebrows as he followed his wife towards the kitchen. 

“Yeah, what he said,” EJ said while shoving his phone into his pocket, “She goes nuts around Christmas,” EJ elaborated as he shifted his gaze towards the TV showing Santa Paws. 

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she glanced towards Luke. “Let’s go get changed,” she mumbled towards him. He nodded as he let her guide him towards the stairs. 

After a few seconds, they reached her room. She shut the door behind them and let out a long drawn out breath. His back was pressed against the door as he watched her zip open her back to pull out a pair of shorts and a long sleeve shirt. “Baby,” he let out softly. She only let out a hum as a reply.

He scanned her frame as she took a deep breath as she rested her hands onto her hips. Pressing his lips together, he took a few steps towards her. “Baby,” he let out again as he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist. Luke pulled her back against his chest. He rested his hand onto her shoulder, as she tilted her head back against his chest. “Breathe,” he mumbled as he delicately pressed his lips against her shoulder. 

After a few seconds, she took deep breath. “I am breathing,” she mumbled. He smiled softly as he brushed a few pieces of hair away from her neck. Delicately, he pressed his lips against her neck for a second. “Thank you for being here,” she mumbled. 

“Always,” he mumbled before he reluctantly stepped away from her to change into something more comfy for the remainder of the night. 

After several minutes, they returned to the main level of the house to see her dad and EJ both carrying two pizza boxes each from the front door. “Dad cooked tonight,” EJ said teasingly as they both walked towards the kitchen to place the pizzas onto the counter.

~~~

It was early, they were both used to waking up before the sun comes up because of school and his morning skate. They were laying facing one another, his hand was gliding along the center of her back. His fingertips grazed along her skin in a figure eight pattern. Her hand glided through his hair, twisting a few pieces between her fingers. 

“How does this usually go?” he asked softly. Inching towards him, she pouted her lips.

“Everyone starts showing up at noon and then we mingle for several hours until my mother decides that we can start eating,” she explained softly, “And then we play games to entertain the little ones and then they leave to just do it all over again on Christmas Day,” 

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” he mumbled as his gaze lowered towards her lips. Her lips curled upward slightly.

“It’s not too bad because we can disappear up here when we need a break,” she mumbled. He smiled as he stifled a laugh. “It’s just loud, all of the time.”

“It’ll be okay,” he mumbled as he leaned towards her, kissing her softly. 

A hum fell from her lips as she deepened the kiss as she parted her lips slightly. His hand tightened on her hip as he slowly pushed her down onto her back. Both of her hands took a hold of his cheeks. 

“This is going to help me a lot today, thank you,” she let out quickly before she kissed him urgently again. He giggled against her lips as his thumb rubbed against her skin soothingly. Her fingers glided through his hair as he slowly began to kiss her more urgently. 

His hand began to glide up her side, her body erupted in goosebumps under his touch. His hands started to toy with the waistband of her shorts, debating on tugging them off of her frame. He waited for her to tell him no, but she didn’t. Instead, he ran his hand up her back. 

After a few minutes, Luke reluctantly pulled away, softly pecking her lips as he leaned away. Her lips fell into a pout as she leaned towards him again. “If we don’t stop right now, baby, we’ll regret it later,” he mumbled as he leaned towards her pecking her lips again. 

Her lips fell into a pout as she pulled him towards her again. He smiled against her lips as they kissed for a few more seconds. 

“You’re right, I love you,” she mumbled against his lips. 

He leaned back looking over her features, “I love you,” he whispered before he laid onto his side, pulling her body towards him. His lips delicately pressed against her shoulder. “What time do we need to start getting ready?” he asked barely above a whisper. 

“Another hour at the latest,” she mumbled as she shut her eyes. He pressed his lips against her shoulder again as he ran his hand along her side. 

“Perfect,” he mumbled as he brushed a few pieces of hair off of her neck. Delicately pressed his lips against her neck, slowly gliding his tongue along the hot skin. 

A hum fell from her lips as she rested her hand on top of Luke’s as she glided her hand up and down his arm. Everything was always perfect when it was just them. Her back pressed against his chest and his hands roaming her frame. His lips pressed against her hot skin.

“Careful Lukey,” she mumbled. He hummed against her skin as she reached her hand up and ran her fingers through his hair. 

“I’m being careful,” he mumbled against her skin, a smile forming to his lips. 

“You’re the one that said we had to stop,” she explained teasingly. Slowly, he continued to kiss the skin of her neck as he slowly pressed wet kisses down; against her shoulder down her arm. He interlocked their fingers as he continued to kiss down her arm. “Lukey,” she mumbled. 

Luke began to trail his lips back up her arm. Biting her bottom lip, she slowly slipped away from his grasp. “Hey,” he let out as he watched her stand up from the bed. She adjusted the tanktop and the shorts on her frame as she looked towards him. He was laying on his side, his cheeks were flushed red.

“I need to go shower before–” she trailed off as she admired the abs muscles tensing as he leaned back on his elbows. Taking a deep breath, she dragged her tongue across her bottom lip. The only thing that was on her mind was taking the remainder of her clothes off and his off at the same time. Her breathing quickened as her eyes continued to trail his frame. It never got old the way his body looked. Mouth watering.

“Before we have sex in my childhood bedroom,” she said as her voice got quieter. Luke chuckled as he covered his face with his hands.

Y/N quickly slipped out of the bedroom, leaving Luke alone in her bedroom. Lifting her gaze up she met EJ’s gaze as they nearly bumped into one another. Clearing her throat, she pressed her lips together as her eyes widened. 

“It’s weird seeing someone else awake this early,” EJ mumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest. She nodded as she glanced towards the door. EJ’s eyebrows furrowed harshly as he stared towards his older sister. “Oh no, were you guys doing stuff in there?” he asked quietly, his face scrunched up in disgust. 

“No!” she whispered loudly. 

“We share a wall, Y/N!” he said as he pointed towards the doors. 

“We weren’t doing anything! Now I need to shower,” she expressed as she walked towards the bathroom.

“Why’s that? Huh?!” he whispered as he jogged passed her towards the stairs.

“What was so interesting about your phone yesterday, huh?” she whispered loudly towards him. He spun around to meet her gaze. 

“Touche,” he said while squinting his eyes slightly before he further climbed down the steps. She chuckled as she stepped into the bathroom.

~~~

It was a little after twelve and they were all waiting for the first collection of her family to arrive. She was sitting beside Luke. He was wearing a tan quarter zip with dark wash jeans. She was wearing a green sweater dress. The  Her head was rested onto his shoulder as his hand was rested low on her furthest thigh. He was delicately running his thumb along her skin soothingly.

Y/N watched EJ grin towards his phone as he was typing quickly, obviously texting someone he was interested in. She was planning on bugging him about it later but there was a loud knock against the front door. Before anyone had a chance to go pull the door open, her Uncle Jonathan stepped inside. His wife, Aunt Lola, and their four young children follow quickly in pursuit.

“So it begins,” she mumbled as she leaned towards Luke and pressed her lips against his cheek. He smiled softly as he squeezed her leg. She brought her thumb up and wiped away some of the lipstick left on his cheek. 

Slowly, they stood up and she adjusted the dress lower on her frame. He kept his hand on her center back as he looked down and met her gaze. “Breathe,” he mouthed towards her as he widened his eyes. She smirked as she took a dramatic deep breath.

“Oi! Where’s my first niece!” Jonathan shouted from the kitchen. She walked towards the kitchen with Luke by her side. “There she is!” he shouted as he happily stepped towards her. 

“Hi Uncle J,” she mumbled as she reached over and hugged him. Looking over towards Lola, she smiled politely. Lola was always much quieter than Jonathan but they blended perfectly. 

Her little cousins were already running around, bumping into everyone. Y/N clenched her jaw as she smiled politely towards Jonathan. 

“Hey Luke,” Jonathan said as he offered his hand towards him. Luke smiled as he took the handshake. “You guys are killing it this year,” he said, “How’s that shoulder? How’s your brother’s face, that shit didn’t look good.” he conintued while meeting Luke’s gaze.

Luke’s mouth opened and then clamped shut quickly. He chuckled nervously as he wrapped his arm tighter around Y/N. His hand rested onto her hip. “Shoulder’s great, Quinn’s getting better; yeah. We’re good yeah,” he mumbled as he bunched some of the fabric in his hand.

“That’s awesome! I mean yeah, it sucked not having you but how about that new coach of yours–” Jonathan continued but Y/N tuned out the conversation as one of her little cousins shoved against her. 

“Y/N! Come play Mario Kart!” her little cousin Benny said as he took a hold of her hand. Her eyes widened as she looked down towards him.

“Later, buddy. See if Jas wants to play!” she encouraged. Without any argument, he ran away in the small house. 

Luke tightened his grip on her waist, almost as a call for help, “–That game the other day was tough, man. You were great, Jack–it was so unlucky,” Jonathan was still talking when she turned back into the conversation. Luke was politely nodding along. “Oh man, how long have you two been together? Two years, almost three?”

“Almost two years,” Y/N peeped out. 

“Damn, Luke, you’ve stuck around with our Y/N for two years? Wow,” Jonathan said while laughing. He smacked his hand against Luke’s shoulder so hard that Luke nearly fell forward. 

“I’m going to scream,” she mumbled. Luke glided his hand up her back trying to be soothing but he understood why she was stressed about it. “Can we disappear?” she asked softly as she took a hold of his chin and forced his gaze towards her. His eyes widened as he scanned her features.

“I don’t think we can,” he let out barely above a whisper. Y/N’s lips fell into a pout as she glided her hand down his chest.

“God, how did I survive this without you for twenty years?” she mumbled before she started walking towards the living room to see her grandparents enter the house. EJ shot up from the couch to help with the food that they were carrying. Y/N pointed towards them, letting Luke know that they should also assist.

“I’ve got these, Elijah. There’s more in the car,” her grandfather said simply as him and her grandmother walked deeper into the small house. EJ quickly jogged out of the house with Y/N and Luke quickly behind them. 

It was freezing outside, there was nearly a foot of snow on the ground. But it was the first time she was able to breathe in the last fifteen minutes.

“How are you handling Y/L/N’s Christmas, Lukey?” EJ shouted as he walked towards the trunk of the SUV. Luke chuckled as he let Y/N slip away from his grasp.

“Y/N said loud and she was right, it’s loud.” he said while smiling softly. EJ barked out a laugh. 

“We’re still missing Uncle Mark and his seven kids,” EJ mumbled as he took three trays of food. Luke’s eyes widened as his mouth fell open.

“Seven?! You didn’t say seven?” Luke let out while laughing awkwardly.

“By seven he means triplet toddlers.” she explained. Luke took a deep breath.

“You did tell me that,” Luke mumbled as Y/N handed him two trays. 

“They’re practically seven children combined, insane little feisty chihuahuas that bite! They bite!” EJ explained as he walked towards the front door of the house that Jasmine was holding open. Luke awkwardly held the trays as he watched her hold one against her chest as she closed the trunk. 

“I would definitely keep your hands up high,” Y/N said teasingly as they reemerged into the house. Jasmine shut the door behind them; practically dodging the kids and other adults.

It took another thirty minutes before Mark, his wife, and their three children all showed up. The three toddlers quickly found EJ and began climbing him and asking him to hold them. Luke and Y/N were practically glued to each other’s side.

They were sitting in the living room with a few of her little cousins playing a board game at the center of the room. Jasmine was always good with the young cousins, she was so patient. She was helping them with the game and letting them win. 

“Y/N! Can you come help me with this?” her mother shouted loudly from the kitchen. She shifted her gaze towards Luke and he nodded as he glided his hand off of her thigh.

“You’ll be alright?” she asked softly. He nodded encouragingly as she continued walking through the living room towards the kitchen. She smiled towards her Aunt Maggie who was drinking a wine while watching over the living room. 

She walked into the kitchen to see that the dinner was still being prepared. “Hey honey, I need you to help me with that,” her mother said as she pointed towards the unmashed potatoes. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. 

“Are you sure?” she asked softly. Her mother laughed.

“Honey, you can’t mess up mashing potatoes, I’ll keep an eye on you,” her mother teased. Y/N smiled softly as she began to mash the potatoes. “Maggie, what do you think of Luke?” her mother asked. Y/N poster straightened as her eyes widened. She continued to mash the potatoes. 

“I think he’s a cutie pie, holds on to you for dear life,” Maggie said as she walked over to the kitchen happily. Y/N chuckled nervously as she kept her gaze in front of her. “He seems madly in love with our Y/N, doesn’t he?” 

“Oh, he definitely is. She’s going to marry him someday,” her mother said softly. 

Y/N felt a grin forming to her lips as her cheeks got hot very quickly. “Mom,” she scolded slightly.

“What?! We adore Luke, he’s perfect. Look at him,” she said pointing towards the living room. 

Y/N frowned slightly as she shifted her gaze behind her to see Luke sitting on the couch. Her triplet cousins were surrounding him. He grinned as he was nodding along to the toddler babbles. Luke was bouncing one of the toddlers on his knees as the other one was showing him her shoes. He was smiling widely and replying the best way he could.

Her lips curled upward as she watched him with her youngset cousins. Her heart felt as though it literally swelled as she watched him surrounded by little kids. Her lips fell into a small pout with so much admiration. He wasn’t annoyed, just pure joy surrounded by the children.

Luke shifted his gaze towards her, he smiled widely as he pointed towards the children surrounding him. Mouthing something along the lines of they like me. 

Suddenly the thought of him as a father flashed into her mind. Seeing him cuddle their own child. Swaying back and forth, a wide grin on his lips. An image of chasing after their own rambunctious toddler. Her lips quivered slightly as she continued to admire him.

Her mother spun around to look towards her daughter, “Talk about madly in love, Maggie,” she mumbled towards Maggie as Y/N was still staring towards Luke. “My daughter has never looked like that,” she expressed.

“I don’t think any of us have ever looked like that,” Maggie said as she finished her wine glass. 

Y/N pulled herself together as she looked towards Maggie before she looked back towards her mom. “What?” she let out barely above a whisper. 

Maggie walked towards Y/N and the bottle of wine beside the giant bowl of potatoes. “You are so in love, my dear. You’re glowing,” she mumbled before she poured more wine into her glass. “You’re oozing happy,”

Y/N giggled as she returned to masahing the potatoes. “I’m not oozing happy,” she mumbled. 

After another twenty minutes, she was finally freed from the kitchen towards the living room. Luke was no longer sitting in the living room. Her eyes widened as she panickingly looking around the house trying to find him. 

She took a deep breath as she peaked through the window outside towards the front yard. Walking towards the window she saw EJ and Luke having a snow ball fight outside with all of the young cousins outside. 

Lola and Bethany were filming their kids enjoying the snow with the older boys. Y/N walked towards the door and stepped outside, rubbing her hands against her arms.

Luke lifted his gaze, held his hands up in a timeout motion as he jogged towards her. “Hey beautiful, wanna join?” he asked with a wide grin on his lips, he was slightly out of breath. His nose was bright red and his cheeks and his ears looked as though they were going to fall off. 

“No, no it’s okay. I’m glad you guys are having fun,” she mumbled as she rested her hand onto his arm for a moment. “Do you need a scarf, your nose is really red,” she mumbled while running her hand up and down his arm. He shook his head while laughing. 

“Uh no–” he pointed towards Benny who was scooping up another snowball. “Your cousins love hitting my face but I think EJ and I are winning,” Luke said as he placed his hands onto his hips. 

“Lukey! I’m getting destroyed over here!” EJ shouted as he jogged away from the six snowballs flying at him. 

Luke smirked as he reached towards her. “Luke, no,” she let out while chuckling nervously. He smirked again as he took a hold of her waist, lifting her up from the ground. “I am in a dress! Luke!” she said while laughing, she gripped the ends of her dress.

The kids started giggling as they launched snowballs towards Luke and Y/N. “Luke Hughes!” she began to kick her feet forward. “Lukey, stop!” she let out while laughing as she felt another snowball hit her chest. 

Slowly, he delicately placed her down on the ground. He dragged his hands across her sides quickly as she spun around and looked up towards him. Scowling slightly, she stared towards him. He pursed his lips forward as he fought the smile on his lips. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered before she walked quickly back towards the front door. He barked out a laugh before he dodged another snowball. 

He followed after her, “Are you okay?” he asked softly. She spun around meeting his eye, rolling her eyes playfully. 

“I’m wet and cold. You owe me,” she mumbled teasingly as she lowered her gaze towards his lips. 

Quickly, she walked back inside, crossing her arms over her chest. His mouth fell open as he bit his bottom lip fighting off a grin. He glanced towards her aunts in teh window before his eyes widened slightly. His smile faltered before he went back to the snowball fight.

~~~

The following morning, they were still exhausted. “I don’t think I physically can handle another day of this,” she mumbled as she continued to trace her fingertips along his body. Her manicured fingertips created goosebumps all along his skin. His hand glided along her back, his hand dipped beneath her shirt, feeling her skin.

“Just have to make it to tonight,” he let out as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. She glided her hand up his chest as she slowly lifted her head up from his chest. She looked down towards him. Her hand rested onto his cheek as she glided her thumb across his cheek. A small smile formed to her lips. “What?” he asked softly, his lips curling upward.

“Everyone loves you,” she whispered. His eyes flickered over her features.

“Yeah?” he let out as his hand glided up into her hair. She hummed as she leaned down kissing him delicately. “Really?” he mumbled against her lips.

“I think my Aunt Maggie’s exact words were ‘He’s a cutie pie, holds on to you for dear life,” she repeated, quietly mocking her aunt’s voice. His mouth fell open as he fought off a laugh.

“I do not hold onto you for dear life,” he let out as he glided his hand lower on her frame. She smirked before she leaned down and kissed him delicately. Luke reached down and took a hold of her thigh, pulling her onto his lap. She giggled against his lips as she adjusted the blanket on her frame. 

“They also said I’m madly in love with you,” she explained between kisses. He grinned as he glided his hands along her sides.

“Now that’s true,” he mumbled before taking a hold of her neck and pulling her towards him to kiss her desperately.

“Don’t lie, my love. You do hold onto me for dear life,” she mumbled against his lips. He chuckled as he quickly rolled her onto her back. Luke climbed on top of her as he kissed her urgently. He kept a hold of one of her thighs as he held himself up with his hand beside her head. She giggled loudly as he started peppering kisses along her jawline.

“Maybe I do,” he mumbled as he trailed his lips down her neck. 

“Careful, Lukey,” she let out while giggling, her hands running through his hair as he continued to lower his lips down her frame. He pushed the tank top strap off of her shoulder as he continued suck and swirl his tongue along her skin.

“Didn’t you say that I owed you,” he mumbled as he slowly trailed his lips up her neck again. His hand glided up her thigh, toying with the fabric of her shorts. Her breathing quickened as she tilted her head back.

“Lukey,” she let out breathlessly. He hummed against her neck before he lifted his head up to meet her eye. She took a hold of his cheeks as she ran her thumbs across his skin. 

He leaned down and kissed her urgently, “This is all I want,” she mumbled against his lips, he hummed as he began to trail his lips down her neck. “But we cannot do this when my little brother is sleeping–” she explained and he instantly rolled onto his back. He chuckled awkwardly as he stared towards the ceiling. “He’s like right over there,” she let out barely above a whisper as she rested her hand onto his chest. 

“Baby,” he mumbled while laughing as he met her gaze. “I didn’t need to think about that,” he explained while fighting a grin. 

There was a loud knock against her door. “Can I come in here?” EJ shouted from outside the door. Y/N adjusted the tank top on her frame as she ran her fingers through her hair. Looking down she met Luke’s gaze and nodded slightly.

She stood up and ran towards the door and pulled it open. Dramatically, Y/N waved her hand to allow him to step inside. “Can I ask for some advice?” he asked as he began to pace back and forth. Luke sat up slightly, adjusting the blanket on his frame. Y/N nodded as she climbed onto the bed, and draped the blanket over her own lap. Luke rested his hand onto her thigh as he began to glide up and down the inside of her thigh. 

“You guys are like the perfect couple, right? I mean you guys are disgustingly perfect,” EJ began, “There’s this girl who’s perfect. She’s gorgeous and funny and smart. She’s literally the most perfect woman I have ever met and she–she likes me. Like she has feelings for me and I’ve never had someone even think about me like that and she likes me. I don’t want to screw this up and I need help on how to not screw this up. Because you two like breathe and know what each other’s thinking and that’s not normal so I need help.” he ranted. 

Luke pressed his lips together, fighting off a grin as he shifted his gaze towards Y/N. Luke patted his hand against the mattress. “Listen and learn, EJ,” he expressed somewhat teasingly.

[mushies-stories]

Showering with TF141 for the first time headcanons

TF141Xreader

Warnings: little suggestive, 18+

John Price

Showering with John the first time made you feel like you had been doing it wrong your whole life. 

He has separate shampoo, conditioner and body wash. None of it smells too strong but over is a more masculine scent. He even suggested that maybe you bring some of your own shower supplies over to keep at his place.

He let you take up most of the warm water, the selfless and generous man he is. ^v^

Pampers you. John washes your hair and body without question. 

Thinks grooming each other is not only romantic but also is a strong form of bonding and closeness. He craves your attention and presence and showering together is perfect for that.

He uses a loofah to scrub your body, standing a little closer while he washes your back. His hands are firm but gentle as they caress your body and lather it in soapy suds. 

You lean with your head and back to his chest while his hands massage over your breasts and stomach. Teasing you just a little, fingers grazing along your nipples a little too much as he presses you closer against him. 

When his hand dips between your thighs and he runs his fingers between your folds you can’t contain the little moan you let out. He smiles into the crook of your neck and does it again and chuckles when your back arches, pressing your ass against him.

“Feel good love?” he teases. his hand abandoned your heat to rinse the rest of the soap off your body. With little sighs of protest from you. 

When he washes your hair, his hands are too gentle and so delicate that you could hardly believe they could ever be used for violence. He takes care not to snag any tangles and works them out with his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut when he starts to massage your scalp.

He makes sure not to get the soap in your eyes.

Is more than delighted when you take to washing him as well. Smiles and hands over the loofah. 

Maybe it's just me.. But… I imagine John standing in front of you with your back against the cold shower wall, his arms caging you in while you trail the loofah along his skin. 

It actually takes everything in him not to get to hard and fuck you. He had time for that later. Once you finally moved in he couldn't see a reason why he couldn't shower with you every chance he could get. 

Lets you use his bathrobe and laughs at how big it was on you. Make a mental note to buy you one of your own in your favorite color, but fluffier. 

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

At first Simon wasn’t sure if showering together would be that good of an idea. He already took up a lot of space. When you finally convinced him and managed to actually fit you both in he was a little surprised. 

You fit but he didn't get as much of the water, otherwise he would take it all.

To your horror Simon uses a 2in1 shampoo and conditioner BUT he does have separate body wash. 

Nothing too extreme or strong for scent. Body Wash is like  irish spring or something but even lighter.

He was going to just take care of himself real fast then focus on you but you stopped him, hand on his arm and reaching for the bodywash yourself. You ask him with those sweet eyes of yours if you can help. He nods silently and lets you do as you please. 

The only thing he has is a sad looking rag so you opt to just use your hands, rubbing the soap over his chest and shoulders, making him turn around so you can reach his back. 

(if you are brave and so desire, you may try and cop a feel, go ahead. Just be ready to get your wrist snatched as he whips back around with a glare.)

But overall he enjoys the attention, it's soothing and relaxing and he's groaning when you wash his hair. Your fingers raking across his scalp helps his mind slow down a little.  

Insists on repaying the favor, being as nice and gentle as you were, caressing your body in his large hands. He had an easier time washing your body than you did his, making sure to reach every little crevasse of your body.

He's tried really hard to be gentle with your hair. He doesn't want to pull on any tangles and ultimately fails. But he kisses your head every time he snagged his fingers in your hair.

“Sorry lovie… not meanin’ta tug so much.” he mumbles an apology. 

Simon decided he didn’t really mind showering together, you actually made it a much more enjoyable process, not just something for necessity. 

After the shower he gives you one of his white shirts that covers just below your ass to lounge in, just to see your still damp body through the thin fabric. 

John 'Soap' MacTavish

Johnny was the one who dragged you into the shower with him with one clear goal. To make you smell like him before you go out with your friends, he had to get up early and decided to stay home.

Only problem.. Mans uses 3in1… granted its extra scented and you won't be able to mistake it was meant for men. But still, your cringe at the thought of using it. Even though you complain the whole time he’s lathering your body up and chuckles at you. 

He doesn't even have a rag, just a true dude really, roughing it in the shower. Just uses his rough calloused hands that sends chills down your spine instead.

Is handsy, can't stop himself from groping your breasts and lingering a little too long between your thighs. Even nipping and kissing your shoulder once he washed your body off. 

You have to bat his hands away to make sure you're not late, knowing you still have to get ready. 

“M’sorry dove, just so pretty and naked for me.” he groans into your ear, holding your back to his chest, hands cupping your breasts. “Sure ya gotta go? Can't just stay’er with me?” he pleads with you. 

You firmly, while giggling from his kisses on your neck, tell him you can't.

When he washes your hair he puts a little too much in and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rely on Johnny to help you to the water. Teases you when you cling to him in your blinded state.

Honestly he wanted to ask you to wash him too but he knew you were running late so he did it himself quickly so you could get ready. 

Overall you don't mind his playfulness or his touchiness, with more time you would even indulge in it, but with better shower supplies. 

Drapes the towel over your shoulders and wraps you in his arms to keep you warm from the cold air.

good thing you at least had your makeup and outfit with.

You promise to buy a few new things for him, so you feel better about showering at his place. Then you'll make sure to give him the same treatment, with much more time. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle, like John, has separate products. The scent of his body wash is stronger but with a... spicy?? under-tone to it.

Showering with him is a little slow, and lazy. He normally likes to shower right when he gets up and this time you just happen to join him, wanting to spend as much time with him before he leaves for the day. Not like he was complaining.

Keeps you close so you both can enjoy as much of the warm water as possible. Holds you to his chest most of the time  

Goes to wash himself before you stop him and take the body wash from him with a small smile. His heart flutters when you softly ask if you could help, which he responds to with a tired smile and a nod.

He lets himself relax, enjoying your hands lathering his body in suds. You were gentle and a little hesitant at first but soon gained full confidence when he handed you the shampoo and asked you to wash his hair too. 

You do so happily. You scratch and massage his scalp, making him groan with delight as the relaxing sensation. 

Before you even think of washing yourself, he's doing the exact same thing and stealing the bodywash, telling you it was his turn.

He’s respectful, only gripping onto your hips a little and cupping your breasts for only a moment. He has work and can't give you the attention you deserve. 

But that doesn't stop him too much, still not able to resist grabbing your ass and pulling you in for a lazy kiss.

When he washes your hair, he practically has you falling back asleep while you lean against him. He decided he could just eat on his way to base, making sure you were clean and happy was currently his top priority now.

Takes a moment to hold you under the showerhead, relishing in the warm water and you against him before reluctantly turning the water off.

He only has towels, but they're big and cover most of your body.

While he dresses, you crawl back in bed. Naked and clean. Kyle smirks and tells you that you better be right there, just like that when he gets home tonight. And you happily obliged. 

“Just like that, got it? Want ya naked and ready yeah.” He instructs with a glint in his eye.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Sixteen

Eddie leans heavily on Steve as he walks. His whole body looks knobbly; he’s far too thin again, having clearly lost all of the weight he put on beforehand. His legs shake as he takes one tentative step after another, the blanket barely held together in Steve’s free hand, desperate to keep a little warmth for Eddie.

Steve is still favoring his injury a little when he walks, and that isn’t exactly helping things.

When they finally makes it to the stairs, Steve has to white knuckle the hand rail and take half of Eddie’s weight. Eddie struggles so much to pull himself up, one torturous step after another, and Steve’s foot really is a hindrance.

They really need to eat; especially Eddie, but he’s so crusted in filth he smells absolutely horrendous. His eyes look so sore too; Steve can’t ignore it, they have to get cleaned up. The last thing he needs is for Eddie to go through all of that only to die of a stupid fucking infection.

And thinking of that makes Steve remember that he’s just dipped his own injury in all that filth; he really needs to get cleaned up himself.

They finally make it, and Steve drops the blanket and helps Eddie over the edge of the tub and in, taking down the shower head so he can turn the water away while it warms up. Eddie just lies there, shivering with either cold or exertion or shock; or a mix of all three.

Steve uses his free hand to strip himself naked, his sweat pants are soaked to the knees in filth, the rest of him is pretty crusted from holding Eddie, he leaves all their dirty things in a heap, kicking it over into the corner of the bathroom with his uninjured foot.

Steve starts to rinse Eddie down, and he shifts under the feel of the warm water, eyes opening, “Stee.”

“Hey baby...lets get you cleaned up, okay?”

Eddie, with what looks like an extreme bit of effort, pulls himself up, making room. Steve gets in, kneeling between Eddie’s shaky calves.

Eddie doesn’t seem to have a single hair on his body anywhere; his head is completely bald, no eyebrows, nothing. It makes his ears look even more obviously pointed. His teeth haven’t changed either; just a tiny bit sharp. Steve grabs a flannel, resting the shower head for a second while he lathers it up.

Eddie’s head ridges are still there, but way less obvious than they were before. Steve finds them by touch, slightly raised lines on Eddie’s skull, but nothing else; like what would have once split has now healed over. Sealed.

Gone.

Steve works his way down, the water running down the drain a miserable black brown color that's leaving streaks on the bottom of the tub. Steve carefully cleans, but his eyes keep dipping; it’s kind of hard to miss the fact the Eddie doesn’t seem to have anything at all between his legs.

The filth comes off slowly, Steve using the flannel and shower head in tandem, scrubbing as gently as he can, “close your eyes baby,” Steve cleans around them carefully, wiping all the dried crud off the lids.

He cleans Eddie everywhere, the bumps of his ribs, between his toes, under his nails. Eddie still doesn’t have a belly button or nipples. His fingernails remain black almond shaped claws; his toenails though, look completely human, totally normal.

Steve finds he does have something between his legs, a narrow slit that was nearly invisible when Eddie was covered in crap. Steve cleans him there just as carefully, Eddie shifting his legs, lifting a thigh, to help, “Stee?”

“Nearly done baby,” Steve stands, putting the shower head back on the holder so he can quickly wash himself, taking a moment to carefully clean the area with the stitches, “you hungry? Food?”

“Food. Yes.”

Eddie leans forward, mouth open, letting the shower spray land on his tongue before closing and swallowing and doing it again, “thirsty?”

“Yes. Water.”

“Okay, we can do that next,” Steve finishes up, getting out of the tub carefully and toweling himself dry, before helping Eddie out on his incredibly shaky legs. Steve sits him on the lid of the toilet, ditching their toothbrushes into the sink so he can fill the cup with water.

Eddie, hand unsteady, drinks the whole thing in three long gulps. He does the same with the second. He sips the third more slowly while Steve dries himself off the rest of the way and leaves Eddie wrapped in a towel so he can find them some clothes. He also takes a minute to get out the first aid kit, propping his foot on the edge of the tub, he dabs disinfectant thoroughly over his stitches, “Stee ow?”

“No baby, it’s fine now. Promise.”

“Called promise?”

“Uhm...it means I tell many many many true? Like I promise it’s okay.”

Eddie cocks his head, and Steve’s heart feels tight in his chest with how much he missed him, how close they came to loosing him, “perfect true?”

Steve nods, “kinda’ yeah.” He packs the first aid kit away, “lets get you onto the bed, and I’ll go down and make-”

“No.”

“Eddie, you need to eat-”

Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, holding tight, “no.”

“Okay. Okay yeah, we go together.”

“To-gether.”

Eddie goes down the stairs on his ass, moving both feet together, dropping one step at a time, the same way he did when he had a tail. Steve doesn’t fight it, he just waits at the bottom. They can work on all of that shit another time. Stairs can be lesson three, after lifting with your knees, or something.

They hobble into the kitchen together, like the worlds shittest three legged race competitors, and Steve gets Eddie into a chair at the table in the breakfast nook. His heart sinks at the sight of the inside of the fridge; there’s fuck all food for Eddie, and what's in the crisper draw is either soft or fully gone off.

“I’ll get you some peas, be right back.”

Steve grabs a bag out of the freezer; Eddie looks so tired, slumped at the table in one of his sweaters and a pair of Steve’s sleep pants. Steve makes him a bowl of peas and sticks a spoon in it, putting it on the table.

Eddie takes a spoonful quite enthusiastically, then immediately pulls a face. He does chew, and he does swallow, but he’s clearly not impressed, “cold.”

“Yeah baby, they’re always cold.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, “bad.”

“Oh. Well...I’ll make them hot?”

Eddie nods, pushing the bowl back. Steve takes the bowl, swapping them into a pot with some water and putting them on to boil. He decides to make himself bacon and eggs in a second pan while he waits, since that’ll be fast and easy.

He keeps looking over at Eddie; he can’t help himself really. Steve’s half convinced that this is one of those horrible dreams, and that something fucking awful will happen any second now. He looks so ill; it’s amazing how much of a stark difference the lack of hair has made to his appearance; it's, somehow, more shocking than his legs.

Steve flips his bacon and shuffles his eggs, then looks over again at Eddie. He’s up. Steve waits, breath held, as Eddie takes a dozen, tentative and shuffling steps across the kitchen. Steve stands with his hands out, ready to dart forward. He can’t help but think of a toddler taking his first steps unaided. Eddie makes it to Steve, taking both hands for the last few steps, “that’s great baby. You have legs!”

Eddie smiles wanly, “legs good...food?”

He looks over Steve’s shoulder at the pan, “yeah, you want to try?”

Eddie nods eagerly, and Steve slides the bacon and eggs onto his plate, giving Eddie the fork. Eddie eats both rashers of bacon with his fingers, using his claw like nails to lift the hot food and blow on it before he shoves it in, then he eats the eggs with the fork.

Steve’s toast pops while Eddie’s eating, “food?” he asks with his mouth still full of egg.

“Yeah baby, here,” Steve spreads both pieces with jelly, and Eddie eats those too, leaning against the counter. He seems a little better suddenly, a little more alert maybe.

“Stee food now?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” Steve makes it all again, Eddie watching avidly where he’s propped up against the counter; on a hunch, Steve makes twice what he wants to eat, pleased when he’s right, and Eddie picks off his plate, eating more.

Eddie burps, then looks shocked that the noise just came out of him. Steve laughs so much his eyes water.

They both stand at the bottom of the stairs, and it feels like looking up at mount Everest.

“Okay, we can do this buddy.”

“Not budidy. Baby.”

Steve sighs, smiling, “you got it baby.”

After what feels to Steve like forty days and forty nights of toil, they make it to the top. Eddie is very unsteady on his feet, like his obvious exhaustion is making his coordination worse again.

“Clean teeth,” he tells Steve on their way to bed.

“In the morning. They’re not going to fall out if we miss it once,” and the bathroom feels about fifty million miles away at this point.

They climb into bed together, and Eddie is asleep pretty much instantly. He’s snoring softly, quiet, but enough for Steve to hear it clearly. It makes it feel real almost. A confirmation that Eddie is really here, that he’s different now. Eddie never used to make a sound when he was sleeping; and now he does. Eddie has a leg thrown over Steve’s, and that’s real too.

Part Eighteen

[optimist-pine]

Bodyguard

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: people are naked, but it's barely even borderline suggestive

Summary: You need a bath, but there's no way you're going alone

Era: Season 1, the Quarry

Your skin practically crawls from the buildup of dirt, sweat, and who knows what else that's managed to accumulate over the past three days. You still haven't quite adjusted to the reality of not having on-demand access to a hot shower and your scalp is all oily, and itchy, and eugh - gross. A little shiver runs down your spine at the thought - well, maybe that's just more sweat...

The bold shades of the sunset are beginning to fade as you make your way to the Dixon brothers' camp. Currently they're the closest thing you have to neighbors, your tent being between theirs and the rest of the group. You're dying for a quick dip and rinse in the pond, but you don't actually want to die for a bath, and you know it's a dumb idea to go alone. Everyone else seems busy though and you've come to the conclusion that Daryl seems to be your only option.

Most of the others actively avoid the brothers, and you can't say you blame them. Merle's constantly stirring up trouble and being a general annoyance, and Daryl's quick to jump to his defense. But, on the rare occasion when Daryl isn't being held under Merle's thumb, you catch glimpses of a very different person than what he usually puts out.

He's sitting in an old lawn chair by the side of a fire when you approach, poking a stick around in the coals. Little sparks shoot off where the fresh evening air hits them, and the smell of woodsmoke fills your lungs.

"Hey." You greet. A spot of doubt begins to arise within you, but you quickly stamp it out. With recent events you were beginning to discover that there wasn't much room left for second guessing or overthinking anymore.

"Need somethin'?" He asks, eyes flicking up to you for a moment before returning to the flames.

You hang your thumbs in your belt loops, fingers tapping against your hips. "If you're not busy, I was hoping maybe you could go down to the water with me? I'd ask someone else but they all seem rather occupied at the moment... and I don't think Shane'd let me go alone." You say.

He looks up, jaw set awfully close to a scowl. "I ain't gonna be yer damn bodyguard." He huffs.

"No- I don't want you to watch me or anything like that- I guess I'm just asking for companionship?" You reply. "You could do whatever you're gonna do here, but just do it down there?" You hike your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the pond.

He stays silent, but a sudden chorus of laughter flows out from the direction of the rest of the group. You study the way the firelight smooths out his rough edges, and you can't help but wonder if the look in his eyes is just boredom or if it's really loneliness.

"Unless you prefer Merle's company, then by all means I'll leave ya to it." You continue, trying your best to ignore Merle sawing logs in the tent, and erase the image of his hand too close to his crotch from your mind.

He jams the stick into the dirt hard enough that it remains standing when he lets go. "A'ight. Lemme get 'mah stuff."

"Awesome, I'll be over at my tent when you're ready." You smile, pleased and a little surprised that you'd managed to get him to say yes. Admittedly, Merle wasn't so bad when he was passed out, but it was reassuring to know that you were at least preferred company over an unconscious jerk.

---

Dirt and gravel crunch under your boots as the two of you walk, your knapsack bouncing steadily against your back with each step. "Thanks for coming with me. I'm not necessarily afraid of the dark or anything, but there's a lot worse things in the woods now than just coyotes." You explain. "And it's just nice not to be alone."

He simply grunts in response.

Good thing you didn't ask him along for his conversational skills.

When you reach the edge of the water you find a rock close to the shore to set out clean clothes and a towel. You see Daryl settle down, back propped against a boulder as he starts rummaging around in his own bag. "Whatcha gonna work on?" You ask.

He pulls out a whetstone and a couple large hunting knives. "Cleanin' mah tools." He replies.

You begin to undress, but a feeling of uncertainty causes you to pause. "Man, I wish I didn't feel like he's sitting up there right now with those binoculars..."

"Who? Shane?" He asks sounding surprised.

"Yeah." You shudder. "Guy gives me the creeps."

You hear scrape of the knife grinding against the sharpener. "Well, hurry up an'ere won' be anythin' ta see." He says.

"Yeah..." You keep your eye on Daryl while you finish, but he doesn't lift his gaze even once beyond sharpening his knife. "I won't be long." You assure him as the cool water rises around you.

As soon as you're far enough in you dive forward, the rush of water instantly reviving and refreshing your whole body as it flows past. You rise upwards as giddiness fills you and you break the surface with a laugh. "This is heavenly!" You gasp. You continue diving and twirling, every sore muscle and painful bruise easing away.

You pause to catch your breath and a small splash has you immediately alert. You left your knife up on the shore with Daryl, but you hadn't heard any sounds of alarm from him so surely it's not a walker. But when you look to the shore the sight has you almost equally as shocked. Daryl is chest deep in the water - bare chested that is - ripples being sent out across the still expanse as he sinks further in.

"Hey!" You yell. "I asked you out here because I thought you weren't some sorta pervert!" You hope it's dark enough that nothing in the water is visible because he's only getting closer.

The moon is full and bright, and the way it reflects off the water makes him look almost ethereal. "Can't protect ya if I'm up'ere an' yer alla'way out 'ere." He reasons.

"I don't need protecting." You roll your eyes. "And all the weapons are up there, Dixon!" You send a splash of water directly into his face.

He returns the splash. "Looked like I was missin' out on alla fun." He shrugs. "'Sides, ya never know when somethin' might jus'-" he disappears under the surface of the water and barely a second later something wraps around your ankle, tugging you under the surface.

When you're released you bob back up to the top wanting to be stern, but you're too busy giggling and swallowing mouthfuls of water to do so. When he surfaces behind you, you turn and splash him again sputtering, "Daryl you- that's not- I can't-" and end up full on belly laughing while trying to stay afloat.

You think you catch the shadow of a smile on his lips before he turns and floats away, like he's done nothing worthy of retaliation. 'Oho boy is he gonna get it.' As quietly as possible you lower yourself in the water, and using shadows from the moonlight, you swim under his head. Reaching up with both hands you use all your strength to grab his shoulders and pull yourself above the surface while pushing him down as hard as you can. Then you make a break for it.

You hear him gasp for air, coughing and sputtering as you swim as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

"Get back 'ere, woman!" He shouts, his tone highly amused. "Yer gonna hafta pay 'fer that!"

You don't realize how loudly you're laughing until the beam of a flashlight is suddenly shining directly in your face.

"Everything alright here?" Shane questions, standing on the shore not far from your and Daryl's discarded clothes. A few of the others are with him; Dale, Andrea, T-Dog, and Morales.

Even in the chilly water you can feel your skin begin to flush all the way down your neck. "Yes! All good!" You squeak out, squinting in the harsh brightness.

"We heard yelling." Andrea chimes in.

You're confident that in all your life you've never been more embarrassed. "That was laughing, guys. I wanted a bath and I asked Daryl to be my bodyguard. We were just, uh, blowing off some steam and I guess we got a little loud... Sorry if we worried anyone." You glance at Daryl who appears to be doing his best impression of the invisible man.

You can make out Dale's hat exceptionally well even in the darkness. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Their hesitation to leave sparks frustration within you - do they really think so lowly of Daryl? Is that what this is all about? Sure, nobody really knows him all that well, but you're all practically strangers and he's done alright by you. The desire to defend him takes over and you snap at the group, "Ah, what're y'all, the fun police? Go ruin somebody else's night and leave us be."

You don't take a good breath until they're all headed back to camp, and it's once again quiet and dark. You sigh, tilting your head back to watch the stars so high above as you float. "Dead people walking around eatin' living people - ya think they'd have bigger problems to deal with than a couple'a skinny dippers." You remark.

A quick exhale of a laugh, not quite a snort, echoes across the pond. "People're always jealous of'a good time if they ain't havin' one." He says quietly.

You pull your fingers through the water, feeling the tension push against them. "So... are ya feeling jealous, or did ya have a good time?" You ask.

"S'pose it wasn't too bad." He says. "But I ain't yer damn bodyguard."

And you grin.

---

Yeah, maybe it's a little awkward getting dried off, getting dressed, and walking back to camp but you sleep more soundly than you have since you arrived. And maybe you're a little annoyed with the way everyone seems to have nothing better to do than gossip, but that new gleam in Daryl's eye when he looks at you wipes it all from your mind. And maybe a lot of things suck, but at the end of the day there's someone who actually likes you, and maybe that's enough.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter seven, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, insight on one of the spots in the arena, lots of blood, violence, panic, anxiety, jj and kie <3, toppers just exisiting, and sorry we’ll get more rafe and y/n soon LMFAO i just needed a little trouble, might be an abrupt ending but next chapters fair warning someones gna die LOOL, not proofread

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

the water’s still red when you first step in.

like it’s not thick, it’s just stained. that’s the thing about blood. it never looks real when it’s in the water. it disappears within a few splashes.

your jacket’s already halfway off. you ease it off your arms and crouch at the edge, scrubbing at the fabric in circles, trying to work out what you can. in front of you, jj and topper are already knee-deep in the shallows, laughing under their breath as they slap at the water and try to rinse themselves without freezing. topper’s shirt is still on him, soaked and clinging, but he pulls at the collar and dips under, letting out a rough curse when he surfaces again.

“cold as shit,” he mutters.

you don’t laugh, but kie does. she’s crouched beside you, elbows braced against her knees, dirt under her nails as she sets up something with wire and a few spare twigs she found in her bag. she’s got that look in her eye, like sharp and focused, like every movement matters.

you squeeze the sleeve of your jacket tighter. water runs down your knuckles and drips off the hem, the tension from the bloodbath’s still in your muscles. you can’t shake it. can’t scrub it away.

“what’s that one for?” you ask quietly.

kie doesn’t look up, just ties a knot with her teeth and flicks her gaze toward the water. “gonna leave it in there. if someone tries to wash off, this’ll clamp down on ‘em.”

you blink. “seriously?”

she shrugs. “works. it’s low. hidden. hurts like hell.”

“good idea,” you say, and mean it.

a shadow falls over your shoulder. the sun dims just slightly.

you glance up and see rafe standing there, shirt clinging to him. he’s wringing out the hem of his shirt, arms tensed and droplets flicking off with each twist. water traces lines down his chest before soaking into the waistband of his pants. it’s almost enough to make you look away, but you don’t.

he doesn’t say anything either. just stands there like some unbothered statue, watching the rest of the group move around the bank, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before glancing back out at the trees.

you finish with your jacket and shake it out once before slinging it over your lap. it won’t be dry by night, but it’s better than nothing. kie finishes her trap and stands, brushing her hands on her pants and starting to walk deep to where jj and topper are to bury her trap, probably muttering to them to be careful where they stand.

you whiste low between your teeth to get their attention.

topper’s folding his jacket over his shoulder as he looks back at you, “we movin’?”

“yeah,” rafe says before anyone else can. “enough light left to find somethin’ decent.”

the walk back to the forest is quieter. the birch trees start tall and sparse, with white trunks and peeling bark, like they’re trying to shed skin. the deeper you go, the less sound there is. birds don’t chirp. wind doesn’t carry the way it did near the water. it’s all damp earth and whispering grass, and when your foot crunches on a twig, it sounds loud enough to be gunfire.

“don’t like it,” jj mutters after a while. he kicks a rock, watches it roll until it hits a root.

“no one asked,” rafe says, but it’s automatic. not mean.

kie walks with her blade drawn as topper fiddles with his axe. you just keep your head down, counting your steps between the trunks. when you finally stop, it’s not because the spot is good. it’s because it’s getting dark.

no one says it, but you all feel it. it’s that collective kind of settling that happens when you’ve run out of options and decide this’ll have to do. there’s no firewood worth lighting, not without giving yourselves away, but the boys try anyway. they scrape at bark and try to spark something with flint, building a makeshift ring of stones around what might be a small flame.

kie leans against a tree, her legs curled to her chest, jacket pulled over her knees. she keeps nodding off and snapping back awake, like she’s afraid of what she’ll miss if she sleeps too deep. jj eventually drops beside her, back to the same tree, and they sit shoulder to shoulder without saying a word.

topper circles the camp twice before choosing his own tree. he tosses his bag down like it’s a pillow and sits on top of it, facing out, legs crossed, fingers twitching like he still wants something to do with them.

he’s quieter than usual. you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s worried for diamonte. wherever she is.

you sit last. back to a birch, jacket draped across your chest like a blanket. your boots are still moist, your pants too. it doesn’t help that the night’s dropped colder than expected. your fingertips are numb at this point.

you glance over. rafe’s nearby. not right beside you, but close. his bag’s at his side, but he hasn’t laid down yet. he stands with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the dark like he’s expecting something to move. his shirt’s still damp, and it clings to him in the middle, wrinkled and uneven where he’d wrung it out. he looks like a statue again.

your gaze drifts down to his fingers that curl against his arm. his chest is rising slow. his hand twitches briefly toward his belt like he’s debating keeping a knife in hand.

you look away. your breath fogs faintly in the cold. the jacket around you isn’t enough. nothing is. your skin still feels sticky, even though you scrubbed it raw.

somewhere in the distance, a cannon goes off. just one. everyone flinches, even if only slightly. you don’t say it, but you know what they’re all thinking. nine left, and you’re still here. nine more people other than the ones in this circle and you have no idea how it’ll play out.

eventually you try to sleep, like really try, but the cold creeps into your bones, making every breath feel sharp. you shift against the rough bark of the tree at your back, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, its material sticking uncomfortably to your skin.

you five have decided at two at a time to stay up. so somewhere nearby, jj and kie are keeping watch. they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, faces lit faintly by the dying firelight, speaking in voices too soft for you to catch. now and then you hear the scratch of jj's boot against the dirt or the low clink of metal in kie's hands as she fidgets with something.

your eyes fall closed, and for a few moments, you drift in the uneasy space between waking and sleep. but just when you feel yourself slipping under completely, something changes. it’s subtle, like a shift in the air, but your body feels it before your mind catches up.

the wind.

it brushes over your cheek like a blade, so cold it burns, and instinct snaps you awake with a jolt. you sit up, heart hammering, hands instinctively tightening around the edges of your jacket. for a few seconds, you think it must have been a dream, some leftover thread of anxiety pulling you from sleep. but then you hear it again. it’s a faint, whispering sound threading its way between the trees, too high-pitched to be natural.

you glance toward the others. kie has frozen, crouched low with her hands still tangled in the trap she was working on. jj straightens, muscles tense, his hand drifting to the knife tucked at his belt. across the clearing, rafe stirs where he's leaned against a tree, lifting his head sharply like he heard it too.

nobody speaks. nobody moves.

the forest around you shivers with every gust of wind, the slender birch trunks creaking and swaying in this slow, unsteady rhythm. they’re so hollow it catches the wind in strange ways, creating sounds that don’t quite belong in this world. you can hear wails and soft, deliberate whispers that seem to dart past your ears before you can catch them.

the longer you sit there, the more you feel like the forest isn’t just alive, it’s watching.

you scramble to your feet, your hands stiff from the cold. rafe is suddenly beside you, his fingers brushing your elbow to steady you. his eyes flick quickly over your face before shifting to the trees around you. he says nothing, but the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders tells you enough. he feels it too.

“guys, what the hell is that?” kie murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. her voice even sounds wrong in the hollow space, too human, too solid.

jj doesn’t answer. he’s already moving, silently packing up the few things he had pulled from his bag earlier. a few feet away, topper, who must have woken up at the sound, is sitting up, staring wide-eyed into the trees as if he can see something none of you can.

no one needs to say it. you need to get out of here. there’s something wrong about this forest.

the group starts gathering their things immediately, slinging backpacks over shoulders, stuffing whatever supplies you had out back into whatever pockets you can. the fire is left to smolder and die eventually too.

you stick close to rafe without even thinking about it, matching your steps to his as jj and kie fall into a loose formation ahead of you. topper brings up the rear, checking over his shoulder every few seconds like he expects something to lunge out of the trees and drag him away.

the birch forest feels endless, like you’ve lost your way in a maze or it stretches further than you remember it did earlier, like it changed. either way, it’s making you freak out.

and the deeper you move into the forest, the worse it gets. the wind picks up, slicing across exposed skin in quick, stinging bursts that leave you wincing and turning your head.

at one point you swear you see something in the corner of your eye, like a shadow darting between the trees, but when you turn, there’s nothing. only the birch trees.

beside you, rafe pulls his jacket tighter and leans down slightly, his mouth brushing your ear so he doesn’t have to speak loud enough for the forest to hear. “keep moving, a’right? n’ don’t stop.”

you don’t argue. you don't even look at him. you just keep your eyes ahead, focusing on the faint outlines of jj and kie.

every so often, the group rotates who’s leading. jj passes the front to kie, then topper takes over for a while, but it doesn't really matter. the forest looks the same in every direction, and every step feels heavier than the last.

minutes seem to bleed together until your legs are sore and your throat burns from breathing the cold.

nobody argues when jj suggests camping at the mouth of the cornucopia instead. you guys slip out of the tree line as fast as you can without breaking into a full sprint.

the cornucopia looms in front of you. it’s better than being out in the open or trapped between those trees again. probably should’ve just stayed here first.

everyone collapses down near the entrance without much ceremony, backs against the cold metal walls or slumped over their packs.

you're still catching your breath when topper curses under it, pulling back his jacket sleeve and looking at his forearm. “dude,” he mutters, voice half in disbelief, half in frustration. “i swear to god something scratched me back there.”

he turns his arm toward the firelight after jj and rafe managed to get a small fire going, careful to keep it low and hidden, and sure enough, there's a thin, angry-looking slice across his skin. the sleeve of his jacket is torn too, a clean rip like something sharp and invisible slashed right through the fabric.

kie is on her feet immediately, brushing dirt from her palms as she crosses over to him. “you need to clean that before it gets infected,” she says, already digging through the nearest backpacks, checking each one quickly for any sign of a medkit or even something they could use as a bandage.

watching them stirs something uneasy inside you. you remember that slicing feeling against your skin earlier. fuck. you shift where you sit, running your hands over your arms, your sides, your legs, looking for anything, any sting, any wetness that might mean blood. nothing. not until—

“hey,” rafe says quietly.

you glance up at him just as he steps closer, and his hand lifts before you can react, the tips of his fingers brushing carefully along your cheekbone. his thumb drags lightly across a spot just beneath your eye, and you flinch at the touch. something stings there.

your hand flies up instinctively, covering the spot as you jerk away slightly, heart pounding. you hadn’t even noticed. hadn’t even felt it until now. your fingers come away faintly wet when you touch the scratch, and you blink down at them, stunned. it really got you. the forest really left a mark on you.

“it's not deep,” rafe says as he glances back over his shoulder toward kie. “you find anything?” he calls to her.

kie shakes her head, still rifling through a few more bags. “nothing real. some antiseptic wipes, but that's about it.”

“give ‘em here,” rafe says, already reaching out a hand.

within a minute, he’s back in front of you, crouching low enough that you're eye-level with him. the wipe in his hand stings worse than anything when he presses it gently against the scratch, and you grit your teeth against the burn, refusing to pull away even though every instinct tells you to. rafe works quickly, efficient but careful, his fingers steady where they brace the side of your face.

“you’re good,” he says after a moment, crumpling the wipe and tossing it into the fire to burn away. “just a scratch.”

just a scratch. but somehow it feels like more.

you sit there quietly as the night goes on, the fire burning low between all of you, throwing long shadows against the inside of the cornucopia. no one talks much. the exhaustion is too heavy, and the fear from the forest still lingers. eventually, one by one, people start settling down where they sit, leaning back against the cold metal and pulling their jackets tighter.

rafe stays close, sitting just a few inches from you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. jj and kie continue their watch again, trading quiet words and keeping their eyes pinned to the trees. you try to sleep, but your body refuses to fully relax, your muscles still wired tight, your mind half-expecting to see something move in the darkness just beyond the firelight.

morning can’t come fast enough.

it’s quiet, which should be a good thing, but by now, silence feels more like a warning than a gift. you sit with your knees pulled to your chest, knuckles cold. there hasn’t been much movement since dawn.

you keep glancing around the clearing, your eyes tracking empty air. you know the cameras are out there somewhere, always are, but there are no booms in the sky. no signs of death.

by the time it’s day three you’ve only heard one cannon, maybe two if you count the one that rang out sometime late last night too.

you’d been awake last night, barely, head resting back against your pack, watching the sky twist open as a hovercraft descended near the water. you couldn’t see much, just the mechanical limbs dropping down and pulling a limp body up into the air before disappearing again. maybe it had been one of the tributes. maybe it’d been kie’s trap. either way, someone was gone.

you remember fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, wrapping it tight until it snapped, and trying not to think about it.

but you didn’t get much time to be still. you hear a scream the morning after.

you jolt upright, hand scrambling for the daggers you’d kept close to your hip. your head turns fast, eyes scanning for movement and you find it, just beyond the edge of the cornucopia. a mess of limbs and shouting. kie. she’s out there, fighting off two figures, maybe three, already half on the ground.

she must’ve gone out early, probably to check something or maybe even just pee, and got followed back.

jj’s already on his feet, spear in hand, eyes locked on the chaos just ahead. topper curses behind him, grabbing for his axe, but he’s moving fast, rage written all over his face.

“go!” jj barks.

the three figures ahead split up. one, a girl with a jagged ponytail and wild eyes, stays back with kie, pinning her to the ground and shouting something you can’t make out. the other two, the boys, are charging straight for jj and topper.

you barely have time to think before you and rafe are running too, his mace clenched tight in his fist. you reach them just in time to see kie struggling under a girl’s weight, the other tribute pressing a forearm against her throat.

jj lets out a hoarse yell and lunges first, spear angled low before snapping it upward into the stomach of the boy charging him. the point hits home, but the kid’s momentum sends them both sprawling. they hit the ground hard, wrestling for control, jj keeping the shaft of the spear between them, teeth gritted, muscles locked.

topper meets the second boy mid-sprint.

he swings his axe, catching the edge of the kid’s shoulder with a sickening thud. the boy stumbles, but not enough to stop. he grabs topper by the collar and drives a knee into his side. they break apart only to collide again, fists flying, wood meeting flesh, metal against bone.

you and rafe flank wide, slipping into the chaos.

you duck a blind swing from one of the boys and drive your dagger across the back of his thigh, deep and slicing. he jerks with a yell, and jj takes the opening, twisting his spear up and shoving it straight through the boy’s chest. he lets out a gargled cough before he collapses to the dirt.

“kie!” jj yells, dragging the spear free, almost like he needs to make sure she knows she’s going to be okay. he’s already moving toward topper. topper’s still fighting, but barely.

blood is running down his forehead, but he’s got his axe up, teeth bared as he swings again. this time, it hits clean. the blade bites deep into the side of the boy’s neck. he jerks once, then falls to his knees. topper pushes him off with a final grunt, panting hard.

you’re already turning your head, trying to find kie, the girl. there. she’s still on top of kie, but something’s wrong. she’s not hitting. she’s not stabbing. she’s just holding her.

then you see it. her leg, caught in something like taut metal wire, barely visible in the early morning light, looped tight around her calf. blood drips fast and heavy from the gash, pooling into the soil beneath her. it’s one of kie’s traps. that’s why they’re here?

you’re already moving.

the girl’s too distracted by the pain to realize you’re there. you lunge, dagger drawn, slicing across her back to knock her off balance. she shrieks and twists.

rafe’s there beside you in an instant, swinging his mace with brute force. it crashes into her side, ribs crack with a dull, sickening crunch. she tries to scream, but it chokes out into a wheeze.

you don’t hesitate. you grab the front of her jacket, force her down, and drive your blade into her chest. she jerks just once, then goes still. for a second, all you hear is breathing.

you turn to kie, who’s propped herself up on her elbows, eyes wide, staring at the body beside her.

jj steps forward, spear still slick in his grip. “you good?”

kie nods slowly, then glances down at the wire trap still tight around the girl’s leg. “caught her,” she mutters, voice scratchy.

you nod, swallowing hard. “trap held.”

“trap held,” jj echoes, looking down at the girl like he almost can’t believe it worked.

topper leans on his axe, the high from the fight already wearing off, sweat sliding down his temple. rafe’s still standing beside you, his breathing finally slowing. you don’t realize how close you’re leaning into him until the sound of another cannon rolls through the sky.

third one in less than a few minutes.

you stare at the girl’s bloody leg for another second before finally backing away. and for the first time since you woke, you realize you’re still shaking.

but rafe doesn’t move. he’s staring. you notice the shift in his posture before you notice what he’s looking at, eyes are narrowed slightly downward. you follow his gaze and—

your stomach sinks. blood, but not from the girl you just killed. it’s smeared across kie’s thigh, soaking the side of her pants. she didn’t even notice. or maybe she did and just didn’t want to say anything. but now that you’re looking, you can see how stiff she’s sitting, how carefully she’s trying not to put weight on that leg.

“shit,” you breathe out, already crouching beside her. “kie—”

she flinches when you reach for her, just barely. “it’s nothing.”

“no, it’s not.” you press your hand near the tear in the fabric, fingers already sticky. “jesus, kie, they got you bad. when—?”

kie glances toward the body beside her, then away again. her mouth is set. “before. when she and the guys first jumped me. one of them had a knife.”

“shit. topper, grab anything from their bags. i don’t care what it is, just— something.”

your hands hover uselessly near the blood that won’t stop spreading. it’s soaking through your fingers.

“we need to get her out of the open,” you say, sharper now. your eyes snap up to rafe and jj. “help me—inside. she needs cover.”

jj doesn’t hesitate. neither does rafe. the three of you lift her together. she tries to mumble that she’s fine again, but the sound is thin and breathless. you don’t even look at her.

topper follows, arms full with whatever gear he could grab from the fallen tributes’ bags like loose supplies, scraps of cloth, water, someone’s jacket. it’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough.

inside the cornucopia, you get kie onto one of the tables, and even then she grits her teeth and turns her head away to muffle a sound. her leg hangs slightly off the edge, blood’s dripping down the table now.

you try to breathe. you’ve never had to deal with this before.

your hands shake as you rifle through what topper brought. there’s gauze from someone’s first aid strip, a torn-up shirt, a flask of water, a hunting knife you toss aside quickly.

“what do i do?” you ask, looking at kie frantically. “just tell me, tell me what do i do, okay? i don’t know how to help you.”

kie’s jaw is tight. she looks at you, then down at her leg. her face is pale but her eyes are sharp.

“you’re doing fine,” she says gently, which somehow only makes the tears in your throat sting worse. “start with pressure. above the cut.”

you grab a strip of cloth and do as she says, wrapping it around her thigh and pulling tight. your fingers fumble the knot. blood seeps through almost instantly.

“fuck,” you whisper, pressing harder.

jj’s pacing now, running both hands through his hair, the spear clutched tightly in one of them. his mouth is twisted, his shoulders hunched. he looks like he might explode.

“they could’ve killed her,” he mutters, voice rising. “they could’ve fucking killed her—”

“jj,” rafe warns, stepping in front of him, hand pressed against his chest. topper joins him a second later, pushing lightly on jj’s shoulder. “calm down.”

jj jerks his arm away, breathing hard. but he doesn’t move toward you again. he just stands there, watching, helpless.

then, a yell, somewhere across the field. everyone freezes.

rafe and topper spin toward the open mouth of the cornucopia. rafe grabs his mace. you don’t even look up.

“go,” you say quickly, pressing the cloth harder against kie’s leg. “whatever it is, handle it. we’re fine in here.”

topper hesitates. “are you sure—”

“yes.” you glance up at him finally, your expression unreadable. “you don’t need all of us for one scream. go.”

jj growls something under his breath but doesn’t argue. he’s the first out the door, rafe and topper right behind him.

you’re alone again, just you and kie and the blood that won’t stop leaking through your fingers.

“you’re not gonna die,” you tell her, not sure who you’re trying to convince. you reach for more cloth.

kie tries to laugh, but it catches in her throat and becomes a hiss of pain. “yeah. well. thanks for the pep talk.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp

[woso-dreamzzz]

Secret III

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You're a bit messy

When Mapi takes you out to the park, she doesn't expect it to rain.

But it does.

It rains and rains and rains until she's shivering in the cold and wet as you very determinedly stamp around in the mud by the bank of the lake.

"Be careful!" Mapi calls after you and you stick your tongue out at her.

It was a stupid idea to be caught without an umbrella and without a coat but this was Barcelona and she really wasn't expecting it.

"Come on!" She winces as you sink lower into the mud, ruining the new Sambas she had specifically bought for you.

"But Mami-"

"No, Skatt," Mapi says, covering her horror with a little laugh," Let's go home now."

You huff in annoyance, dipping down once more into the mud before running to her side, hands firmly in your pockets as you drag your muddy feet all the way back to Mapi's nice, clean car.

"Oh!" Ingrid exclaims when you come running into the house about twenty minutes later," You look all messy, Skatt! Did you have fun!"

You push a strand of wet hair out of your face as you grin. "Uh-huh."

You hurry off into the bathroom, leaving a trail of muddy footprints after you.

"She's ruined them," Mapi laments.

"Well," Ingrid replies, pursing her lips," Seeing as the last four pairs of the same shoes ended up the same way, you can't be surprised Mapi."

"Yes I can! I thought it would be different!"

Ingrid shakes her head fondly, pushing out from the kitchen table. "I told you," She says," Skatt doesn't need fancy shoes. You need to start putting her in her wellies even when you don't think it'll rain. Save the fancy shoes for dinners and birthday parties."

Mapi pouts, scuffing her own Sambas on the hard wood flooring. "I just wanted us to match."

"I know."

And Ingrid does know. You look like her, overwhelmingly so. It makes sense obviously but you're truly like her mini and sometimes Mapi's been called things like your auntie or babysitter by strangers and Ingrid knows Mapi hates it.

"But you can match for fancy events," Ingrid continues," It's not worth it ruining another set of shoes because Skatt decided to go digging again."

The bath starts running and Mapi smiles wryly.

"At least she knows it's bath time when she gets muddy."

"Yes," Ingrid says fondly," We've trained her well." She leans towards the bathroom. "Skatt! Are you getting undressed?"

"Yes, Mama!"

"Do you want to wash her up or should I?"

"You can," Mapi says," I'll grab her a change of clothes. You might need to do her hair. It wasn't tied up properly."

"Got it."

When Ingrid enters the bathroom, she's thrown. There's a remarkably lifelike frog toy kicking around in the water. She's never seen it before but she knows Mapi stopped off at the shops before the park and your interest in frogs is almost as high as your interest in bugs so Ingrid supposes you had convinced Mapi to buy it for you.

She lathers up your hair with shampoo after cleaning your body and you hum happily.

"Did you see a lot of bugs on your trip today?"

"Uh-hu! Saw dragonfly and gnats and flies and bumblebees-"

The power on the toy is really going strong, Ingrid notes, because it keeps swimming in circles and she has to wonder what store Mapi bought it at because it's unlike any other bath toy Ingrid's ever seen before.

"-And wasps and Mami had to run away after seeing it because she was scared it was going to string her."

"That's nice, Skatt." Ingrid rinses out your hair, pulls out the plug of the bath and moves to the living room to start towel drying your hair.

Mapi goes to grab your dirty clothes and throw them in the laundry.

That's when it croaks at her.

That's also when she screams.

A frog stares back at her, perched on the taps.

It stares.

Mapi screams again.

"Mapi?!" Ingrid bursts into the room," What is it? Are you hurt?!"

"What is that?!" Mapi points a shaking finger at the creature and you, still wrapped up in your towel, poke your head around the door.

"My frog!"

"What?!" Mapi and Ingrid both demand, whirling around to look at you.

"My frog!" You repeat," Found him in the park. He was sad so I brought him home!"

Ingrid massages her temples and Mapi shrieks again when she sees the frog hop into the now empty bathtub.

"We can't keep the frog."

You grown. "Why not? We kept my millipede."

Ingrid goes pale. "What millipede?"

"The millipede in my terrarium." You point your own finger at Mapi. "The one Mami bought for me."

"She what?!"

"Ingrid...I can explain!"

[deadlynavigation]

Pretty & Pink

Warnings: swearing

Author’s Note: request from @cecebabs !! school has been kicking my ass lately so just bear with me yall 🥲

Navigation

**gif is not meant to be a representation of what reader looks like**

Opposites attract—or at least, that’s what they said. Wednesday had never put any stock into the saying until he met you.

You were a bright little thing, full of happiness and hope and all the other disgusting emotions. But Wednesday endured, because at the end of the day, you held his heart in your manicured hand.

Every once in a while, though, he’ll question what he’s doing. Like tonight, for instance. It had been a long day. The errands that had been piling up over the week were finally accomplished a few hours ago, and it was exhausting. So exhausting that all he wanted to do was collapse in the nearest bed, no matter the owner or location. And since you didn’t want your partner to end up in some alleyway mattress, you dragged him over to your apartment, where he was currently camped out on your bed.

“You doing okay in there, sweetie?” You call to him from your bathroom, hands dripping with water as you rinse your cleanser off.

“Yes, my love. Are you done yet?” Wednesday calls back. He knows his question is in vain, though. Your skincare routine is a long ordeal, and you’ve only just started.

He hears your soft laughter float through the air. “I’ll be right out.” You respond, picking up a serum.

Wednesday decides he can’t wait, heading into the bathroom and settling behind where you stand. You greet him with a smile, picking up the next step of your routine to show to him.

“It’s a new moisturizer I got today,” You explain. “It’s supposed to be good for dry skin, and with all the nasty weather lately…”

Wednesday doesn’t hear the rest of your rant, focusing instead on those pretty eyes of yours. Oh, how he longs to drown in them. To sink into their depths, seeing the world from your hopeful view. Unpacking all your thoughts, understanding and empathizing.

Listen to him. He’s practically a puddle of mush. What have you done to him?

“...Wednesday, baby?” You tilt your head as Wednesday snaps back into reality. “Were you even listening?”

He takes one more second to stare at you before sheepishly shaking his head. “Deepest apologies, cara mia. There are simply too many pretty parts to you, I cannot focus on every one of them at once.”

You giggle, a blush tinting your cheeks. “Maybe I should turn away, then. Stop distracting you with my wiles.”

Wednesday smirks. “Turning away from me would entice me even more, Y/n. You really want to play that game?”

“Oh my god. Ok, I’m not facing you anymore. You’ve lost that privilege.” Your cheeks are on fire now, and if you maintain eye contact any longer, you’re worried you might burst into flames. True to your word, you pivot to face the mirror. Then, using your arms, you hop up onto the counter, climbing into the sink for an optimal view.

Wednesday nearly has a heart attack as you jump. His hands fall into place, ready to catch you or save your head from a nasty bang should your acrobatics go wrong, but once you’re in place, he sighs loudly.

“Must you do that, my love?” His seriousness is ruined by a smile creeping onto his face.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. This moisturizer requires my full attention.” It’s hard tamping down your own smile, but the teasing seems to be worth it as Wednesday’s stare darkens.

“The moisturizer gets your attention, hm? That’s a dangerous game, cara mia.”

You don’t respond, instead dipping your finger into the container and dotting it on your cheeks.

“Come down from that sink so we can see who really has your attention right now.” Wednesday taunts you. After a couple seconds, you give in, closing up the product and carefully setting it down before jumping back down onto the floor. Within seconds, Wednesday takes a step and sits on the edge of the bathtub, grabbing your hands and gently tugging you along at the same time. Before you know it, you’re sat on his lap, a smirk on his face and a shocked look on yours.

“Attention still on skincare, love?” Wednesday teases.

You give up on the facade. “No,” You breathe, leaning in. “But what if I share my attention with it?”

Wednesday’s eyebrows furrow as you get up, reaching into the bottom drawer of the counter and coming back to him with a small package. You sit back down, ripping it open and tossing the top in the trash.

“Want a face mask?” You ask.

“Is that one of those grotesque concoctions that spreads all over your face? The one that looks like a death mask?” Wednesday questions, but you’re already reaching into the package.

“Exactly, baby. Want one?”

“...Sure.” What’s the worst that could happen?

Twenty minutes later, and Wednesday is set up on your bed with no intention of moving. A green substance covers the majority of his face, making him question why he doesn’t let you do this more often. He feels more relaxed than he has in weeks, settled in amongst your many pink throw pillows and cherry blossom sheets. You’re settled in too, resting your head on his chest while trying to sync your breaths with the steady thumps of his heart. Your manicured fingers etch random shapes into his skin, tracing the hard lines of muscle and adding a heart or two every so often.

Eventually, though, the both of you become restless.

‘Wanna start a movie?” Wednesday asks, looking down at your comfy self with adoration.

You look up, meeting his eyes with the same love. “Can I choose?”

“Of course, Y/n. Anything for you.”

An hour later, and Wednesday is ready to commit homicide. Of all the movies you could have picked, you went with Mean Girls. Your defense? “It’s the feminist movement at its finest, Wednesday.”

“It’s… very pink.”

“Yeah, that’s the best part! All the decorations and outfits are amazing. They were actually part of what inspired this room’s decor.”

Wednesday looks around at the brightly colored walls, the pastel curtains, the cute pillows, and even the pink pens scattered across your desk. “I never would’ve guessed, my love.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous.”

Wednesday chuckles. “Yes, very.” He agrees sarcastically. You don’t dignify him with a response, instead choosing to lay back down on his chest and go back to watching the movie. You don’t get to stay there for very long, though, because a minute later, the timer on your phone goes off.

“Mkay. Time to take this off, babe.” You poke his face mask. Wednesday rises without complaint, heading to the bathroom while you grab some water and a cloth. Internally, though, he’s begging you not to. It feels so nice, and having you apply it was one of the best feelings in the world.

As you start working through the layers of the mask with water and a gentle hand, though, Wednesday revises his thoughts—never mind the application. This was the best feeling in the world.

As you work, Wednesday leans into your hands. He would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for your whispered promises of comfy beds and pillows and cuddles.

*****

The next morning, Wednesday gets up much earlier than usual. The sun is just barely up, peeking through your pastel curtains and coating the bed in a buttery yellow. You’re burrowed into his arms, tucked safely into his chest with the messy blankets surrounding you. He takes a minute to absorb your cuteness, smiling down at you as he slowly wakes up.

“Good morning, Y/n.” He whispers, not yet wanting to wake you. You’ve reminded him time and time again that the blinking digits on the clock right now are not digits you ever want to be awake to see, and he’s taken that to heart. But he still has to kill time until you wake–maybe a run? He could drop by the gym just down the street that he really likes. Or maybe a chore? The dishwasher still needs to be unloaded.

But those all sound like too much work for this early in the day, so Wednesday settles on just getting you a coffee. A nice five-minute walk and your drowsy smile to greet him when he gets back. Perfect.

Within minutes, Wednesday is up and out. He strolls down the street, taking his time to enjoy the soft sunlight. That’s new, he suddenly realizes–and probably your doing, as well. You’re a fan of tilting your face to the sun, soaking in the warmth, and claiming the rays cheer you up. Maybe you’ve passed that onto him.

A couple more minutes tick by, and Wednesday reaches your regular coffee shop. He enters the place with a little jingle as the door opens, and is immediately greeted with the scent of dark coffee and light chatter.

“What can I get for you this morning, sir?” A too-happy employee asks him as he walks up to the counter.

Damn, what was that drink you really liked? Something with pink in it, he’s sure of it.

“Just two medium coffees, one black and one with that pink flavor, please.” Manners with normies–that’s another thing you’ve unknowingly reinforced with him.

“Our pink velvet flavoring?” That sounds right.

“Yes, that’s it. Thanks.” Wednesday pulls out his card, handing it to the guy.

“Awesome. Name?”

“Addams.”

“We’ll have those coffees right out for you, sir.”

“Brilliant.” With that, Wednesday finds an isolated corner to haunt until his name is called, quickly grabbing the coffees and exiting the building. It’s an even quicker walk back with the warm drinks providing some heat on this chilly morning.

It’s a bit of a struggle, but Wednesday manages to buzz into the building, climb the stairs to your apartment, and work the keys until your door clicks open, all with his hands full. He’s greeted with the sight of you half-asleep on the couch, the news playing softly in the background.

“What are you doing up, love?” He questions, setting the coffees down on the coffee table and kneeling on the floor.

“Wanted to see you,” you mumble, grabbing for his hand and interlocking it with yours. “Was cold in the bed without you.”

Wednesday practically melts. How can one girl be so sweet and caring? So happy?

“I’m sorry, my love. But look, I got you that coffee you like to make up for it.” He gestures to the beverages with his free hand before resting it on your head. He goes about stroking your hair, lulling you back into a dreamlike state.

“Don’t do that, I’ll fall back asleep,” you bat at his hand, trying to get it out of your hair. You were up to see him, not to fall asleep on him.

“And I will still be here when you wake up, cara mia. Go back to sleep. You’re safe here. I love you.”

[oleander-cup]

lemongrass - sakusa helps you wash your hair // wc: 960 // pairing" sakusa x fem reader // content: suggestive-ish i suppose, mostly just flirting, sakusa helps you wash and dry your hair, very soft sakusa

it was by no stretch to say that it had been a truly dreadful week. the only thing that kept the both of them going was the fact that it was sakusa’s last day being away, she couldn’t wait to be in his arms again. the quiet sounds of motion from the kitchen are the first thing he hears after he unlocks the door. then he hears a pause and footsteps growing more rapid and louder as they get closer. “you’re home,” she says almost breathlessly.

“i’m home.” his suitcase is on the floor and long forgotten as his arms open and she finds herself in the space between them. he smells like lemons and home. his hands find her hair and he leans down so his face is pressed to the crown of her head. “you need a shower.” 

she lets out a small laugh before hitting him lightly on the chest. “if anything you’re the one that needs a shower.”

“fair, come on.” he lets go off her but only for a moment. his hand grabs hold of hers and they walk towards the bathroom. 

“how very forward of you.”

“shut up, idiot.” he opens the door before stepping into their bedroom across the hall and grabbing clothes. he sets them on the counter and before she can react his hands rest on her waist and he leans in to kiss her. 

“maybe you need to leave more often if this is how i’m greeted,” she teases between kisses with a smirk. he pulls away with a sigh and lets go of her. “wait, no, come back.” she grabs his shirt and pulls him towards her again. she stumbles back a bit and his arms cage her in as he holds onto the sink counter. a breath passes her lips, no matter how often this happens she’ll never be used to it. 

they stay like that for longer than they probably should; lips pressing together and hands resting just slightly under bits of fabric. the counter is cool and makes her jump when it briefly touches her back before a warm hand is moved to the spot and he pulls away slightly. his lips are red and glossy as he pulls away and there’s a light flush on his cheeks. “we should probably start the shower now,” although he tries to act unaffected; the slight hitch in his breath and the rise and fall of his chest give it away. 

“yeah—“ her voice cracks and she clears her throat “yeah. yeah definitely.” he slides open the glass door of the shower and turns the knob before closing it again. the patter of the water on the floor makes small echoes. 

her back is still to the counter as he steps back over to her. his hands inch under her shirt and lift it over her head. he pulls her closer again and kisses her shoulders. “i missed you.”

“you’re so soft today. what’s gotten into you?” she asks as she rakes her fingers through his curls gently working out some of the knots. 

“i just missed you.” his lips fall to her collarbone and leave another kiss before they help each other out of the rest of their clothes and into the warm stream of the shower. she’s about to reach for her shampoo but his own hand stops her. “please, can i do it for you.”

“okay,” their voices can barely be heard over the patter of the water. his hands reach for his soap and he gently works it into her scalp for a few minutes and gently places a hand on her forehead as he leans her head back to rinse out the shampoo. “i can smell it you know.” he hums in response. “the lemongrass, i know you’re using your soap.” he brushes a hair mask through the ends of her hair.

“and what about it?” he challenges lightly as his lips kiss the back of her shoulder where it dips lightly. she jumps a little bit at the feeling and he does the same for the other shoulder. he takes care and time into making sure all the product is gone from her hair before putting conditioner in. 

“you never let me use your products.”

“don’t read too much into it.” he scoffs lightly although despite his seemingly annoyed tone his hands have been caressing her skin while the conditioner sits in her hair. 

“whatever you say kiyo,” she leans back towards him so his chest is pressed to her back and sighs. “i miss you, i missed feeling you with me.”

“i missed you too,” his arms wrap around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder. she can feel his cold and damp hair against her skin and it makes goosebumps rise. he turns his head, his nose presses to the juncture of her neck and he presses a gentle kiss. 

as they continue with their shower she makes sure to return the favor to him and wash his hair. her hands gently rubbing and rinsing and carding through the dark tresses. “i love you,” she had whispered as she kissed his chest and washed his body. “i wish you didn’t have to go so often.” another gentle kiss.

“i wish i didn’t either, but that just means the season is almost over and i can be at home waiting for you all the time.” she smiles and presses another kiss to his skin. 

“i’ll try not to make you wait too long then.”

“no, you better not.” the gentle smiles on their faces only lift the comfort around them. the steamy, but cooling, shower, the bits of laughter, kisses on wet skin, and the smell of lemongrass. 

“i promise.” 

gen taglist (fill out this form) @tansypansydandy @phoenix-eclipses @h-llsp-wn @megapteraurelia @nomyimi @ottocre @xiaoquanquans @yatoatyourservice @avis-writeshq @fweakygyatt

masterlist

a gift for @sodaneko (yes this is a repost lol)