#brushed gold faucet

[hiro6plus]

Bathroom Powder Room in Bridgeport A small cottage powder room design example with a dark wood floor and a brown floor, open cabinets, a two-piece toilet, colorful walls, a pedestal sink, and white countertops is shown.

[mdwaxx]

Transitional Bathroom in Charlotte Example of a mid-sized transitional master white tile and porcelain tile porcelain tile and white floor bathroom design with shaker cabinets, white cabinets, a two-piece toilet, white walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops and black countertops

[blackbirdsofrye]

Bathroom Powder Room Denver An illustration of a small, modern powder room with black tile, gray tile, and ceramic tile flooring, orange cabinets, a one-piece toilet, white walls, a console sink, concrete countertops, orange countertops, and a floating vanity is shown.

[thetwinsofevil]

Midcentury Bathroom in Ottawa Example of a mid-sized 1960s kids' white tile and ceramic tile porcelain tile, gray floor and single-sink bathroom design with shaker cabinets, blue cabinets, a two-piece toilet, gray walls, a vessel sink, quartz countertops, white countertops, a niche and a built-in vanity

[spacecampband]

Charlotte Bathroom Master Bath Inspiration for a mid-sized country master white tile and subway tile mosaic tile floor, white floor, double-sink and shiplap wall double shower remodel with shaker cabinets, white cabinets, a two-piece toilet, white walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops, a hinged shower door, white countertops and a freestanding vanity

[hgshoppingsworld]

Are you looking to upgrade your bathroom with a modern shower system? Look no further than the latest selection of systems available on our website! Our shower systems come in a variety of styles to suit any taste and budget. From traditional to modern, we have the perfect shower system for you. All of our shower systems are designed for maximum efficiency and ease of use, and are sure to add a touch of luxury to your home. Shop now and enjoy a superior shower experience.

[satanic10]

Bathroom Powder Room (Minneapolis)

[ninyard]

Hey, so you said to send you prompts... Could you talk about some things Neil starts to remember and how he copes with remembering?

Here’s the time where Neil remembers being waterboarded, because I haven’t stopped thinking about that. Like not even once. cw; torture, vomitting

-

It’s not long after the Foxes big championship win that Andrew and Neil find themselves in a too-big, too-fancy hotel room for the first time. Kevin is staying with them, but he’s busy doing something with Wymack for a couple hours.

They have no responsibilities, nothing to do other than enjoy a hotel room to themselves. They do what any other couple would reasonably do; they order a bottle of champagne, a couple of desserts, and they run a hot bath. Not for them both, in the beginning, but Neil’s muscles are sore after a tough practice with Kevin the night beforehand, so he decided to run it for himself. The water is perfect to touch, almost a perfect amount in the tub, and Andrew is sitting up on the bathroom counter with his own glass of champagne in his hands.

“This feels weird,” Neil comments, twisting the knob until the water ceases to spill from the gold coloured faucet of the bath. “Like it’s something couples do.”

“Normal couples,” Andrew corrects him, putting the glass to his lips as Neil removes his clothes one article at a time. “You’re cleaning yourself and I’m here for moral support.”

“From all the way over there?” Neil steps into the hot water. The steam from it has fogged up the mirrors already, and he slides down into the white porcelain, relaxing back until the hair at the back of his neck is darkened by the water that wets it.

“I’m comfortable.” Andrew says around the rim of the flute. “But if you’re not used to it I can show you how it’s done.”

“Why would I not be used to having a bath?” Neil scoffs, running his wet hands over his hair to slick it back off of his face.

“I can’t picture it,” he shrugs, but he doesn’t really mean it. “I don’t imagine you had many while on the run.”

Neil’s sweet laugh reverberates around the room. “You’re right, but it’s not like it’s hard. I lie here and relax until I get so warm that it feels like I’m going to pass out. Right?”

Neil shuts his eyes and sinks back until the water surrounds his face, his hearing muffled by its calming rumble. He holds his breath to dip his face under before coming back up to the surface. When he opens his eyes after wiping the water from them, he looks over as Andrew crouched next to him with a washcloth in one hand and Neil’s glass in the other. Neil takes the glass in a dripping hand, and looks at Andrew as he sips from the cold, bubbly liquid.

“Are you going to show me how it’s done?” He says, and Andrew waves him off. He slips out of his robe with ease, and gestures for Neil to move forward in the tub. There’s plenty of room for the both of them, and Andrew steps in to sit behind him, his legs on either side of Neil. Neil waits until he is comfortable before reaching out to place his glass on the floor, moving to rest his back on Andrew’s chest.

They don’t speak as Andrew dips the small square cloth into the water to brush it over the top of Neil’s back. Neil shuts his eyes. The only sound in the room is the movement of the water between them, and the relaxed breathing that leaves the both of their noses. Andrew’s free arm rests on the edge of the tub, and Neil reaches out to interlace their fingers together. It’s so calming, the warmth that surrounds them, the peace that comes with the two of them alone together like this, so normal and comfortable.

Andrew’s squeezes out the liquid from the cloth onto the top of Neil’s head, then, startling him from his thoughts.

“I was just about to say how nice this was,” he tilts his head to let the water run off of it. “Thank you for changing my mind.”

Andrew’s response is to mumble a sound that could’ve been misconstrued as an apology, until he dips the cloth back under the water, and does it again. Neil tried to take the cloth from him, and the tub squeaks as he moves around, but Andrew keeps pulling it out of his reach.

Andrew gives up when Neil gets a hold of it, accepting as the gesture is returned. Neil loves how his blonde hair darkens under water, and smiles as Andrew’s bangs flatten over his eyes. He’s not quite turned around to face Andrew, but he twists his back to push his hair back off of his face.

“Yes or no?” He asks, and Andrew opens his eyes. His cheeks are pink from the heat of the bath.

“Yes.” He answers, and Neil stretches out to kiss him softly on the lips, before plopping the sopping wet square of fabric on the top of his head. Neil is laughing as Andrew takes the cloth from his hair and throws it at him, flat against his face, but that beautiful and melodic sound does not last long. It does not last long, as Neil’s laugh leads him to inhale beneath the fabric, and his flinch is almost strong enough to send a tidal wave of water cascading out onto the tiled floor.

For a second, Neil is back in the nest.

For a second, the memory is hazy, something unfamiliar. It’s not a memory he’s had before, more like a dream than a conscious reminder of Evermore.

There’s Jean’s hands on his shoulders, or somewhere else, as they tended to be, holding him down with as more force as required to keep him still. Riko’s maniacal laughter scores the scene, as he takes a break from whatever words he’d been spewing to admire his work.

“What is it?” Riko says. No, it’s Andrew, in their hotel bathroom, with this look across his face.

The washcloth is in Neil’s hand, and he looks down to it, but he sees nothing as he lifts his head back up. He can feel it, though, the water-heavy fabric spread over his face, over his head, draped without a chance of falling off. He doesn’t scream, but he hears it, the gargle of a plea to stop, incoherent as he feels himself drowning.

He can see Andrew as he wraps his fingers around Neil’s wrists, to pull them away from the mouth that they’d found themselves clamped over. There’s too much water. Too much water that feels like it’s filling his lungs, and it’s around him, and it’s in his hair, it’s in his eyes. Even the hands that protect him are damp with liquid. With lungs unwilling to fill at all, he tries to kick the water away from him, but with every movement, it just comes back to him stronger.

“You’ll drown him,” A cry of English words dipped in a French accent passes in front of him. He can’t hear it properly at all. It’s too loud; the slapping of water on a surface, the sputtering as he desperately struggles out of the path of pouring. Jean’s strained words mean nothing to Riko, a worthless request that would only lead to a desire for Riko to fulfil such a thing. “The master will not be pleased if you do.”

Riko snaps back at him then, a bark in Japanese as the spilling water subsides. He lifts the towel, or the bedsheets, or the heavy item of clothing that covered his lips. One hand in auburn hair he holds Neil back. He remembers how he pulls his own hair from its root while trying to lean forward to get the water out of his lungs.

He is standing now, and Andrew has wrapped him in a dry bathrobe before dressing himself, and he is rubbing a towel over Neil’s skin to dry it. Neil catches a glimpse of himself in the foggy glass of the shower door beside them, his lips almost blue, and face as pale as the porcelain tub that had started to drain.

Andrew snaps his fingers to pull Neil’s attention back to him, and does it again when it is unsuccessful at evoking any reaction. Neil looks at him finally, and Andrew places one hand on his chest and the other wrapped around the back of his neck.

“Breathe,” he says, one word, like it’s an easy thing to do.

“I can’t,” Neil gasps, but his lungs fill with water with every fill he takes in.

“You can.” Andrew says, sternly. “Breathe, Neil.”

Neil breathes in deep, but with it, another unexpected splash from an emptying basin pours down his throat without reprieve. He doesn’t remember falling to the floor, but suddenly his hands are flat on cold tile, as he heaves in oxygen that refuses to fill his chest at all.

Andrew lets him fall to his knees, and he doesn’t touch him. Instead he kneels down in front of him, his presence noticeable as Neil struggles through flashes of darkness and water and water and water and water.

“Stop,” he doesn’t mean to say it. His words are clear now, not a foolishly daring gargle, but still he feels the stream that travels from the sides of his lips down his cheeks.

“You’re killing him,” Jean’s panic doesn’t help. It doesn’t help, as the idea of torturing Neil to the point of extinction is nothing more than a turn on to Riko. It doesn’t stop him from holding each side of the towel over his face and pulling it backwards, crushing his nose, the water held in its fibres forced to escape. Riko does not fear the threat of a life taken by his hand. He is nothing less than excited by it.

Neil knows fear like an old friend. Neil knows this slow-dance with death like a movie on replay - it is as familiar as it is terrifying. Something about this though, this twisted assault born from sick fascination with torture, it’s different. He wouldn’t say that it was too far, even for someone like his father, but truth be told, he’s never known fear like this. The scars on his chest from the pointed touch of his father’s knife, or the smell of burning skin beneath a hot iron, or the puckering hole left by a gunshot wound had nothing on the sadistic things that Riko even thought of doing. He didn’t know how long he sits, or stands, or lies in that room for, hands holding him down, darkness of black walls parallel to the wet fabric over his eyes - and mouth, and nose, tight around the edges with rogue breaths finding their way beneath water and the penetrable thing that it pours onto.

“It will be much more satisfying if you just hand me over to my father,” Neil’s coughs are wet after he vomits out the water that had made its way to his stomach. It’s not until he looks up, and Riko’s eyes are on Jean instead of him, that he realises he’s spoken in French. He switched to English while spitting out water through gargling burps and coughs. “The master will kill you if I don’t come out of here alive.”

“I will be happy at least,” Riko shoves two fingers down Neil’s throat while pulling on his hair. He wipes the watery puke that coats his fingers onto Neil’s face after he vomits again from the force of Riko’s touch at the back of his throat. The noise that leaves his lips is guttural and unintentional. “Perhaps a long and painful death will be enough of a lesson learned for you. Oh, aren’t you having fun?”

Andrew’s voice pulls him back, again, but this time he grips Neil’s face so tightly it will leave a mark. “Come back,” he says, or maybe it’s, “fucking breathe.”

Neil battles against the flood that fills his mouth with no escape. There’s no room for air. There’s no room to breathe.

“Ten minutes,” Jean says, and the water stops. “We cannot be late.”

Then a rogue breath slips through, and another, and another, and the bathroom comes back into focus. Andrew is sitting in front of him, his face still as he waits for Neil to come back.

It’s a while before Neil’s heart starts to slow, and the bath is long emptied.

A long time since Neil had had such a visceral reaction to the next, perhaps the worst part about it all is the reminder of how much Neil had forgotten about the treatment he’d endured at the nest. If he’d forgotten about something as serious as torture banned by the Geneva Convention, what else had happened? What else had his mind stored away, too traumatising to be kept in view? Riko’s proclivity to going so far as committing an act that is considered a war crime is as unsurprising as it is fitting. It angers Neil, much angrier than he’s felt about Riko since his death. He remembers it in terrible and vivid snippets; the things Jean said to him afterwards, the smile on Riko’s face as he watched Neil come back from the brink over and over and over again. He remembers drying himself off afterwards to pull gear on over his head to start their evening practices with water in his lungs and a blur over his eyes. All he had wanted to do was sleep. Jean had helped him shower afterwards as he fought through laboured breath while avoiding the spray of water.

“Where were you?” Andrew asks, quietly, as neither of them dare to move.

It frustrated Neil to be unable to find the exact location of the incident in his head. Were they in the locker room? Or had a door locked behind them, keeping the Ravens out, who pretended to ignore the muffled screams as they walked past?

“Evermore,” Neil answers, and it doesn’t seem to be the answer Andrew is expecting. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Andrew doesn’t need the clarification, but still he nods.

“Riko,” Neil looks at his hands, and they’re shaking as he flexes his fingers. “He fucking waterboarded me. And I forgot.”

A flash of unmedicated rage crosses in front of Andrew’s vision. He doesn’t seem to have the right words to say, no response appropriate enough to explain what he wished he could do to the king.

“I’d kill him if I could,” Neil rests his fists on the floor. “I wish I pulled that trigger myself.”

“And still it wouldn’t be enough,” Andrew agrees. It’s hard to talk about the nest, even with him, especially with him. They both are too aware of what happened over those few weeks, in Evermore, in Easthaven. Neil knows too well how Andrew hates how he was unable to protect him. “Talk to me.”

“He would’ve killed me,” Neil says. “He would’ve kept going if we didn’t have to practice.”

Andrew can’t hide his grimace. It’s the part about Exy that he fears Kevin or Neil will find themselves toxically invested in - he occasionally worries their investment is born from necessity instead of true purpose. He sees their passion, clear as day, but that part that fears a life without it sometimes felt like it swallowed their passion whole.

“What do you need?” He asks.

“To know he’s burning in hell for the rest of eternity,” Neil pushes himself up to a standing position, and Andrew follows. Andrew doesn’t exactly hold out his arms, but something about his body language invites him close. As Neil steps into his space, he reaches out to hold his neck, as he hovers a hand over Andrew’s chest until he nods in permission for him to place it. Neil rests him head on Andrew’s shoulder as the goalkeepers fingers hold the damp hair at the back of his neck. “I have to talk to Kevin.”

Andrew doesn’t respond.

He simply holds Neil for as long as it takes for him to ground himself back on earth.

[rebelliousstories]

Old Habits

Relationship: Austin Butler x Reader

Fandom: Austin Butler RPF

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Insecurites

Word Count: 1,386

Main Masterlist: Here

Austin butler Masterlist: Here

Summary: Preparing for his new film, Austin starts to freak out once his voice starts slipping.

Waking up in the morning, with birds chirping and the sun shining, Austin was happy to wake up and see her face. There was very little that brought him joy quite like waking up to that image. Sunlight beaming down and her eyelashes tickling her cheeks. She looked so peaceful just lying there, in one of Austin’s shirts. Her breath fanned out across his bare chest, and he unfortunately had to get up to start his day.

With great difficulty, he set his girl back down on her pillow and went to get ready. Austin’s shower was heating up while he brushed his teeth. Smaller arms wrapped around his torso while he was rinsing his mouth, and he chuckled. Spitting the last bit of water out, he shut off the faucet and turned to face his lover.

“Good morning, baby. You awake?” He questioned, letting her fall into his chest again with a sleepy yawn. Austin chuckled, and set to rubbing her back for a brief second.

“Want to shower with me?” She nodded, and let her boyfriend take the shirt off before he moved to his own clothing. They stepped underneath the stream together, and took turns washing and rinsing. No words were spoken, but there was no need for them to. Austin stayed underneath to wash his hair while she stepped out to go get ready. Afterwards, he stepped out after turning the shower off, and slung the towel across his hips.

Austin was busy applying product to his hair as he heard rustling in the next room over. They switched places for her to do her hair and makeup while he got into his clothing. His eyes drifted over to the bathroom periodically to watch her. She was just finishing up when Austin slipped on his shoes. Reaching into his bedside drawer, his gold chain, and ring was placed on, followed shortly by his watch. His lover came over and placed a kiss to his forehead so as to not disturb his hair.

“Gotta go to a table read today, baby. I’ll be home by dinner. Think about where you want to go. I’m treating us tonight.” He said with certainty, kissing his girl and gathering the rest of his things.

“Okay, hun. I’ve just got to get some stories run by the office and then I should be home by four at the latest. I love you.” She pressed another kiss to his lips, and giggled as she rubbed the lipstick off. Grabbing a bag, her wallet and keys, she rushed out the door with a final farewell out of the door. Austin smiled, and turned his attention to gathering his own things, but paused when he saw the photo of them on his nightstand.

It was from the premiere of Elvis a few years ago where they had announced their relationship for the world. She had worked as a story developer for the movie industry, and it just so happened that she was working on Elvis this time around. Her presence was usually on set in some form or another, meaning that Austin spent a lot of time around her. A three year long process had cultivated in a phenomenal performance, and an incredible relationship.

He had offered to make her his plus one to the premiere, and she had shown up in a gorgeous 50’s style evening dress that matched his suit to a tee. Ever since then, they had been so happy. There were highs and lows, just like every relationship, but they always came out stronger together. The script he was reading for was a new movie about a biker gang from the 60’s; The Bikeriders. It was always a fun challenge doing a period piece for him, but he was certain that this was going to be a great film to make. At least, that is what he hoped for.

The rest of the day passed without a hitch for her. It was a normal work day. She was biding her time until she could officially clock out and get home to get ready for her date with her lover. As soon as the clock hit four, she packed up her desk, clocked out, and practically ran out of the door. The car ride home was filled with anticipation for the night ahead, but when she pulled in, confusion hit her hard. Austin’s car was already parked in the driveway. He was supposed to be home later than her, not before.

Making her way inside, she cautiously set down her bag and keys before searching the rooms. Nothing in the living room, nor the kitchen. However, pushing open the bedroom door, she was met with a pitiful sight. Austin was curled up on top of the covers in a fetal position. Softly kicking her shoes off, she made her way over to the bed and placed a hand on her lover.

“Aus, honey, what are you doing here?” She cooed softly. The man did not respond for a minute, but turned to lay in her lap without a word.

“Oh sweetheart, what’s going on? What happened?” Once more she tried to get a response out of him, but her words died when she saw the tears that stained his face. He grasped at her clothing and buried his face into her top as a tear fell out. She ran one hand up and down his back, and the other through his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“Is it anything that I can help with? I gotta know, Austin.” Once he was able to calm himself, Austin turned out of her to face his girl. His head was still in her lap, but now he could gaze up at her.

“It’s nothin’ that you can help with.” His words choked up as he spoke, and fresh tears ran down his face.

“What happened?” She pressed again.

“I… I went to go do the script read. We were all sittin’ round the table and, my voice. It just- it slipped. And I can’t get it back, baby. Nothin’ is workin’.” He wailed, scrubbing his hands over his face. The longer he talked, the more she understood what had caused her boyfriend to become so upset.

“Elvis came back out, didn’t he?” Austin confirmed her theory with a nod, and more tears ran down his face. They were starting to stain her legs beneath, but neither one cared too much about that.

“Did you call your coach?”

“He ain’t available right now.”

“Honey, look at me,” her hands removed his from his face, “we’ll get through it. Just like we did last time. But hey, you stayed in that voice for three years. You’re going to have slip ups now and again. It’s natural. It’s just a minor set back. You’ll be okay.”

“And what if I can’t? What if I can’t get tried of it this time? I don’t know who I am when it slips in.” Austin lamented. While they did not fall, tears remained in his eyes as he thought about the alternative.

“Then we’ll get through it like last time. We’ll find a way to get around it. I’m not letting you be helpless during this, honey. Believe me, please.” She comforted her lover, who finally was able to crack a smile for the first time in hours.

“There’s my man. Such a pretty smile on such a pretty face.” The blush that came across his face made him turn to hide it, which caused her to giggle as she tried to turn him to see his face again.

“Now, do you still wanna go have dinner, or do you wanna stay in?” He rubbed his face again and laid down on his back once more. Austin chuckled out a breath, and sniffled lightly.

“Wanna go to that diner on fifth? I could use a burger and a milkshake.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his lips and patted his chest upon her ascent.

“Let’s do it. Gotta change my clothes though.” Austin rolled off and watched as his lover picked out a new set of clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom. All he could think about in that moment, was how lucky he was to have a lover and partner like her.

[sergeanttpoliteness]

sooo.. no idea how old the post was, but if your req are still open, Wholesome Spider Noir? 0u0

hello, love! not sure which post you're talking about, but the last time i posted a story was in 2020, so it's surely been a while, lmao. to be honest with you all, my days of writing for marvel are coming to an end, but when i saw this ask, i thought i'd post something in honor of the sequel of the movie that started it all, since this blog will forever mean a lot to me. thank you for this request, i hope it's enough <3

--------

Peter watches you now, as you wash the dishes and pass them to him to dry, lather covering your hands and forearms. You nearly drop and break a ceramic plate in the sink, and your humming to a song stuck in your head is replaced by small giggles.

He worries you’ll never know how much he truly loves you.

He knows you understand how tough it can be for him sometimes to be as open and vulnerable. Tribulations and heartache forged his heart, painted his soul a deep blue— like fierce, destructive ocean waves during a violent storm. You’ve reassured him countless times, yet after everything he’s seen, his brain struggles to accept there can exist someone so gentle, so angelic. As war and bloodshed explode around him, you’re like a flower blooming in between the broken concrete—  beauty amidst the foulness.

You wash the soap off your skin, and when you close the faucet, Peter immediately reaches for your wet hands and gently dries them with the kitchen towel. You chuckle. “You’re supposed to dry the dishes— not my hands.”

At the sight of your grin that reaches your eyes, he smiles. So many words, so many languages, so many smiles, and touches of lips, yet neither could ever fully convey this glow in his chest. So many universes, worlds, and people that have entered his life and that he will happen upon, yet he’ll always choose to be here with you. 

He calls your name. It’s an incantation that illuminates his chest and seeps into his surroundings, painting over the blue with glimmering gold. It helps him believe he won’t forever be damaged. No, he can also be the sunlight filtering through the heavy clouds and smoke, caressing the flower. 

Instead of the towel, Peter’s hands now brush against your skin, fingers trailing down your forearms, wrists, and knuckles until he places his palms flat against yours. He reaches down and plants a tender kiss on your forehead, lips lingering for a while. When he pulls away from you, heart racing, he prays you understand.

Your eyes soften, your fingers interlocking with his. 

“I know. I love you, too.”

[marasmadness]

| AFTER DARK | Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Reader

Summary: JJ can struggle to leave behind lingering work frustration when she enters the bedroom, but she never leaves your needs unattended ;)

CW: allusions to rough sex, bondage, sub drop & aftercare <3

WC: 726——————————————————————————

A sheen layer of sweat glistened on your entangled bodies as you came down from what felt like a hazy intoxicating high. Your girlfriend tended to have that effect on you. JJ’s soft slowing panting blew across your chest as she wiped a piece of damp hair off your forehead. Reaching up above your head she tugged on the piece of silk that had kept your hands hanging from the headboard. Your hands fell to the side, pins and needles pricking at your skin as blood flow returned to your fingertips. JJ lifted your hands, placing them in her palm as she used the pad of her thumb to draw circles on your inner wrists.

The blonde's movements were slow and thick in an effort to be careful when she saw the overwhelmed look swimming in your eyes as you dropped your head back against the pillow.

Crawling up towards your head, she placed soft kisses along your neck as her arms snaked around your waist. “ I’m sorry, I guess I was a little more pent up than I thought,” she murmured, lips brushing against your ear.

Your laughs vibrated under JJ’s touch. “ Don’t apologize like that wasn’t enjoyable for me too.Trust me we both knew we would’ve stopped if I wasn’t okay. I just need a second to recover.”

JJ pressed a soft kiss to your stomach before sitting up with the sheets wrapped around her legs. “ Well I can help with that.”

Climbing out of bed, her feet padded across the hardwood floor as she crossed the room. She turned around to catch you admiring her while a soft grin on your lips. She crossed her toned arms across her chest accusingly, but the soft rose blush that flooded her cheeks gave her away. She stood in front of your shared dresser wearing nothing but a gold coin necklace that dangled between her breasts. Circling the room, she picked up all the discarded clothes that had hastily been thrown across the room upon her returning home from work with frustration evident in her clenched fists.

Grabbing a long blue and white striped shirt and pair of black panties she quickly dressed herself, giving you an extra moment to catch your breath as she pulled out a pile of clothes for you as well.

“Do you want a shower?” She asked, resting her weight against the brass bathroom door knob.

You shook your head, eyes fluttering close for a brief second. “ No, I’ll do that later. I’m starvvingg,” you drawled as you sat up in bed.

JJ laughed softly before rushing over to help you up. “ Okay then, let me at least get you cleaned up.” She guided you on shaky legs to the bathroom, soaking a warm washcloth under the faucet. Her touch was gentle as she gently cleaned off your thighs and brushed your damp hair up off your neck.

Now dressed, you sat at the kitchen counter, as insisted upon by JJ as she went digging through the cupboard for a frying pan. She enjoyed cooking for you, letting herself hum to the soft music playing in the background as she danced from counter to counter across the kitchen. Her long t-shirt flared out along her bare legs as she did so. Every few minutes ago she stretched across the counter to press a soft kiss to your forehead, grinning as your lips parted into a soft smile.

You watched her as she cracked eggs against the edge of the counter, and stepped back as she dropped them into a sizzling pan. She bit her lip with intense focus every time she went to fold the egg over into its omelet form. She slid them onto a plate and grabbed a bowl of fruit from the fridge.

The two of you ate on the couch leaning over plates on a coffee table. JJ grabbed the blanket next to her, tossing it over both of your laps. After clearing the plates, JJ moved closer, wrapping her legs around yours. She flicked on a romcom but grew distracted tracing circles on your back and combing her fingers through your hair gently. At one point or another, both of you ended up falling asleep on the couch, and remained there with your bodies flushed together under the blanket for the rest of the night.

[oftenwantedafton]

A New Afton - Stepfather Steve Raglan/William Afton x Stepdaughter Reader

Chapter 4

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content, daddy kink, praise kink

Also available on AO3

taglist @yellowbunnydreams

William turns the shower on, letting the water warm up for a bit before he steps inside. You follow and he draws your body underneath the hot spray. He feels your eyes tracing the springlock scars on his naked body, a kind of wonder in them. He takes his time lathering you up, smoothing suds all over you, moving more gently when he reaches the place between your thighs that his fingers and his mouth have claimed as his own.

He enjoys the feel of you tucked back against him, the way the curves of your bodies fit together, the way the flatter stretches slot neatly, the perfect balance between the diffences in your heights. He likes drinking the water that pulses on the space between your neck and shoulder. You taste fresh and clean and new.

Back outside the shower and he towels you dry and combs through your hair. Pampering you. Helping you ease into clean pajamas. Your brush your teeth and he watches you in the mirror.

“Want to sleep with me tonight, baby girl?”

You spit your used toothpaste in the sink and cup your hands beneath the faucet, rinsing until there is nothing left but the taste and scent of spearmint when he steals another kiss.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Afton folds his arms across his chest. “And I mean actually sleep. No more missing school. Okay?”

“Yes, Daddy.” So obedient. So easy to manipulate.

You really are an angel.

***

Steve strips the bed. You think it’s more for your sake than anything else. So you don’t think so much about who else normally shares this bed with him.

Now the lights are off and there is crisp cotton beneath you. Untainted. Only your bodies have christened this new space. The dryer sheet’s soft lavender fragrance reawakens when you move. You’re restless. You can’t get settled.

“Baby girl.” Your stepdad’s arm wraps around you and drags you against him. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m trying, honestly. Will you talk to me for a little bit?”

“About what?” His fingers comb through your damp tresses and it soothes you instantly.

“How you got your scars.”

“You’re fascinated by them, aren’t you?” he murmurs beside your ear.

“Yes.” You know now exactly how far they extend after seeing Steve’s naked body in the shower. They cover his entire body from neck to ankles. You can’t make any sense of the patterns. You can’t fathom what would ever mark someone that way.

“It happened at the restaurant. Some of the animatronics are designed so a person can operate them from the inside. That means the internal components need to be separate from the individual. There are a lot of things inside an animatronic; a lot of mechanical and electronic components. The devices that keep them safe are called springlocks. As with anything, there are risks. There was a malfunction. The scars are the result of that failure.”

“Did it hurt? That’s a dumb question. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Yes, it hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else to say.

“Sweet girl, it’s not your fault.”

You don’t like the thought of your stepfather being hurt. You stroke the hand that’s hugging you and realize he’s not wearing his wedding band.

“You’re not wearing your ring.”

“I don’t wear jewelry in the shower. Forgot to put it back on.”

You try to think if he’s had it on at all the last couple of days since your mother left for her trip. His hands all over you and no, there had never been a flash of gold even once.

“You haven’t been wearing it at all,” you persist.

“Would you rather I did?”

“No.”

The silence lengthens. “Do you like being with me?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully. “I like being with you. I like you.”

A soft satisfied huff of breath. “Okay, Princess. I want you to close your eyes and go to sleep, okay?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You feel his lips press into your hair and you close your eyes.

***

You awaken to find your arm draped across Steve’s chest, your head tucked into his shoulder.

The room is still dark. Daybreak hasn’t yet arrived.

You listen to the rhythm of his breathing. A slow in and out. Still asleep.

You slowly move your arm, pushing the top sheet and comforter down as you go. Let your hand rest along his sternum. Fingers drifting down. Now on his abdomen. Easing a little lower. Elastic of the waistband beneath you. Your breath is held, listening to his. It’s changed. He’s awake. You gather your courage and stroke down and feel his cock stirring in response, pressing against the fabric, against your questing digits.

“Princess.”

You freeze.

“What are you doing to me?” He doesn’t sound upset. He’s just…you don’t know. Observing. Curious.

“I want to make you feel good.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs drowsily. “You want to wrap those little hands around Daddy’s big cock?”

Immediate throbbing in your pussy. “Yes…”

“Well take it out then, baby girl.”

You prop yourself up and fumble with the fly of his pants and his boxer briefs, trying to extricate him. His cock slaps against your palm, the flesh searing hot. You wrap your left hand around it and stroke up and down uncertainly. There’s just so much of it. Thick and long and…it’s intimidating. You don’t know how it’s ever going to fit inside of you.

“Is it…I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit quietly.

“Spend more time underneath. Roll your fingers over the head. Looser circle towards the bottom then tighter at the top. Here.” His hand covers yours, a shade less heated than the cock in your hand. He’s always so warm. He guides your movements. You feel stiff and awkward and try to force your hand to relax, to become limp and malleable. There’s moisture leaking from the tip and it glides over the ridged space where the curves meet underneath and Steve inhales sharply. “There you go, baby girl. You’re getting it.”

You feel the pulse in your sex. It’s so erotic touching your stepfather like this. You like pleasing him. You wish the room wasn’t quite so dark so you could see his cock better; watch the expressions on his features as you make him feel good.

“You should swap hands and lie back so I can touch you, too.”

His arm pillows your head as you comply, your right hand now on his cock. He shoves a hand inside your pajamas and panties and slides through the dewy slick between your lips. “So wet already, sweet girl. You like touching Daddy’s cock that much?”

“I love it.” You do. You absolutely love stroking your stepfather’s leaking cock. You love his fingers sliding through your pussy. You love every dirty thing you’ve done with him.

“Love, hmmm? You really love it?” His breath pants hotly against your hair.

“Yes, Daddy.” His fingers rub over your clit and you arch your hips, sending them back towards your entrance. “Inside me, Daddy, please.” It’s still sore and tender there but the ache of desire is so, so much more prevalent.

“You want me to fuck you with my finger?”

“Yes,” you gasp. You’re starting to find it difficult to focus on what your hand is doing, your attention shifting to his instead.

“You’re so tight, baby girl.” Pressure as his middle finger struggles to fit inside your canal. “How am I going to fit this big, fat cock inside there?”

You moan and writhe against him. It feels good today. Better than it had last night. You’re already getting used to it.

“Please, Daddy…”

He shifts, his upper body now angled above yours, still partly cradled beneath your head, his finger pistoning in and out. “You want it? Tell me.”

“Please…I want you to fuck me with your cock.”

“And then what? What if I came inside that sweet cunt of yours? Just filled your belly up. Bred my little girl. Would you like that, baby?”

You both know you’re on the pill. You don’t want to get pregnant and yet…the thought of it. The sound of it spilling from his lips…

“Yes, Daddy. I want your cum inside me.”

His panting mouth hovers near yours. You know you’ve gotten lazy with your strokes but it’s getting more and more difficult to focus when he’s talking such filth to you. Your pussy is soaked. Every time his hand shoves against you, there’s a sloppy, squelching, suctioning noise. Your pelvis grinds against him. You want him deeper; you want more. The familiar knotted feeling inside of you grows. His intruding finger crooks when it enters.

“Daddy…Daddy…Daddy…” Over and over and over. Your hand is sloppy loose over his cock as the knot inside you unwinds, spiraling free. His mouth finds yours, heavy and wet and gasping.

The arm supporting your head slides free as he moves over you, one knee and forearm bracing his weight just above you, the mattress creaking. He takes your hand and brings it back to his cock and you both stroke him together, fast and rough and tight.

He nips at your neck and your jaw and sucks your bottom lip. “You’re so good. So perfect for me.” You lift your head to capture his lips. “You’re going to make me cum all over you.” He moans against your throat and you feel the hot spray of semen splatter across your abdomen and chest.

A little thrill of triumph runs through you. You’ve done it. You’ve made your stepfather blow his load. Why was it so satisfying? You can’t help but grin.

You can see his features now, the room becoming gray as dawn approaches.

He studies you with those dark eyes of desire.

***

William sinks into the living room couch and sighs, loosening the knot of his tie and tugging it free. It had been a day. Exhausting. Amazing how many needy, incompetent people there are out there. Amazing how he has charmed and lied his way through that entire career, earning awards for things like Best Regional Social Worker 1998. If they only knew the truth. If they only knew what kind of counsel he kept after hours.

You appear from the kitchen and climb into his lap and he hums appreciatively. Suddenly things don’t seem quite as bleak. “How was your day, baby girl?”

“It was good. I got an A on my Biology project.” You pull off his glasses and tuck them into his shirt pocket. “How was yours?”

His hands cup your ass cheeks and stroke along your thighs. You’re still wearing your school uniform. “Hmmm…tu parles français, n’est çe pas? Comme ci, comme ça.”

“Oui. Je parle français un petit peu.” You grin at him.

“Très bien, ma petite fille.” He grins back at you.

“I’ve been taking it since junior high. I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he murmurs, a small secret smile curving his mouth.

“Like what?” Your fingers are laced on the back of his neck. You’re bolder today, he thinks. More confident after making him spill his seed all over you that morning. His cock twitches at the memory.

“What do you want to do tonight?” William smoothly evades your query by asking one of his own. “Besides that,” he says, seeing the hunger in your gaze. Intimacy is inevitable. Your further corruption awaits. But he’s going to edge for a little longer. “We should go out somewhere.”

“What about the restaurant? Is it close by?”

“The restaurant. Now that’s a brilliant idea. It’s on the other side of town. Twenty five minute drive probably. You wanna go?”

You nod.

“Okay. Let’s go to Freddy’s. Just give me a few minutes to shower and get changed.”

You slide off William’s lap with a sigh, and he heads into the bathroom. He hasn’t been back to his pizzeria for several weeks. A visit was long overdue.

Standing under the stream of water he feels some of the tension from the day leave his shoulders and spine. He imagines walking beside his stepdaughter in the darkened ruins of his business, the dust motes dancing on the slants of fading afternoon light that spill in through the windows.

He thinks of the yellow rabbit costume and his cock lurches again. Your legs clenching a stuffed animal between them. The larger version fucking into you, your legs wrapped around the fur and metal as he pounds into you. His fingers stroke over the head of his dick and he hisses in pleasure, the sound lost in the pulsing pressure of the shower water. Yes, you were going to meet the rabbit one day.

He’s suddenly impatient to be back to you, shutting the faucet off and toweling off quickly. He’s just finished tugging on jeans and a navy plaid button front shirt when you push the cracked door open the rest of the way.

“I’m almost ready.” He slides his wristwatch back into place, the stretchy band closing over the joint. A gift from you for Christmas last year. In truth probably picked out and paid for by his wife, but he’s ignoring that fact, just like he’s ignoring the wedding band that sits on a tray on the counter. “We’ll have to pick something up to eat on the way since there’s nothing in the kitchen at Freddy’s. Have a picnic maybe. I promise I’ll do better for dinner tomorrow. I’ll go shopping. Or we can go together. Okay?”

“It sounds fun.” You rest your back against the doorframe, looking up at him through your lashes. “Can we have steak?”

“We certainly can.” One hand sits on your waist. Your blouse is untucked.

“And baked potatoes?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He leans and kisses your neck and feels you shiver.

“And a salad.”

“Sure.” Another kiss. “And I’ll pick up some wine, too.”

“Are you going to get me drunk and have your way with me?” You bite your bottom lip.

“I don’t need to get you drunk for that.” He tugs on your ear lobe with his teeth, biting lightly.

“Are you sure you want to go out?”

He laughs softly, the hand at your waist stroking down to your hip. What a little vixen you were becoming, and it was only day three.

You drop to your knees, your hands trailing over William’s body as you descend. You look up and he looks down. You kiss the seam of his fly. His erection hasn’t gone unnoticed. Your breath is hot against him through the denim material. His fingers weave and knot gently in your hair.

The telephone rings.

William’s hand stills and drops. He feels you tense against him before rocking back to sit on your heels.

“It’s probably mom,” you say softly.

“It probably is,” your stepfather agrees.

“You’re not going to answer it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m busy,” he snaps impatiently.

You rise. The phone eventually goes silent, the mood clearly shifted.

“Do you even like my mom?” Your voice sounds so small in the sudden stillness.

He lifts your chin and stares into your eyes. “I like you. That’s what matters, right?”

You swallow loudly. “Yes, Daddy.”

“That my good girl. Let’s go, Princess.”

[the-kr8tor]

Mudwood Manor

Pairing: Fae! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mention, TW Blood, CW injury.

The Fall Masterlist

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Part I >>> Part II

You lay awake alone on the plush mattress that's not your own. Morning light filtering through the curtains, shining warmth right on your cheek. Your hand roaming around the soft fur of the blanket as the clock ticks slowly to eight. Eyes above the detailed swirling patterns on the bed's canopy, mind drifting back to the home you've left just a few days ago.

Tick.

Taking the ad for this house-sitting gig went better than you thought it would be. Thinking the house you would be watching over will just be a regular house in an urban subdivision. Not an estate full of ancient history situated in the middle of nowhere with only an elderly dog as a companion.

Tock.

At least it's better than your dead end job that makes you feel your soul is getting sucked with every hour you stay on the eighties musky carpeted floors, tapping away your entire life on the grainy screen of the corporate issued computer. The pay's good, better than what you were getting before anyway, even though it's only five months of house sitting it's way above your salary grade. You thank whatever entity out there that blew over the newspaper that literally landed on your lap while waiting for the bus stop, the 'help wanted' page open and glaring right at you. You only wish the job's longer though.

Tick.

The house being nice is an understatement, all oak and narra floors, fixtures and furniture made of the same wood. No sign of modernity in the entire estate. Even the kitchen is in an old style, well except for the coffee maker and microwave. Every hall and wall is covered in oil paintings, portraits of people dressed in old garb keep watch of your every move. The house creaks and shrieks during the late hours of the cold autumn night, always prompting you to keep your eyes tightly closed in an attempt to tamp down your curiosity.

Tock.

It's secluded enough that the air here feels crisp and cleaner than in the city. Trees whisper in the wind, moss clinging to its trunks. You suspect the house is as old as the woods that surround it. With vines curled and looped around the house's exterior and curved stained glass windows decorate its walls. Mudwood Manor they call it for every time it rains, mud gathers around the estate, threatening to swallow you like quick sand.

Chime!

The old grandfather clock's hand reaches eight, the sound echoes around the large room you've settled in. With an exhale, you reluctantly sit up, feet cold from the icy floor. Yawning, you wipe the sleep off your face, bones crying out in protest.

Lumbering your way through the usual morning routine, you change out of your pajamas even though no one else would see you in it, you still wear your usual day clothes, always feeling like you have to dress appropriately in this opulent house. If jeans and a jumper is considered appropriate in the massive estate.

The bathroom is no different than the rest of the house. With the large stark white bathtub in the middle of its tiled floors, twin sinks covered in dark marble, golden faucets squeak open as you turn the knob to brush your teeth. The entire bathroom is as big as your flat back in the city, you scoff at the extravagance of it all.

You like to think the owner of the place fits well with the manor, as eccentric and elegant as their home– all pearls and gold rings, silk and cashmere on their body. But alas you've never met him or them personally, only talking details on the telephone, his gruff voice vibrating against the receiver. They leave the key under the large mat after you've driven three hours to get there. The only clue you have of them actually existing is the instructions they've left you. The note now pinned on the fridge stocked full of food that could last you the entire five months, not to mention the large pantry that could feed an entire village.

You've got everything you'll ever need to survive five months alone. The thought scares you for a bit, but with the silence, fresh air and an entire library of books that you've never thought you could read in your lifetime, the loneliness isn't all bad, the place calms you down; if not for the bouts of sadness, you could see this place as your home for the time being.

The old border collie waits for you in the kitchen, mismatched eyes staring at your form, her tongue lolling on the side, greeting you with what you see as a smile.

"Morning, old Nellie" you greet back with a quick pet on her fluffy head, taking the time to scratch behind her ears. She wags her tail happily, while her eyes are closed in content. You've decided to talk from time to time so that you don't lose your voice, which Nellie appreciates the chatter.

You feed Nellie her breakfast first before fixing one yourself. She eats it in glee. The instructions written in neat cursive jumps at you every morning before opening the fridge.

You can't help but read it again.

1. Do not let anyone in.

You thought that was reasonable enough, it's not your place to invite people in here anyway.

2. Do not wipe the salt line on the doors and windows.

Now that's weird, you've always thought, but to each their own. The salt probably helps with keeping out the smell or rodents. Right?

3. The house is old, the sounds at night are from the metal pipes and scaffolding. Nothing to worry about.

Creepy, it's not like the place needs an extra creep factor added in it.

4. Feed Nellie three times a day without fail. Take her on walks around the estate every morning and before the sun sets.

That's alright, taking care of pets was part of the deal anyway. And it doesn't hurt that Nellie's a good dog to hang around with.

5. Do not in any circumstance go to the woods.

6. Wear the necklace at all times.

Your eyes drift over to the simple circular metal necklace sitting on the counter top, scoffing, you chose not to wear it just because an eccentric millionaire tells you to.

7. Only eat and drink the food I have provided.

You don't think you want to meet the owners now with how creepy they are just based on his instructions. Possessive much?

8. Be wary.

A shiver runs down your spine by just reading those two words.

You shake it off, opening the fridge, nothing piques

your interest this morning. Huffing, you have a hankering for fresh bread, alas you've eaten the last loaf yesterday. The strawberry jam inside the fridge mocks you. You recall on your drive to the manor you've passed by a small village, you're sure the place has a bakery or even a café in it. You crave a different scenery, and to use your voice other than for talking to Nellie.

Turning around, you put your hands on your hips, smiling at your companion who licks at the last bit of food in her bowl.

"What do you say for a stroll, Nellie?" She tilts her head in question, ears perking up, tail wagging excitedly.

—

You've never felt more isolated from civilization while walking towards the village, no houses run along the bumpy road, just miles and miles of trees with its aging wood, wild violets swaying around its trunks. The tall grass makes it hard to see the path. Mist blanketing and moistening the soil.

The walk was a lot longer than you thought it would be, now you're absolutely starving after walking for almost an hour. Nellie wasn't complaining though, for an older dog she seems to have so much energy in her. The village has clearly seen history, with its cobblestone streets, iron lampposts and ancient bricks. The fog thickens, blanketing the roofs of the village like marshmallow fluff.

You tie her leash around a lamp post, petting her fluffy head, you instruct her to sit and stay. She obliges, staring happily at you through her blue and brown eyes.

"Good girl, I'll be back in a flash" you make a mental note of buying her a treat for being such a good sport while you drag her from the manor.

Entering the shop, the bells chime signaling your arrival. Freshly baked bread wafts your senses as various meat is on display over at the counter, waiting for your perusal. You smell the soup of the day, judging by the aroma, you deduce it being butter squash soup, your stomach rumbles at the thought.

The modest shop has quite a few people in it. They chatter amongst their friends whilst eating breakfast and drinking their morning tea. Another patron enters behind you, she greets everyone by name, while the others immediately greet her the same. Well, except for a group of strangers sitting at the far end, they pay her no mind at all. It's a small village, you never doubted for a second that everyone would know every person that lives here. You've anticipated it actually, so used to being alienated from the crowd, you haven't noticed the old woman beckoning you over with a smile.

"Bonnie?" She calls for the third time.

"Oh! Sorry, I was thinking what to order" you move closer to the counter, the chill from the cold cuts display seeps through your jumper.

"You're the new caretaker at the old manor I presume?" She grins sweetly, showing her smile lines around her lips.

"House-sitter, I'm only here for five months" you're wary about telling her vital information, but she's an old woman. What's the harm in telling her that?

"Oh, I see he's going for a quick business trip this time. He would usually take an entire year away, y'know" her thick accent makes it hard for you to understand some of her words. Nonetheless, you don't miss the vital information about your mysterious employer. "But I don't gossip" she chuckles, "what will it be, deary?"

"You know Mr. O'hara, the owner?"

"Aye, known him since he was a lad. Good kid he was." She shakes her head. "There I go gossiping again, what are you havin'?"

You want more answers to feed your curiosity, but you don't want to pester the poor woman. "A BLT with cheese if you have them, lightly toasted and some of the soup, please." she nods, heading over to her station to prepare your sandwich when an older man chides in your conversation.

"Oh please, Orla y'know stopping yourself from gossiping just hurts you more" he laughs from his belly, white beard bouncing as he guffaws with his friends sitting him with.

"This" Orla, gestures from you to her. "Was a private conversation, where's your manners?"

"Don't know where I last put it!" He laughs again, shaking the wooden table in front of him. "Miss, let me guess, O'hara gave you those crazy rules?"

You perk up at the mention of the list. "Yeah, he did. How'd you know?"

He shrugs while the other patrons listen in, "he does the same thing to his other caretakers, there's a 'be wary' one, right?"

"Yes, it's really creepy"

The old woman pipes up, talking over her shoulder as she slices your sandwich. "It's a necessary evil after what happened to his daughter"

"What happened to his daughter?" You ask with trepidation.

"Don't tell me you actually believe that, old woman?" The older man argues back.

"Believe what?" You feel like there's an inside joke you keep missing.

"She was taken by them." Orla, turns around with your soup packed in a tupperware. You look at her questioningly.

"Bullshit if you ask me" the old man mumbles behind his mug. He sees your confused look, "she's talking about the fae" you thank him with a nod.

"It's true!" She wraps your sandwich inside foil, carefully putting it inside the paper bag. "There's no logical answer on where she is! Now it's just O'Hara in that massive estate."

"Kid just ran away, that's all!" Another older man argues back.

"Pssh," Orla swats him away with her hand, he turns away with a scoff. She turns back towards you, ringing your order up in the cashier. "Just do what his list says and you'll be fine" she says it like a warning to never stray far from the rules.

"Why do you think it's the fae?" You give her the payment she needs.

Humming, she clicks her tongue. "Just know it's them."

"Okay, um thank you" drifting away, she holds your arm back, taking your attention again.

Orla looks at you with wide eyes. "You know about them, yes?"

"Yes, like don't eat their food or you'll get stuck or don't give them your name or say thank you. I've heard the folk stories"

"Not just a story. The wood sings and they crave an audience." she lets go of your arm, your breath hitching, goosebumps appear on your skin.

You shake the thought, or try to at least.

The door chimes as you leave. Nellie lays on the pavement, tail wagging as she sees you come back to her side.

"Hi, got you something" she stands up, barking at you in excitement. "Okay, okay, here" Chuckling, you take a slice of bacon from your sandwich, giving it to her.

Nellie carefully takes it from your hand without biting your fingers, she chews happily.

"Good?" You scratch behind her fluffy ear. "Let's go back" untying her leash, you juggle the sandwich and her lead with your hands. The horror stories you've been told in your youth echoes in your mind, as your soft footfalls on the moist pavement. Wind rushes past you, pushing you back towards the manor.

—

Arriving inside the gates of Mudwood Manor, you gaze at the large brick building. It casts a shadow over you, its stature imposing. Fading bricks and trellises crawling with overgrown vines that's starting to wither and turn dark with bits of oranges and red still clinging to its last life. The large red door of the main entrance adds to your uneasiness. You attribute the fear from what the deli owner told you, the woods don't look much better. Tall trees with leaves so thick it blocks sunlight from hitting the undergrowth. From where you're standing, darkness seems to prevail inside. The thick fog added to the eeriness of the scene. It drapes over the treeline like curtains, swirling smoke falling down to the tips of your shoes, hiding something behind you can't quite see.

Just staring from the woodland edge gives you a sense of belonging with every second you stand idle. You have no idea why this feeling encapsulates you. The wind tries to push you towards the dark, flashes of autumn colored leaves swirl past. Eyelashes fluttering in the wind, your lips part as you listen to the flora dancing in the wind, as if it beckons you over. Daring you to cross the edge.

You wake up from the trance as Nellie growls at a squirrel taunting her from the ground. She pulls at her leash, the rope taut, your hand aches at the burn. You let go of the paper bag, half eaten soup spills over the grass, now holding the leash with both hands, you struggle to control the border collie.

"Nellie, calm down!" You yelp in pain when Nellie lunges, escaping your hold. The rope leaves angry marks on your palms, skin aching from the piercing pain. Nellie runs, following the grey squirrel into the woods. You can hear her barks fading in the distance. "Nellie! Come back!" You yell but it's futile as the old dog disappears from view.

"Fuck!" Without thinking, you run after her, legs carrying you further into the thick trees. The fog parts, opening the way. Eyes roaming the moss covered soil for her footprints. "Nellie!"

You're gonna lose your job, the thought makes you run faster. Tripping on a rock, you land on your already injured hand, dirt and grime sticking to the angry gashes, blood mixing with soil. Ignoring the pain, you push through the thicket.

Running, muscles aching, there's a stitch on your side as you stop to catch your breath. Hands on your thighs, you inhale and exhale. Nellie's footprints are barely visible under all the green and orange. Standing to your full height, your heart thumping like a drum under your ribcage. Eyes widening at the darkness that envelopes you, whirling around, fear overtakes your entire being.

You're lost.

Everywhere you look, identical trees fill your vision, cold seeping into your bones, smoke escapes your parted lips. Fingers turning stiff, you turn around when you hear Nellie's familiar bark.

"Nellie! Come here, girl!" You clap your hands to get her attention. "Nellie!"

Another bark echoes out in the dark, with only bits of sunlight filtering through the thicket, you let your other senses guide you to the sound. Speed walking, dry leaves crunch under your shoes, you call out to Nellie again. Narrowly avoiding a tree root protruding from the ground, you step over it so you don't land face first into the moist soil.

You stop when silence permeates the woods again. Standing still, a ring of mushrooms at your feet, you breathe heavily. "Nellie!" Frustrated, you yell again.

Instinctively stepping past a mushroom, you move your neck around, eyes roaming, looking for her white and black fur. Your palms land to your clammy forehead, wincing when you graze your injury.

"Fuck!" You stop circling around when the woods seem to expand right in front of your eyes, moving, flinging away, adding to the acres of wooded land. Vision focusing and unfocusing as the expanse extends further away. Fear once again blankets your nerves. Your mind claws at you to keep running.

"Lost?" A deep voice asks behind you. Alluring, tempting you to answer back.

Your blood suddenly runs cold. Primal fear makes your heart leap out of your chest.

Light suddenly appears behind you, your shadow gets taller and taller until it finally leaves you. Alone, you don't dare look behind you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up despite the warmth radiating from behind. Trepidation howls inside you.

Blood rushes in your ears, knuckles tighten, nails digging into skin as crimson drips on the tall grass below.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, curiosity wins over you.

You dare look behind.

[peachy-posy]

Stargazing (Vash the Stampede x Reader)

Summary: An encounter with a bounty hunter leaves you feeling uneasy.

A/N: Vash has me in a chokehold, all I can do is write fics. Pls send help. Anyway, I am once again combining elements of both 98 Vash and Stampede Vash because best of both worlds and all that <3 Posted here on AO3

Warnings: Non-graphic violence, strong yearning (pre-relationship ofc), idiots in love

Word Count: 2.5k

Today was too close.

Rapidly cooling water drips down your sore arms as you hug your knees to your chest in the bath. The only sound in the bathroom of the quiet inn is the occasional drip of the faucet leaking into the cloudy bathwater. You close your eyes, resting your forehead on the tops of your knees.

A bounty hunter had caught you both by surprise. The pair of you were nearing the next town in your travels, laughing and chatting with each other like always. You had been admiring him; how the sunlight made his hair shine like gold, how his brilliant blue eyes would sometimes peek over his sunglasses if they slipped too far down his nose when he laughed. 

Then, there was a gunshot. 

It was all so fast. The rapid shifting of his expression made you feel like someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water over your head. He shoved you, and then you were on the sand, looking up at him as a bullet tore the side of his shoulder.

You were frozen, the shock of it gluing you to the ground. He was virtually unphased, drawing his gun with a focused expression and frightening efficiency. He fired a single shot, and you registered someone grunting in surprise. Vash taking off in that direction was what shook you out of your stupor - you scrambled clumsily to your feet, drawing your revolver and following him.

The rest of it was a weird blur in your memory. The fight ended the way all of the other ones do. But for some reason, this one was so different. You couldn’t get the image of Vash being struck by the bullet out of your mind, even now.

The bullet that was supposed to hit you.

Luckily, it was just a graze. He didn’t even really need much first aid. But while he laughed and shrugged it off, you trembled the whole way into town.

You open your eyes once more, blinking a few times to focus your vision. The cloudy water ripples gently around you, and you realize that you are shaking. The water has grown quite cold, and you take that as a sign that it’s time to get out. 

After pulling the drain, you lift yourself out of the old tub, carefully maneuvering over the ledge. You make quick work of toweling yourself dry, wanting to escape the chill of the water. Goosebumps raise on your skin regardless.

You change into the set of clothes you brought into the bathroom with you, running a brush through your hair carelessly. You didn’t have it in you tonight to care all that much about your hair of all things.

After finishing up, you reach for the doorknob, but find yourself hesitating just before reaching it. The idea of sitting in the room with Vash made you feel nauseous. 

What a great friend you are.

You feel sick with guilt over that stupid graze on his shoulder. Logically, you know that it’s not your fault and he doesn’t blame you. You know that you would have shoved him out of the way if your positions were reversed. You know that both of you have had much, much worse injuries from various encounters with enemies. So, why are you feeling so weird? 

You swallow thickly. Suck it up. Stop being weird and go sit with him. Talk like you always do.

Inhaling deeply and finding your resolve, you square your shoulders and open the door. He’s sitting on one of the two beds in the room, cleaning his gun meticulously. Locks of his golden hair fall in his face, and he shakes his head to the side to move it out of the way. You find yourself smiling fondly at his focused expression, his bright eyes flicking up at you for a moment before returning to his task. He smiles softly, hands working all the while.

“Hey,” he calls softly.

His focused expression, while endearing, reminds you of how he looked earlier today. You feel your resolve crumble, and that constricting feeling squeezes your chest once more.

“Hey,” you manage weakly, walking over to your old, worn boots sitting by the door. You sit down, lacing them up. 

Coward.

Out of your peripheral vision, you see him look up at you, more intently this time. He says nothing for a moment, likely seeing if you plan on explaining where you’re going. 

“Everything okay?” He finally asks, the silence stretching on long enough apparently. 

You tighten the laces with a firm tug and sigh. “I’m okay. I’ll be back in a little while.” He seems like he’s about to question you some more, so you add in a teasing tone, “Go have a bath. You could use it, Stampede.”

He gasps with mock offense, his hand clutching his chest. You crack a smile, and you can tell he’s stifling a smile of his own.

“You’re so mean!” He pouted. 

You finish with your laces, standing up and putting your hands on your hips. “Doesn’t mean I’m not right!” 

He frowns playfully in response, and you shoot him a grin, turning to face the door. You reach for the knob, but the sound of your name from his lips has your hand coming to a halt before reaching its destination. You turn your head to the side, silently waiting for him to continue. 

He catches your eye, hesitating as he settles on what to say. “Be careful,” he finally murmurs softly, and you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. You feel more guilt squeezing your heart at his affectionate expression. 

“I will,” you promise. With that, you twist the doorknob and quietly leave the room.

You don’t even know where you’re going. You left with absolutely no plan, letting anxiety and avoidant tendencies drive your decision to flee the room. You let your feet guide you out of the building, walking onto the small street. At this hour, there aren’t many out. You pause, sighing and lifting your gaze to the clear sky. The stars look stunning. 

You know where you want to go. 

There is a large rock formation right near the inn. You remember seeing it on your way into town today. The vantage point it would provide would make for some excellent star gazing. 

You walk around the base of the large rock aimlessly for a bit, trying to find a way up.  Eventually, you stumble upon a small, worn portion of the stone, making a path of sorts. Looks like the locals enjoy coming up here too.

You slowly make your way up the rock, the worn, smooth path becoming clearer as you ascend. At the top, you find that there are lots of flat spaces to sit down at, so you choose one near the edge. The ground is cold, the air is cold, but it’s all worth it for the view. 

The rock sits behind the inn, tall enough to be above the buildings of the town. You can see the vast, open desert stretch as far as the eye can see in every direction. The inky, dark sky is clear, the stars glittering brilliantly above you. Your cold, wet hair clings to your skin as you hug your knees to your chest. You feel most at ease under the night sky like this. Your problems feel small in magnitude when they are compared to the vastness of the universe.

You don’t know how long you sat in that spot, unmoving, thinking about both everything and nothing. It was apparently long enough to warrant a search party of one, though, you soon find out. 

You feel a sudden warmth drape over your shoulders. You turn around, but know who it is before seeing him. The warmth surrounding you comes in the form of a long, red coat you know very well. Your eyes travel up the tall figure behind you, eventually finding his own staring down at you. The look he gives you is nothing short of fond exasperation. You are certain your confusion is clear on your face, because how did he find you?

He crouches down, reaching for your wet strands of hair. He lets a small, wet lock slide between his fingers, and he sighs.

“You’ll catch a cold out here like this, Mayfly.”

You clutch the red coat that is engulfing your frame, drawing it against your chilled body more tightly. 

“How’d you find me?”

He sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders are brushing against one another. 

“Because I know you. When in doubt, I go to the highest point I can find, and you’re usually looking at the stars up there.”

Well that makes your chest feel weird. You didn’t even consciously do all that, but he knows you well enough to spot those subconscious little patterns and habits. 

“Oh,” you breathe out, not knowing what to say.

He doesn’t suffer from the same predicament, apparently, because he keeps going. 

“I also know you well enough to know when you’re avoiding me.” You suck in a breath, ready to cut him off and argue that statement, but he shushes you, continuing. You relent begrudgingly, because… well, he’s not wrong. “Let me explain! It’s okay - well, it’s not necessarily ideal, but I’m not upset. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

Oh, this is dangerous. Because you’d tell him anything he wants to know if he looks at you like that for much longer. He locks eyes with you, gazing at you so earnestly, so kindly. You start to look down to avoid the eye contact that has you under its spell, but he quickly reaches out to lift your chin back up. 

“Please, Mayfly. Let me in.”

The dam cracks ever slightly. 

“How’s your arm?” You ask, and he furrows his brows. 

“It’s… fine? Why?”

He’s wearing that black turtleneck he always wears. You reach out to gently graze his arm, keeping your touch featherlight. He watches you curiously.

“I don’t know. I really—“ you cut yourself off with a sigh, feeling stupid. “I’ve just felt weird ever since you… well, you know.”

He regards you for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. He says nothing, prompting the dam to crack a bit more.

“And I know today wasn’t that out of the ordinary. I know that. But…” you feel the traitorous burn of tears in your eyes, but keep going. “It scared me. That’s all.”

His expression doesn’t give much away, but you swear he seems… sad. Yes, definitely sad. You furrow your brows as he gives you that fake smile, the one you know he hides behind so often with others. It hurts to have it directed at you.

“Listen… I completely understand if you don’t want to travel with me anymore. Having danger constantly at your heels? It is scary. Of course it is. I know that better than anyone.” His voice is soft, and there’s a melancholic sound to it that you recognize from spending countless hours with him. He takes a deep breath, continuing. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to protect yourself… this is your life we’re talking about. That’s something that’s precious, something that needs to be protected. I promise you, there will be no hard feelings if you want to part ways.”

Wait, wait. What is he saying? Does he think you’re afraid because the bullet could’ve hit you?

Well of course he does. Why would he think otherwise? You haven’t explained yourself. This is probably the most logical conclusion for him to jump to. 

“No! Vash, wait, no. Please,” you reach out, taking his hands, halting the rambling he was engaging in while you sorted your thoughts out. “Listen.”

He obeys, watching you carefully, and gives you his attention with a nod.

“I wasn’t afraid for me. I was afraid for you.”

He looks completely taken aback. “Me?”

You frown. “Yes, of course you!” You squeeze his hands, not liking how surprised he sounds. “I care about you a lot, and today, I think I just realized that I need to do better. I need to be better. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all if I’d noticed that bounty hunter the way you had. I don’t want you getting harmed, especially not because of me.” Your voice trembled as you spoke. At some point during your admission, the tears you’d held back finally spilled. The dam broke. You sniffle, turning away from him.

He breathes your name so softly, you almost miss it. “C’mere.”

You feel arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you don’t hesitate to curl into him. He holds you tight, hand threaded in your wet hair.

“I’m okay. No more tears. Not for me,” he murmurs, resting his chin on the top of your head.

It’s at this moment that you realize the true crux of the issue. You are terrified of losing him. He has become the most important person in your life, and so many people want him hurt or dead. That’s terrifying. This man, this kind, gentle person, is so hated for no reason. 

He’s become so much more to you than just a travel companion, or even a friend for that matter. That… is also a terrifying thought. 

“I promise I’m okay. And I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

You pull away from his chest enough to meet his eyes. “I’ll always worry about you.”

He softens, a smile forming on his lips.

You lean back into his chest, sitting together quietly, neither making a move to separate from the other. You watch the starry night sky, leaning your head onto him. His arm stays wrapped around you, keeping you close. 

He’s the first to break the silence.

“It’s… nice,” he remarks softly. “It’s been a while since I had someone to worry about me. Or to cry for me.”

Your eyes widen, heart breaking at his words. This world has been so, so unkind to him.

“I know that sounds bad to say. I guess I just mean… I’m glad I have you,” he whispers, chin resting on your head. You can hear the smile in his voice.

This starts a whole new wave of fresh tears. You turn around and face him, a tear sliding down your cheek. If you weren’t so heartbroken by his words, you would’ve laughed at the expression of pure panic he gives you.

“Wait! No, don’t cry! I’m sorry!”

Shifting to sit on your knees in front of him, you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him in a tight hug. You feel his jacket slip off your shoulders, but you don’t care. 

“It doesn’t sound bad at all. I’ll be that person for you. Always,” you murmur. “I’m sorry that people have been so cruel to you. If I could undo the hurt that others have done to you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

You feel him slowly wrap his arms around your waist, reciprocating the embrace as he processes your words. Though belated, he’s holding you just as fiercely as you’re holding him. 

“Please… stay with me. I know it’s selfish to ask—“

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Stampede.” You smile at him. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

“It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

[inkformyblood]

stay the night (and the morning after) CWFKB #5

Morning Breath Kiss fill for @codywanfirstkissbingo Canon Era, Morning after but mild.

There is no slow awakening for Cody; only a sudden and immediate wakefulness that descends on him, seemingly out of nowhere. He stares up at the blank bunk above him, tracing the sharp lines of rapid assembly that no amount of filler or sanding seemed to be able to hide, and feels the rumble of the ship’s engines somewhere in the soles of his feet and a patch just beneath his ribs. This is a better mattress than he’s used to, the engines generally shake enough to rattle his teeth loose this early in the morning and he had become accustomed to simply rolling over and ignoring them. Next to him, someone shifts, a warm hand splayed over the bare expanse of Cody’s belly, a puff of warm air impacting his shoulder before they settle once more.

Without moving, Cody drags his gaze sideways, straining against the confines of his peripheral vision as he makes out a mess of red hair — his heart picking up in tempo, a rush that near enough sends his head spinning in protest — and a sweep of dark lashes that cast shadows over Obi-Wan’s cheeks even in the dim light. Okay. So, that wasn’t entirely a dream. 

The headache should have clued him in sooner, an oversight he wouldn’t be making again in a hurry regardless of how much the Engineering Department swore up and down that they’d worked out all of the kinks in their most recent attempt at a still. It had been an impressive feat of mechanics and sheer audacity, all gleaming chrome pipes stolen from a passing merchant ship that had been mostly gold plate and wouldn’t miss them and a better maintained cleaning cycle than the rest of the ship that kept them that way. Cody prods his lower lip with his tongue, trying to remember anything past the second drink that had tasted vaguely sweet and had a kick like a bantha to go with it. 

There’d been a proposition, eagerly given and accepted, that much he’s sure of, but he couldn’t remember if he had asked or if Obi-Wan had. The little details slip through his fingers, additional ammo for the pounding headache brewing just behind his eyes. His mouth tastes stale and it’s that that drives him up from the bed, wriggling out from Obi-Wan’s hold and staggering into the fresher. Obi-Wan’s quarters are distinctly nicer than his own, a benefit Cody is going to luxuriate in for as long as it takes for the Jedi to wake up and the subsequent awkward conversation. Cody borrows Obi-Wan’s toothbrush, spitting into the sink and keeping one hand on the faucet as he brushes. In the mirror, his eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide and dark, and, rises onto his toes, tipping his head to one side, there’s a bite on his neck, sore only now that he’s noticed it. It throbs in dull counterpoint to his headache, and Cody leans forwards, dragging his lip to one side, the toothbrush held between his teeth.

He can’t remember kissing Obi-Wan. 

He’ll have to rectify that before he leaves. Cody scrubs a hand over his curls and spits once more into the sink, rinsing and dropping the brush back into the small holder. It’s still early, early enough that he could climb back into bed and try and grab a couple more hours of sleep before the inevitable happens. 

Obi-Wan had rolled over while Cody had been in the fresher, the blanket tangled around his thighs, a section pulled up against his chest. As Cody steps closer, Obi-Wan shifts, reaching his free arm over his head to tap against the pillow, indenting the surface. Cody pauses, chewing on his lip, before he continues, crawling back into bed behind Obi-Wan. He presses his head against the pillow and Obi-Wan’s fingers brush against his nose once, twice. Another sigh floods through him, the muscles in his thighs pressed against the side of Cody’s leg flexing and then relaxing completely. “Where did you go?”

Oh. Oh? Cody blinks up at the underside of the bunk. “Fresher,” he answers, keeping his voice low. It’s still early after all, there’s no reason to disrupt everything and throw out this moment of peace for the sake of a conversation woven with a confession. It can wait. “Go back to sleep.”

“Are you going to stay?” Obi-Wan wriggles around so he’s facing Cody, the blanket a lost cause around his legs. He grunts, reaching down to tug at the fabric but abandons the task after a moment, pressing himself closer to Cody’s side. He rests his head on Cody’s chest, his breathing deep and slow. 

“If you’d like me to.”

Obi-Wan nods, pressing himself impossibly closer. He drapes his arm across Cody’s chest, dragging his fingertips over the curve of his collarbone, back and forth, back and forth. It tickles, the touch delicate enough to barely register and Cody twitches his way through a laugh, forcing his breathing to even back out. They are both quiet and every blink grows longer, sleep descending over Cody as quickly as waking had. Obi-Wan shifts next to him, bracing his hand against the pillow beneath Cody’s head to push himself up.

“Can I kiss you?”

Cody opens his eyes. Obi-Wan smiles gently up at him, his eyes still half-lidded in the gloom. “It’s fine if you say no. I think I still smell like last night and—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan blinks, rising up slightly on his hand. The curve of his shoulder reminds Cody of a hunter, something prowling through the undergrowth and utterly focused on its target, even as he prods his lower lip with his tongue. Something utterly starving. 

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan surges forward and Cody catches him, kissing him with equal intensity and it isn’t perfect, their teeth knocking together, the leftover taste of sour alcohol mixing with the sharp toothpaste, but it’s right. 

Blue crosses for posted, orange dots for completed fills. I'm currently posting in written order but feel free to send me a message/request in the tags for a specific fill to be posted sooner <3

[danikamariewrites]

After Flight

Manon Blackbeak x f!Reader

A/n: not sure how I feel about this one but I love Manon so here’s this lol. This is post KoA and the thirteen are here bc I’m in denial 😁

Warnings: none besides some nudity

The sound of beating wings draws your attention away from the book you’ve been engrossed in for the afternoon. It’s been so long that the sun has started setting.

From your spot on the plush armchair facing the floor-to-ceiling windows in the library of the Witch Castle, you spot your fiancé, Manon, flying at the front of the Thirteen. Her long white braid catches in the orange-pink glow of the setting sun as Abraxos dives towards the aerie.

Smiling to yourself, you twist the onyx and diamond ring on your finger. It’s been a little over a year since Maeve and Erawan were defeated. When Manon lead the witches back to their home in the Wastes, you were so happy to watch her thrive as the queen she was always meant to be. Life was good and slowly getting back to some semblance of normal. After months of getting the new kingdom in order Manon proposed and the two of you have never been happier.

You put down the book on the footrest in front of you, stand, and head for the large double oak doors to head to your chambers. Manon should be back in your rooms soon if the Thirteen are landing now.

Opening the door you’re surprised to see Manon already in the sitting area pacing in front of Asterin and Sorrel. You can tell by her tense shoulders today’s flying exercise was not a pleasant one.

Her second and third in command spot you before Manon does, still busy tearing into the poor witches. Asterin clears her throat, “What,” Manon growls. Sorrel nods her head in your direction and Manon whips her head towards you, face softening instantly, “Y/n. I thought you had gone down to the dining room, my love.”

Even though Manon has come a long way from her heart-of-ice personality it’s rare she lets her soft spot for you show it in front of others.

“I wanted to see you before dinner. I’m sorry did I interrupt something?” You start to shy away from the witches. “No,” Manon answers quickly. Asterin and Sorrel take that as their dismissal. As the two witches pass you they give you a quick nod and Asterin shoots you a wink, closing the door behind her.

Manon lets out a sigh and rolls her shoulders, like a weight has just tumbled off of them. You walk over to her, pulling her into an embrace wrapping your arms around her waist, and laying the side of your face on her chest. You can hear her heartbeat slowing down as she wraps her arms around your shoulders.

“I missed you today, sweet girl.” Manon leans down and kisses the top of your head. “I missed you too, my love.” Loosening your grip around her waist you lean back to stare up into her striking, burnt gold eyes. Usually they are full of love but, right now they’re hiding anger and stress. You never want to see them or her like that. It breaks your heart because you know she’ll never let you take care of her like she takes care of me.

“What’s wrong Manon?” You ask my voice full of concern for the Witch Queen. “Nothing y/n.” You look at her with disbelief.

“You know better than to brush something off. Tell me Manon it’s ok.” She sighs again rolling out her neck causing her moon-white braid to fall off her shoulder. “Today’s flying exercise didn’t go how I wanted it to. It wasn’t us, the Thirteen felt…off and it got to me.” Manon leaned her head down resting her forehead against mine and closed her eyes. You start rubbing slow circles on her lower back, “Oh Manon, I’m sorry baby. You’ve been working nonstop for months. Please let me take care of you tonight.”

You don’t wait for her answer as you grab her hand and lead her into the bathing room. After turning the tub faucet on you throw in some floral-scented bubble bath as the massive porcelain, clawfoot tub fills. You turn around seeing Manon leaning against the counter. She looks apprehensive like she’s debating on letting you take care of her or not. “You don’t have to do this y/n.”

Silently you step toward her reaching for her hands. “It’s not a bad thing to be taken care of once in a while. Being taken care of doesn’t make you weak, if anything it helps you become stronger. You can’t keep going until something snaps. You need breaks in between the strong moments so you can keep going.”

Silver starts to line her eyes but she blinks it back. Manon smiles at you and nods her head. You smile back, “Let’s get you out of those leathers, yeah?” Manon steps away from the counter and turns so you can undo the ties of her leathers.

Manon pads over to the tub and sinks into the water up to her shoulders. The Witch Queen leans back, closing her eyes. A little moan leaves her throat as she settles in. Your cheeks heat up from the noise she makes. You go to pick up her leathers when a wet hand grasps yours. “Aren’t you going to get in with me, my love?” Quickly contemplating, you nod and strip. Leaving your dress on the floor with her leathers.

You motion for Manon to move forward as you get in. You wrap your arms around her shoulders and pull her flush to your chest.

Leaving a few pecks on her neck and cheeks you reach for the soap to start washing her. You move on to her hair, massaging the lather on Manon’s scalp. Once she’s all rinsed, you take her hand guiding her out of the tub.

After wrapping a towel around yourself and holding one out for Manon. She reaches out for it, “Nope,” I say, “I’m not done taking care of you.” She breathes out of her nose but lets me dry her off, wrapping the towel around her.

“How are you feeling?” You ask as Manon slumps down on the pillows on your bed, angling her body towards mine. “Better. Thank you y/n.” You run my fingers through her damp hair and kiss her forehead.