#home remedies for dry feet

[sweetheartflorish]

How to treat dry hands and feet in winter? Here are 7 tips

How to treat dry hands and feet in winter? Here are 7 tips

A drop in mercury signifies the onset of winter as well as a drop in our skin’s natural hydration level and radiance. As a result, our skin becomes lifeless and dry, appearing uneven and dull, particularly on the hands and feet. The skin of hands and feet gets dry, flaky, and rough that may even begin to itch and crack. So, how do you treat dry hands and feet? You can find the answer right…

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Devour

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: When you accept a ride home from your colleague, Dr. Crane, the last thing you expect is for him to drug you. Crane is surprised as well, however, as his fear toxin has a very... unusual effect on you.

Warnings: NON-CON smut, non-consensual use of fear toxin, sex pollen-esque situations, kidnapping, S&M themes, dacryphilia, fear play, breath play

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

You were having an extremely bad day.

There was really no use mincing words about it. From the moment you’d woken up this morning, it had felt like the universe was conspiring against you. A cold shower, thanks to the hot water breaking yet again; facing what should be a criminal amount of traffic on your commute to work; and overall just a miserable shift full of difficult patients and unfriendly coworkers. It seemed like everyone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

And now, as this long day was finally coming to an end, there was one more problem to face.

“Crap, crap, crap, where did I park?” you muttered.

The parking lot was dark. It was raining - of course it was raining. And the result was that you had been unable to find your car for the last ten minutes, and were now soaked through to the bone.

You raised an arm to shield your eyes from the relentless downpour of water, and scanned over the cars in front of you, again. You could have sworn you’d parked in your usual spot, but you had been in such a rush from being late because of the traffic that you must have carelessly parked somewhere else and forgotten.

Just as you were about to give up and go back inside to call a cab, you spotted the silhouette of a familiar make and model. Well, somewhat familiar - it looked like the car was listing to one side, at an odd angle to the pavement. As you approached, you instantly saw why.

Two of your tires had been slashed. The front and rear left wheels were completely deflated, causing the car to lean down and scrape its metal rims on the asphalt. There was no way you could drive this home.

“You have got to be kidding me!” you yelled, frustration crumbling into the beginnings of a sob.

It had been hard to hold it together at work, but you were always careful to project a certain sense of stability in front of the patients, and you had done so today as well. But now, in the privacy of a parking lot crowded with cars but devoid of people, you allowed your walls to come down and a tear to escape the corner of your eye.

“Everything okay over here?” asked a voice behind you.

You spun around, suddenly self conscious, to find one of your colleagues, Dr. Jonathan Crane, standing a few feet away from you. It was hard to see the expression his eyes might have held, behind the glare of his glasses and the sheeting rain between you - but you imagined it must be pity. You probably looked like a soaked rat, standing here clutching your briefcase, clothes plastered against you from the rain. Meanwhile, Crane was perfectly dry under an umbrella, his suit crisp and well-fitting as usual.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Some asshole slashed my tires.”

Crane had taken a few steps toward you, and now was holding out the umbrella to you. It wouldn't do much good at this point; you were already completely drenched and shivering. But you appreciated the gesture. You took the handle he offered, freezing cold fingers brushing against his for just a moment.

“Let me take a look,” Crane offered.

You wanted to tell him to not bother. That the damage was done, and there was no reason for him to get soaked, too, when at this point all that could remedy the situation was to call a cab. But before you had the chance to say anything, Crane was already stepping out from under the umbrella and leaning down to examine your front tire.

He kicked it with the toe of his fancy leather shoe a few times. Seemed to consider something with his hand to his chin for a moment. And then turned back to you and held his hand out for the umbrella. You gave it to him.

“Doesn't look like you'll be able to patch that up,” he confirmed.

You had already known that, but resisted the urge to tell him so. He was just trying to be helpful; you weren’t going to snap at him.

“Do you have any other way to get home?”

You shook your head.

“The bus line that goes by my apartment has been out of service for weeks. Something about an investigation,” you told him. “They found chemicals or a potential bomb or something. I don't even know. Just my luck, I guess.”

Crane’s voice had a soft lilt of amusement as he responded, or maybe it was just in your imagination.

“Sounds like Gotham for you,” he said.

For the first time, you looked up at his face. Crane wasn't particularly tall, but he had an imposing presence all the same. It was his intelligence - obvious from the moment you stepped in the same room as him - and his eyes - a hollow, piercing blue even behind his glasses - that gave him an air of authority. You were familiar with him as a colleague, but hadn't spent much time actually working with him. He was the Head of Psychiatry at Arkham, and you were one of the general physicians on staff. There wasn't a great amount of overlap in what you did. Crane made policies and studied the patients’ minds. You just tried, desperately at times, to keep them from succumbing to outbreaks of lice and flu.

As he looked back down at you now, you felt oddly comforted by Crane’s presence. He was intimidating, yes, but he also seemed to hold real interest in your predicament. Like he was concerned about what would happen to you, a coworker he barely knew and probably hadn't said more than a dozen words to before this. You recalled something - just an aimless piece of gossip - that you had heard from one of your nurses a few weeks ago.

“Crane is such an unbelievable creep,” she’d said.

He didn't seem creepy to you. A little awkward, maybe, coming to play the white knight and offer his opinions on a car tire that you could clearly tell needed to be replaced. But friendly; kind. It felt like he was your first piece of good luck all day.

“Tell you what,” Crane said, lowering his head to yours just a bit so as to be heard over the rain. “My apartment isn't too far from here. Why don't I drive you there, and you can dry off and change into some clean clothes while I call a tow?”

Gratitude flowed through you. Okay, you decided, he could play the white knight if he wanted to. If pretending that chivalry wasn't dead meant you could get out of this awful rain, you would take it. Still, part of you felt bad for making him go out of his way.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I wouldn't want to trouble you.”

“It's really no trouble at all,” Crane assured you.

He motioned for you to walk with him, and set off toward a dark corner of the parking lot. You trailed alongside him, eager to stay under the shelter of his umbrella.

Crane’s apartment felt strangely secluded. It was quiet; with none of the usual bustle of other people coming and going, having arguments over dinner, smoking on the patios. No neighbors, Crane explained to you. He had the fourth floor all to himself, for the time being, due to renovations in the other two apartments. You weren't sure what they could possibly be renovating. The whole apartment building was spotless and modern; expensive-looking in a way that told you Crane had a lot of money. More money than anyone who worked at Arkham Asylum should have, considering the paltry wages they paid. But, you weren't about to judge; maybe he just came from a wealthy family.

“Would you like some tea?” Crane asked, shrugging out of his damp suit jacket and running a hand through his hair.

“Sure. Thank you.”

Crane filled a kettle with water, took two mugs out of a cupboard, and dropped two tea bags into them.

“Hope chamomile is okay,” he said, as he set the kettle to boil. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Let me get you some dry clothes. Wait right there.”

And with that, he disappeared into one of the rooms. 

You took a quick survey of the space around you. It was bright in the kitchen, but in a strangely clinical way that reminded you more of an operating room than a place drenched in sunlight. Maybe that's what they were renovating in the other apartments. For all the expensive amenities this place seemed to offer, harsh white fluorescents seemed an odd choice. 

Crane reappeared with a few items in his hands.

“Nothing fancy,” he explained, “but these should fit you. And here’s a towel if you need it.”

He offered what he was holding, and you took it. The logo on the t-shirt was for the Gotham PD. Strange. As far as you knew, Crane wasn’t connected with the police. It seemed a bit odd for him to have this shirt, but you didn’t question it too much. You didn’t really know him well at all, you reminded yourself. Who could say what he got up to in his free time?

“Guest room is down the hall and on the left,” he told you.

You thanked him and shuffled away to get cleaned up. You were dripping onto the linoleum of his kitchen floor, and you felt bad, again, for all the trouble you were causing. Crane surely had his own errands and hobbies to get to after a long day at work, and they almost certainly didn’t include looking after his errant coworkers. You smiled to yourself. Maybe after all this was over, you could do something nice to thank him. 

Crane’s shirt was only a little bit too big on you. He’d given you a pair of lounge pants as well. It was hard to imagine Crane wearing anything like this, even in his free time. He was always so well put-together in his suits and ties. Even though you mostly only passed him in the hallways, it was hard not to notice someone who so clearly took pride in appearances.

As you reentered the kitchen, Crane snapped his phone shut. He looked up from where he was sitting at the table, one mug of steaming tea in front of him and the other at the chair perpendicular to his. He smiled, and you took your seat.

“Tow truck is on its way,” Crane told you. “It’s all taken care of. Drink your tea and then I can drive you home.”

“Thank you… again,” you said. “I really feel bad that you’re doing all this. What do I owe you for the tow?”

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing.” 

Crane waved a hand. He was still in his dress shirt, but had rolled up the sleeves. You noticed for the first time how muscular his arms were. Not absurdly so, but more like the tense, lean muscle of a jungle cat. He still wore his tie, but reached up to loosen it a bit. 

“Drink up,” Crane continued. “It was cold out there. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

You raised the mug to your lips. Crane watched you, maybe just a little too intently, and you suddenly understood the nurse’s comment about him. He did have a disconcerting quality, just below his carefully curated surface. But still, he had been nothing but nice, and so what if he was a little socially awkward? The tea passed smoothly over your lips; the perfect temperature, but still hot enough to warm your throat.

“Delicious,” you commented. It felt like the warm tea was snaking its way through your body, mending aching joints that you hadn’t even realized were tense until now. “What did you put in this?”

Crane’s expression didn’t waver as he answered you. 

“Just tea… some sugar…”

It almost seemed like he was about to say more, but didn’t.

“Just sugar?” you asked.

You took another sip. The flavor was unlike any tea you’d had before; there was a complexity to it that you couldn’t put your finger on. A sweetness that somehow tasted different than usual.

Crane smiled, and said nothing. He took a sip of his own tea, carefully replacing the mug when he was finished.

A rumble of thunder shook through the apartment, and you jumped in your seat.

“Afraid of storms?” Crane asked. Casually, but with a glimmer of interest.

“Not really,” you replied, embarrassed. “Just a little jumpy, I guess.”

You took another long gulp of your tea. The mug was already half empty, and you could still feel the warm liquid soothing you. You were getting more relaxed by the minute. Strangely so. And something else was happening, too. A flutter in the very bottom of your stomach; like you were back in middle school at your first co-ed dance, building up the trembling courage to talk to a boy you liked. You looked up from your mug at Crane, to see that he was staring intensely at you.

“Um, I’m sorry,” you began, not quite sure where you were going with the sentence. “I’m just…” “Feeling okay?” Crane asked. 

There was concern in his voice, but his tone didn’t match the expression on his face. He was rapt; observing you like a rat in a maze. Like he was trying to read what was going on behind your eyes, which now felt like they were bugging out of your head.

“I…”

A new sensation rippled through your body, ending in a sharp pang right between your legs. You gasped, and your eyes went even wider. With shaking fingers, you reached out toward the mug in front of you.

“What the hell did you put in this?” you whispered.

Crane ignored your question. Your heart was pounding as he dragged his chair closer to you, leaning in so that his blue eyes were level with yours.

“What are you seeing?” Crane asked. “Rats, spiders? Does the room look normal to you?”

“What??”

He wasn’t making sense. You didn’t understand his words - and yet, you did, because as you looked around the room, it did seem to swirl in front of you. The bright fluorescent lighting took on an impossibly harsh tone, making shadows appear in all of the far-off corners. They started creeping closer to you, darkening the sides of your vision.

“Snakes are a pretty popular one,” Crane continued, his voice now clinical. “Do you see snakes?”

What was he talking about? Rats, spiders, snakes? Either this apartment needed way more renovations than you’d thought, or Crane had lost his mind. 

“I don’t know what you’re- ah!”

You were cut off mid sentence as another wave of something moved through you. Horrified, you finally recognized what it was. Desire.

Crane seemed to realize it at the same moment, watching you miserably cross and squeeze your legs. 

“Fascinating…”

His eyes trailed over you almost lazily as he took in your whole, writhing body. You weren’t sure how you had managed to stay in your chair this long. As whatever had been in the tea took hold of you, your heart raced faster and faster, and you felt an ever-building need to be touched. By yourself, by anyone. Even… The idea of it repulsed you, but that didn’t stop the want.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Crane observed. “Tell me: do you have a fear of intimacy, or does being afraid just turn you on?”

You wanted to spit insults at him and tell him to fuck off. But you were immobilized by a pressure that seemed to squeeze all the air out of your lungs. You had never felt such pure terror before. Your body was too hot; a weightless, flaming heat pulsed through your every limb. And woven through all of it was that gnawing, primal hunger that started deep inside of you and seemed to try and claw its way out. 

Crane sat calmly across from you. He took off his glasses and folded them neatly in front of him on the table. His eyes shined with something that looked like lunacy; ten times brighter now, without the thin pane of glass obscuring them.

“Based on the way that you don’t seem to be bothered by anything else… I’m going to assume it’s the first one,” he said.

It infuriated you that he was right. You’d had bad experiences with intimacy, and they had shaped you into a woman who was fearful of her own sexuality. You had no idea what Crane had spiked your drink with. But whatever it was, it was bringing those fears to the forefront of your mind; forcing you to face them instead of pushing them down deep - where they belonged, you thought bitterly. You couldn't ignore the arousal that creeped through you, clouding your mind even as it terrified you. And the worst part of all of this was that Crane was here to watch. There was, ironically, no greater intimacy than fear. Your fear was the most personal, private part of you.

You took a deep breath, and pushed up from your chair, hands still shaking as you braced them against the table. You were going to get out of here, you promised, even if you had to do it through clenched teeth.

“Impressive,” Crane remarked. “You’re actually trying to fight through it.”

He stood up, easily, and hovered next to your hunched form. You looked up at him, trying to force as much hatred into your eyes as you could, despite the intense pain and arousal that wracked your body. With great difficulty, you stood up straight to face him. It felt like you were about to pass out, but you stood your ground.

“I really don’t know where you think you’re going, though,” Crane said calmly. “I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”

Just as you were wondering what he could possibly mean by that, Crane's lips came crashing into yours. You let out a muffled cry - half of shock, but half, to your ever-growing horror, of need. You mewled against his mouth, disgusted with yourself, but unable to stop. Your eyes were blown wide. Crane’s were closed, his brows furrowed almost in concentration, as he wrapped his arms around you.

When Crane finally broke the kiss, you could feel your lips starting to bruise. He smiled wickedly down at you.

“I’m going to have a lot of fun with you,” he growled. “Does that bother you?” The drug - whatever it was - still had a powerful hold on you. But you could feel yourself slowly regaining control of some of your faculties. Probably, you could have answered him. Still, you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, yes , what he'd said had terrified you.

“Well, it should,” Crane replied to your silence. His tone was still clinical, almost detached, as he continued. “You’re going to do whatever I want you to, or else this is going to get a lot worse for you. Do you understand?”

You didn’t want to answer him, but something within you was starting to slip. You were losing the fight to stave off your own submission. You nodded.

“Good.” Crane kept smiling at you, his eyes now blazing. “You know, I think you like it when I’m mean to you.”

You hated the way that your thighs clenched around his words. The way you could feel the blood rush to your clit. You were practically throbbing. 

“That’s good for me to know,” Crane continued. “But maybe not so good for you.”

You yelped as he lifted you up, forcing you to straddle his waist. Crane was a lot stronger than he looked. Outside, the storm continued to rage; you could hear the rain roaring against the windows.

“I have to say, I really didn’t expect things to go like this,” Crane said as he carried you through the apartment. You were heading down the hallway, but not into the guest room you had been in earlier. “I’m usually not the type to put out on a first date,” he joked. Suddenly, you were thrown down, landing roughly on what felt like a bed. “And I doubt you are either. You know… considering…”

As you lay on the bed looking up at him, Crane pulled at his tie and took it off, throwing it down next to you. Next came his belt. He untucked his shirt and started to work on the buttons, his hands moving nimbly down the front of his body. He wore no undershirt, and you hated yourself for staring at the way his bare chest peeked out from behind the fabric. Leaving his white shirt on but unbuttoned, he climbed onto the bed to hover over you.

“But I think we can make an exception just this once - don’t you?” His lips hovered inches away from your ear, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

The rage that you felt momentarily pushed aside the fear that was still swirling inside of you. Scrambling to grab at the moment, you pushed his body with all of your might, trying to throw him off you.

You might as well have been pushing against a brick wall. Crane stayed exactly where he was, chuckling as he shrugged your hand off.

“Oh, honey,” he said, his voice full of pity. “I like it when you fight.”

He kissed you again, even more roughly than before. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, and you swore you could taste blood. You thrashed below him, trying to kick out but unable to because of how tightly his body was pressed to yours. You scratched at his back, but that only made him moan greedily. Out of other options, you tried to bring your hands to his throat.

“Oh.” Crane broke away from you, just slightly, enough to snatch your hands away and slam them against the bed. “So that’s what you’re into. You can just use your words, you know; I want this to be good for you, too.”

With one hand keeping both of yours pinned, Crane brought his other hand down to your neck. Your eyes widened with fear, and he seemed to drink in your desperation. Frozen, you willed yourself to fight back, but couldn’t. Crane’s fingers ghosted over the soft skin of your neck for a moment as he looked at you.

With a wicked smile, his hand clamped down on your throat. Your vision was already clouded from whatever drug he had slipped to you, and now the sides of it seemed to close in, trapping you in your own body as his hand tightened. It wasn’t enough to actually hurt you, but the panic it caused made your heart rate spike more than you would have thought possible. You felt your pulse thump against his fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut and started to breathe quickly, in short, desperate gasps. Crane’s hand that was holding your wrists in place came down to tug at the hem of your pants.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Breathe through it and focus on me.” His voice, gentle but commanding, was in stark contrast to the way his hands hungrily moved over you. You opened your eyes to see his cool blue ones staring back at you. He had somehow wrestled you out of your pants - the ones he had given you less than twenty minutes ago - dragging your underwear down along with them, and you lay beneath him in nothing but your borrowed shirt, tears streaming down the sides of your face.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Crane said, one hand still on your neck. The fingers of his other hand started to trace small patterns on your hip. “Scared, such a mess, crying for me. Sorry if I cum too quick; it’s just hard not to get riled up when you’re like this.”

Crane unzipped his pants and pushed them down to his thighs. You didn’t want to look at him, but you could feel him pressing against the inside of your leg. He was clearly enjoying this.

You let out a choked sob, and Crane’s smile grew. He was pressing against your entrance, threatening to take you at any moment he wanted.

“You’re wet,” he commented. “You’re actually turned on by this.”

No, you told yourself. No, you weren’t; it was just the drug he had given you. Some kind of fucked up aphrodisiac that was making your body function independently from your mind. You didn’t want this. But then, why did you feel such a rush every time his hands brushed against you?

“Fear is exhilarating, isn’t it?” Crane said quietly, still hovering just on the edge of penetrating you. “Some people find it addictive. Seems like you might be one of them.” He let out a short laugh as he pressed just a bit more into you, inch by devastating inch. “It makes the mind so malleable,” he continued. “Just think: less than an hour ago, you were so afraid and alone that you agreed to come with me - a man you barely know - back to my apartment, alone. That was a bad choice. I’m sure you realize that now. But in that moment, you were so pathetic and vulnerable, I think I probably could have gotten you to do anything.”

You tried not to listen to him; to block his words out. This wasn’t your fault. He was your coworker - a senior member of the staff, for fuck’s sake. You should have been able to trust him. But you had, and look where it had gotten you.

“Now here you are,” Crane continued. You realized with a gasp that he was fully inside of you. “Still just a scared little girl, shaking in my bed. Crying her eyes out.”

“No,” you said weakly, tears still streaming down your face. “No, no, no…”

Crane removed his hand from your neck, and placed his elbows on either side of you, caging you within his arms.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like this,” he spat. “I feel you clenching around me. Maybe I was wrong; maybe it is just being scared that gets you off.”

Now that your hands were free, you brought them to grip at his shirt collar, trying again desperately to push him off. You tried to wriggle away from him, but all that did was make Crane moan at the friction and laugh at your struggling. 

“Slow down, honey,” he warned you, his voice thick with sex. “I already warned you how fast you’re gonna make me cum.”

One of his hands found your hip, stopping you and holding you in place. Once he had you submissive again, Crane started to move his hips in slow circles, relishing the feel of you. Despite yourself, you arched your back and grabbed at the sheets with your fingers. He felt good. A fresh round of tears sprang to your eyes as you moaned loudly.

“That’s it,” Crane praised. “Cry for me. Beg me to stop, hit me, scratch me - it doesn’t matter. None of it changes the fact that you’re enjoying this.”

Again, you hated him for being right. Even through the fear - even knowing how horrible what he was doing to you was - somehow, you only wanted more. The room swirled around you, shadows creeping in on your vision again. 

You gasped as Crane’s thumb found your clit. You had been on the edge of an orgasm practically since Crane’s drug had entered your system, and it took everything in you to fight the feeling that was building as he pressed on your most sensitive spot. 

“Don’t be shy,” Crane pushed. “You can rub yourself against me; pull my hair if you want. Whatever you need to get off. I want to feel you cum on my cock.”

You hated Crane. You hated him so much - for what he was doing to you, for how he was enjoying it, and most of all for how he was making you powerless to fight against the pleasure. Making your own body a traitor against you. It was obscene and embarrassing and terrifying. With a flash of passion, you reached up and slapped him across the face.

“Ohhhhh, fuck,” he growled.

It was the first time you’d heard him swear, and the realization sent a new heat pooling between your legs. Crane, usually so organized and meticulous, was starting to come apart.

“You have no idea how good you’re making this for me,” Crane teased. A few strands of hair, slick with sweat, were sticking against his forehead. “You’d better be careful, or I’m not gonna be able to pull out of you in time.”

You cried out, half in frustration and half because of the way his thumb was still brushing against you with every shallow thrust of his hips. Everything you tried to do to him only spurred him on more. Your face contorted in anguish, eyes staring up at the ceiling as an orgasm finally ripped through you.

Crane was babbling in your ear - god, he never shut up. You weren’t even paying attention; too focused on your own private nightmare that was unfolding but never seeming to end. You bucked against his hand, involuntarily pushing his cock deeper, and heard him utter a breathless curse.

“Shit.”

When you were conscious of your body again, the first thing you noticed were the wet ropes of cum squirting across your breasts. You still wore Crane’s t-shirt, and the damp fabric pressed against your skin as Crane rutted into his hand above you. Disgusting. He was so depraved. So unbelievably fucking creepy. So hot.

You shook your head. That was just the drug talking. Crane flopped down on the bed next to you, smiling. Pleased with himself. It made you shudder. He let out a satisfied breath.

“Well, again, not what I was expecting,” Crane grunted, sitting up to balance on one elbow as he looked at you. “But I’m certainly not complaining.”

His blue eyes looked at you, making you squirm under the intensity. Without warning, he pinched your chin between his fingers and held you in place for a long, horrifically sensuous kiss.

“I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

Outside, thunder crashed again, and you jumped.

[delirious-donna]

tw: female reader, suggestive, Hajime Iwaizumi (yes he needs a trigger warning cause have you seen that man?!), body worship (I guess?)

Sweat glistened on his broad back. The vest he had been wearing long since discarded into a crumpled ball in the corner. You watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame for support whilst Iwa pulled himself into his fourth set of hanging pull ups.

You knew he was fit—he had to be—it was his job, but it still took you by surprise from time to time. Not the dedication he showed, more so the sheer power he exuded and so effortlessly. You were a lucky lucky woman.

His summer tan was at its peak, and you admired the beads of sweat that rolled down the length of his spine to catch on the waistband of his shorts. The prominent muscles bunched and shifted in their exertion, grunts pulled from the depths of his chest, and you moaned aloud. That was your downfall.

Hajime paused; his arms fully extended before dropping to the mat below with a soft thud. He knew you were there, could feel the desire of your eyes on his form and it made him smile. Without turning, he grabbed up the towel by his feet and wiped off his face. He flexed. Was he showing off? Maybe…

Your lip was caught between your teeth, fingers stroking the door in lieu of what you really wanted to touch. Anybody would know the exact direction of your thoughts if they were to look at you, but it hardly mattered when you were in the safety of your own home. Why not take what you longed for?

It was that thought that forced your feet into motion, carrying you forward across the hardwood floor and into the path of temptation. Iwa wasn’t even looking in your direction, yet the sway of your hips spoke of a dance that only lover would indulge in, a slow roll that accentuated your body. A mating call and it was answered when he turned to fix you in place with his heavy gaze.

The adrenaline of a workout always aroused the beast that slumbered inside him. A primal desire to take what was rightly his—and that was you. Long gone were the days that he could turn you into a flustered mess with one arch of his sleek black eyebrow, but you were still a bashful girl under the right circumstances.

He loved that about you. Loved that you openly displayed your desire for him, yet you were also capable of the most intimate, heartfelt words that captivated his heart and mind as well as his body. You were perfection to Hajime, and he never let you go a day without knowing that.

You were locked in a battle of stares.

His hooded eyes slowly took you in, pausing at the stomach he loved to lay his head against and again at the meat of your thighs. He chuckled, and your eyes narrowed. Iwa wondered if the bite marks had finally faded from when he had gotten carried away the other morning. If that was the case, it would need to be remedied.

The sharp rise and fall of his muscled chest was hypnotic. A spell you would willingly fall under and to hell with the consequences. Paired with the suck of his abdomen as he sought to regulate his breathing, you were a goner and still more than ten paces away from him.

Mutual desire and attraction stormed in the small space of the home gym, thick and cloying enough that your throat ran dry. The smell of sweat mingled with the sweet allure of arousal, a unique scent you would roll around in if given the chance. You wanted to throw yourself at him, ride him to the mats below and give him a workout of your own design. One that would see you both panting and dripping from the energy expended.

Clearly, he was not oblivious to your thoughts. Iwa cocked his head, throwing the towel in his hands over his shoulder and reaching out a calloused hand covered in white chalk for you to take. The first rumbling of his voice resonated between your thighs, arousal pooling so fast you worried that simply touching him would have you losing the battle against your sanity.

“I take it you like what you see?”

[maginxlia]

Starring Tokyo Revengers Men In ✰ Missing You

Cast Line Up Bonten! Ran, Rindou, Haruchiyo, Mikey, Kakucho, Hajime and Current Shuji

Rated TV-MA

Minors This Isn’t For You

Summary ✰ How the Men Mind and Body Reacts to you being Far from them! Powerful Sexy Men All needy for you Baby!

No pronouns up in here but the Reader has a Kitty

Ran Haitani 

✰ Ran is suffering every single minute he's far from you, His mind is plagued by thoughts of your soft lips and your beautiful pussy

✰ His Dick Just stays uncomfortably Hard in his Pants while he wishes you were with him on this Business trip

✰ He just can't wait to get home to fuck you and show you how much he missed you

✰ Got Him jerking his dick to pictures of you but he can't cum without your pussy squeezing down on him and he considers this a horrible sickness

✰ “Can't attend The Meeting, too sick” Ran mutters under the covers to Rindou and Sanzu, “Oh Pray Tell What's wrong with you now?” Rindou asks while crossing his arms. “Got Hypocumia.” Ran groans out in pain, “The Fuck is That?” Sanzu asks Mildy concerned as Rindou rolls his eyes. “ Lack Of Cumming because my babe is not here” Ran groans out again before Rindou pulls him out of bed onto the floor by his feet as Sanzu laughs his ass off

✰ Ran doesn't care what the guys think, in his mind he's awfully sick until he gets you back into his arms 

✰ “Can you feel how much I missed you” Ran Groans in your ear while his Hard dick brushes against your thigh

Ran was fucking you in the backseat of your car in the parking lot of the airport, “ So fucking Glad I got your windows tinted” Ran grunted while rutting deep into you. You could feel every one of his veins on his dick bulge as he rammed into your soft walls 

“Do you know the pain I went through without your pussy gripping me?? Can't wait to bust inside you, Have my cum dripping out of you while you drive me home” Ran groaned while rolling his hips hitting your G-Spot with each stroke. “ Look How much you're creaming on my dick! you missed this didn't you??” Ran teased as he pinched your nipples making you clench down on him

“Missed Every Inch of you baby” You moaned as you messed his hair up, “ Your dick is the only dick for me” you whispered in his ear making eyes roll while he fucked you so good your body shivered against the leather of your backseat

“Pussy taking My dick so hungrily. Pussy Made for me” Ran grunted as he dug deeper in you so that your toes curled up, “ Feel so Good Ran” You moaned in his ear as he kept up the pace of fucking you so good that your car was shaking 

“Can feel your pussy Throbbing. You’re cumming already?? Tryna milk me dry?” Ran teased as you came hard around his dick. “ Fuck.” Ran groaned as your pussy firmly held his dick in making him cum deep inside your tender cunt before slowly pulling out 

“Wait until we get home. Fuck you until I pass out” Ran Groaned while pulling your panties back up 

Rindou Haitani

✰ Rindou is longing for your Kisses, Touch and the way your pussy milks him

✰ Not bringing you along on this trip was his undoing, Now his dick aching and his head swimming

✰ Rindou can't even sleep without you being beside him and to make it worse his dick won't stop being hard

✰ Jerking his dick to your photos doesn't help him, He needs your pussy to remedy this situation

✰ Got Him imagining your titties pressed up against his face when he's out with the guys, Ran and Sanzu is worried for him

✰ “The Fuck is up with your lil bro?” Sanzu asks while pouring himself another shot, “ Fuck. I don't even know.  I believe he's thinking with his dick again” Ran laughs snapping Rindou out of his thoughts. “Haha Real fucking Funny” Rindou Grunts before leaving

✰ Just Know! he's going to fuck you like a beast when he finally gets back to you

✰ “Hope you're not planning to walk. Cause I'm going to fuck that pussy so good and bruise up those thighs that walking will be out of the question” Rindou groaned while pulling down your top to bury his face in your tits

Rindou couldn't keep himself from Groaning loudly as he rammed his dick deep into your pussy, “Don't know how much I missed this, Had My head fucked up thinking about you” Rindou Grunted before bringing your left Nipple into his warm mouth

“Missed this too Rinnie, Missed your thick dick” You moaned while you ran your fingers through his hair, Rindou had to slow his thrusts down because your pussy felt so good to him. “Fuck. Feels heavenly” Rindou groaned while he gave slow long strokes

His swollen dick felt so good stuffing your pussy that you had to bite your lip to suppress your moans making Rindou Hips Halt, “ Let the Neighbors hear how much you missed this dick” Rindou Grunted before pinching your thighs as he went back to fucking into you

He made sure you were gonna scream his name with the way his hips rutted into your soft walls. your pussy quivering with pleasure while you scream his name so loudly that you knew your voice was going to be hoarse 

He fucked you so good that you forgot to tell him that you were close to cumming as he fucked you over the edge of ecstasy, Your orgasm hit you hard as your whole body shooked under him. “ Looks so pretty when your cumming” Rindou groaned as he fucked you through your high before painting your soft walls with his thick cum

“Not Done with this pretty pussy yet, Hope you're not too tired” Rindou Grunted while giving you shallow thrusts before bringing his lips down to yours 

Haruchiyo Sanzu

✰ Heavens Bless the idiots who steps to Haruchiyo wrong when you're away from him

✰ Haruchiyos going crazy without you in his arms and on his dick. He won't hesitate to harm a fool now

✰ Your Naked pictures just tease him and make him so hard that he leaking precum like a facet 

✰ got him fucking his fist every chance he gets chasing after some form of relief

✰ The mere thought of you has him daydreaming in Bonten meetings about you fucking or sucking him, Oh what he would do you to have you on your knees sucking him off right about now 

✰ Haruchiyo is So On edge That  Rindou and Ran are concerned for everyone's wellbeing 

✰ “Damn Sanzu. More nuttier than usual ” Ran says under his breath while Rindou elbows him the ribs, “ Be Quiet Before you make him snap” Rindou whispers to his brother

✰ Haruchiyo can barely keep himself together when you come back to him

✰ “Gonna fuck you so hard that you'll be bed bound for days” Haruchiyo Groans while he grinds himself against you

Haruchiyo Had you on the cold marble floor of your foyer fucking into you with your legs on his shoulders as he rammed his dick deep in your cunt. “Left Me and Made me fucking crazy without you” Haruchiyo Groaned while he stared at you with crazed eyes. “ Pussy so fucking tight for me” He groaned brokenly 

“Haru, I missed you too” you moaned while you brought his knuckles to your lips to kiss them before sucking on his thumb making him groan, “ So fucking perfect” Haruchiyo groaned before using his free hand to toy with your clit making your body jolt

“Feel Good Haru” You moaned while he worked your pussy over so well. “Want to make you cum, Miss feeling you cumming around my dick” Haruchiyo groaned while he stroked you just right that the tip of his dick was brushing your G-spot with every push of his hips 

Haruchiyo's eyes studied your face as he took in the emotions you were giving to him, “ Looks so heavenly under me. Fuck.” Haruchiyo grunted while he pushed his dick deeper into your twitching cunt

“Can feel it. You're about to cum for me” Haruchiyo groaned while he kept fucking you in the same rhythm, “Cum for me babe” Haruchiyo said as you obeyed his words and got lost in your orgasmic high. Your pussy milked his dick while he tried his best to fuck you through your orgasm, “Fuck. Squeezing down on my dick so fucking Good” Haruchiyo groaned as his dick spurted thick ropes of cum inside you

Haruchiyo was shivering as he gave you two more thrusts before he pulled out of you and picked you off the floor, “ Gonna fuck you on the bed now’ Haruchiyo said while grinning at you

Manjiro 'Mikey' Sano 

✰ Manjiro Having a very Hard time without you being beside him where you belong

✰ All his thoughts are consumed by you, He can't close his eyes to sleep without feeling your lips on his neck and pussy on his dick

✰ You Got one of the most powerful men in japan losing his grip on reality 

✰ Him being without you got him pissed the fuck off, stress levels are up in Bonten until you return back to Manjiro's arms safely

✰ Sanzu is ever so busy now. How Many Men cried out in pain because Manjiro has to go without you? too many to count

✰ At this point, most of Japan is hoping you return as soon as possible before Manjiro rages 

✰ Manjiro Going to get you out of your clothes quick as hell  when his hands get onto you

“Miss me?? Hope you missed this dick cause I'm going to fuck that pussy until your walls have my dick imprinted in them” Manjiro whispers in your ear while cutting your clothes off with his knife

Manjiro Had you folded up on your bed as his dick enter in and out of you slowly, “ Sight alone is enough for me cum into that pretty pussy” Manjiro groaned before picking up the pace and fucking you just right. The pressure from being in this  position and the visuals you were getting were enough to make your pussy pulsate

“Pussy Already throbbing? Guess you were going insane for me like I was for you” Manjiro groaned while he dug his feet deeper into the mattress. He gave your pussy deep rough strokes making your eyes roll back, “Who this pussy belong to? I'll stop fucking you if don't you force the right answer out of those pretty lips” Manjiro grunted

“ This Pussy is Manjiro Sano Pussy” You moaned as he continued fucking into you, “ You got that fucking right” Manjiro grunted as he spanked your thighs before he bought his fingers down to your slit to play your  swollen clit making you scream out his name 

Manjiro dick was finding your g-spot effortlessly while you could only moan incoherently under him, Your legs shaking uncontrollably as Manjiro fucked you silly. You were overwhelmed with pleasure as Manjiro's dick bullied your pussy so well that you couldn't stop your pussy from throbbing around his pretty dick

“Fuck. Greedy Pussy sucking me all the way in” Manjiro moaned while he enjoyed the feeling of you cumming around his dick, Your cunt was tugging him so good he couldn't keep his dick from cumming in you. Manjiro pushed his dick deeper before pulling you out of the position so he can lay on top of you

“Not Done With You Yet. I'm fucking you till the only thing you can think about is my dick” Manjiro Groaned before licking your neck

Kakucho

✰ Kakucho misses everything about you, From the way you smell to the way your lips feel on his lips

✰ He can't wait for this trip to be over with so he can have you back in his arms 

It Doesn't help that his dick misses you a lot too, Kakucho finds himself hard whenever he thinks of your name or your pretty face 

✰ How he strokes his dick while pretending it's your hand gliding up and down his shaft before you wrap those lips tightly around him

✰ He feels bad about touching himself while thinking about you in such a dirty manner but he needs you so badly

✰ He got to have you on top of him or he’ll lose his head

✰ The moment he gets back to your vicinity, he's gonna pull you on top of him 

✰ “Missed you so much” Kakucho whispers in your ear while his fingers tug at your pants 

Kakucho Had you on your back with your left leg up as he fucked up into you making you crazy on his dick, “You don't know how much I missed being one with you” Kakucho Grunted while he admired your face. Kakucho's Hands roamed your body, squeezing every part of you tenderly while his dick massaged your G-Spot

“Kaku, so good to me. So Pretty… Always loving me”  You moaned into his ear while he kissed up and down your neck, Kakucho's strong hands softly held your tits while his fingers rubbed your nipples that you Mewled his Name. “ So Beautiful” Kakucho groaned while he repeatedly pushed his dick deep in you

Kakucho's dick pounded into your gummy walls making you tremble against him, “So tight, So warm” Kakucho groaned while he rolled his hips up into you so that his dick head was applying pressure to that spongy spot inside your pussy making you weep tears of ecstasy

Kakucho's dick and fingers worked you over so well that you were saying his name as your life depended on it, “ I love you so much” Kakucho groaned while wiping away your tears. “Can Barely live without you” Kakucho said as he dug deeper into your pussy

His words and the way he was fucking you made your pussy cum without warning, You could push an ahh through your lips as your orgasm blessed you. Kakucho kept up the pace as he fucked you through your bliss before he came inside of your pussy. “A Angel In my bed with me, I am blessed” Kakucho Groaned before kissing your lips 

Hajime Kokonoi 

✰ Hajime's Minds a mess, He can't even think straight when you're on the other side of the world 

✰ His dick stays so hard that he feels dizzy and Heaven forbid he thinks about you, He feels like he's going to bust in his Gucci Pants 

✰ Swears this Business Trip will be the death of him because he misses you so much 

✰ Got him going to the restroom between meetings just to look at pictures of your pussy and to fuck his fist 

✰ Haitani Brothers and Sanzu Making jokes at his expense 

✰ “Bet You know how much everything in that restroom costs” Ran jokes while Rindou and Sanzu laugh, “ Haitani don't you have a report you need to be filing while you're monitoring how many times I go to the restroom?? Or do I need to audit your spending again?” Hajime ask while looking through his files making Ran quiet

✰ Oh How is Hajime Gonna make you pay for making him feel so needy

✰ “ You and That Pussy of yours been making me crazy. I'm fucking this pussy till my dick goes limp” Hajime groans while spanking your ass

Hajime didn't even have time to take his pants off before burying his dick in between your folds. Your pussy was so wet that your slick was getting on his Louis Vuitton Pants, “ Look at you making a mess on me. Telling by how wet this pussy is You must of miss me too” Hajime whispered in your ear as he gave you deep slow strokes from behind

“Mhmm” You moaned while he kept hitting deep inside your cunt, “Feels Good to be back in your pussy how much I missed you” Hajime groaned before putting his belt around your belly to pull you closer. “You're not gonna run away from this dick. Want to stay deep in you” Hajime moaned while keeping his grip on the belt

Hajime fucked you so good that you could touch heaven, his hips pounding up into your pussy making you scream his name. “Fuck. Koko so deep inside me” you moaned while trying to keep your back arched for him

“Dick making you lose your form? I know im fucking you good.” Hajime teased while he kept fucking you so deep that your legs were wobbling. He beat your pussy so good that you could feel that knot in you growing getting ready to snap 

“Koko. I`m cumming Oh Lord I'm cumming” you moaned while your orgasm came down on you hard, Hajime didn't let up as continued to give you every inch of his dick before pulling out of you and stroking his dick.

“Lay Down On your back. I'm not done fucking you yet” Hajime groaned before spanking your ass

Shuji Hanma (Bonus)

✰ Shuji Hates to admit it but he's an addict for your touch

✰ You being away from him is making him nuts! Got Shuji feeling your body on his while he rests at night

✰ He's fiending for your pussy, Got him aching for a little taste of your sweet cunt

✰ Shuji Tugging on his dick desperately trying to cum but it's all for not, touching himself doesn't feel the same when he knows you're not around to lay that pussy on him

✰ Hell Even Kisaki Misses you because Shuji won't shut up about how much he needs to feel you around his dick

✰ “Dammit Man. Need them Like oxygen. Would do anything to just slide the tip in” Shuji says while cracking his knuckles while Kisaki rubs his temples

✰ When You finally come back home, Shuji’s gonna be all over you

✰ “Missed You so much. Gonna fuck that pussy till my balls are empty” Shuji groans before sucking on your neck

Shuji was fucking into you desperately on the couch while he tore open your blouse with his hands, “Shu, That was my favorite blouse” You whined as he pulled your tits free from your bra. “Don't cry baby, I'll buy you a new one.” Shuji grunted before taking your right nipple in his mouth

His hips snapped with precision as he hit his target with every thrust, his dick was finding that spot in you that made you a moaning mess with every stroke while his fingers rubbed circles on your clit making you forget about your blouse 

“Pussy gripping me like you're afraid I'll pull out or something” Shuji teased before taking your left nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around your bud making you arch off the couch. “Shu. feels so fucking good” You Moaned as your fingernails dugs into his back 

Shuji's dick was beating your pussy down as your eyes filled with tears of pleasure, You relished the feeling of his dick being inside your soft walls making you feel full. “ Fucking missed this, I know you did too” Shuji Groaned before sucking on your neck making your eyes roll and your pussy pulse

“Shu, So close Gonna cum” You moaned as your pussy began cumming on his dick so hard that your body was shaking, “ Shit. Gripping down on this dick” Shuji Groaned as your pussy pulled his cum from him as his thick cum pour into you

Shuji thrust into you a couple more times before pulling out of you and kissing your lips, “So fucking Hot” Shuji said as he watch his cum dribble out of you

Hotties on the Taglist ❤️‍🔥 @obitohno @lovelygeniegirl1012 @ransluvrboy

Likes, Comments, Reblogs, And Asks are Appreciated & Loved

Please Don’t Steal My Shit

[reality-detective]

🍏 Get rid of fungus at home 🍎

Recipe with baking soda and hydrogen peroxide:

Baking soda, which is recommended for use as a cleaner and odor absorber, can also help freshen up your feet. According to scientists published in the journal Mycopathology, this product can kill up to 79% of the spores that cause infection. Toenail fungus is usually acidic, so baking soda helps to adjust the pH of your nails and the surrounding area, making it difficult for the fungus to grow and develop.

Recipe:👇

Try soaking your feet in a mixture of baking soda and hydrogen peroxide, which can also help kill toenail fungus. Mix half a cup of baking soda, 1 cup of 3% hydrogen peroxide, and 4 cups of water. Soak the infected toenails or the entire foot for 10-20 minutes daily, then rinse and dry the affected area.

- Natural Remedies 🤔

[dani-says-stuff]

The Art of Distraction

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❥ Back to the Control Center

❥ Nate Hardy Masterlist

- couldn't wait to bulk post, i'm actually pretty proud of this one

- i didn't end up using the exact line/prompt in the request because it didnt really fit, but it's similar enough for the point to get across

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Nate Hardy x fem!reader

Summary: Based on this request

i tried lol, i dont know if it's as spicy as you were hoping it to be, but i packed it with extra stuff just incase that part came out super cringy.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: cringe, suggestive(?), mentions of a haunting that i completely made up for background, very very loosely based on the witch's forest video, inconsistent capitalization, my usual grammar warning... i dont think theres anything bad in here but to be honest i cant really remember

Dialogue Key: Probably dont even need this, but just for consistancy

Y/N

Nate

couldnt really find a great gif for this fic, but i think its funny so im dropping it here.

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

It had been a few hours since you had returned home and you'd yet to stop shaking. You'd been on investigations with Nate and the boys in the past, but this one in particular threw you way more than you thought it would. 

For the entire car ride back home, the events wouldn't stop rapidly flicking through your mind. Nate's arm resting on the console and his hand softly placed on your thigh did little to ground you as it normally did. The thought of reaching down and intertwining your fingers as you'd done many times before didn't even come to mind, your hands too busy picking at your sleeves to do anything else. 

Dark midnight skies barely visible through clusters of twisted curling tree branches. 

Thick wooden trunks placed around you like a maze, they all looked the same no matter which direction you went. 

Dry dirt and bits of gravel kicking up in clouds behind you, scraping up the backs of your legs from the speed at which you were running. 

Branches strewn across the overgrown path splitting and cracking loudly beneath your feet. 

Your throat, raw from screaming out to the boys. 

Your heartbeat, deafening in your ears. 

Nate's one-sided conversation through the duration of the ride back barely made its way to your ears, it felt like you were underwater or your ears were stuffed with cotton.

The only thing you could hear clearly was the memory of your own panicked screams earlier that night. 

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

It had started just as any other investigation had, and for the first time in a while, it wasn't happening in a building. 

The first half of the video held a strangely nostalgic vibe. In the days of a better quality Sam and Colby channel, where they were now able to book the big shot hauntings and go to different countries with loads of equipment, would sit a small video similar to those of their early days.

They were once again investigating an area that wasn't highly publicized, the only ones to know of it being the eager locals with decades of ghost stories to share. 

It was said that there was a witch who lived deep within the forest many centuries ago. She dwelled in a quaint cottage where she would practice her spells and hexes... or at least that's how the villagers of the time saw her.

It didn't matter that the woman was in the woods alone because her family had all perished from sickness.

It didn't matter that she was cooking up the same herbal home remedies as everyone else.

When the drought came and wiped out the village crops but the witch's garden in the woods flourished due to the untouched aquifer beneath her land, they were furious.

It was said that they marched upon her house late one night, torches and pitchforks held high, enraged at the witch in the woods. They yelled, taunting her to emerge so they could take her into the small town square. When she refused, they tossed their torches at the structure, laughter overpowering the screams of the woman inside as the house was engulfed in flame. 

It was thought to be an old wives tale, the witch deep in the woods brooding silently as she worked on enchantments was hardly anything new. It was simply a story passed down from parent to child in hopes of keeping the energetic children from venturing off too far on their own. 

But then they started finding things.

The ruins of a small house, a foundation of stone left behind in the middle of the forest.

Old, hand-made historic brick, placed in a careful circle like the makings of a well.

The bones found throughout the property, most likely scattered by animals and winds over time.

With the influx of people from the small town once again venturing into the forest, it was only natural that the witch would awaken. 

So, you all ventured into the woods with no more than a flashlight each, a spirit box, and a REM pod to see if you would be able to communicate with the spirit of the witch that haunted the woods.

When the sun set was when everything went wrong.

The REM pod began going off rapidly, pointing in every direction, no clear responses being drawn from the item. The spirit box chirped to life despite never being turned on, spouting one word.

Run. 

Branches cracked from close behind you, startling your group of four to do exactly that. 

You made it a few feet when you tripped over something cold and solid, just tall enough to catch the end of your shoe as you ran. Your flashlight tumbled from your hand, rolling across the ground to show two very terrifying things. 

One, the lack of the three boys running along behind you, meaning that you had managed to run off in a different direction than they had. You were now completely alone in the forest that was difficult to navigate in a group. 

Two, a short stone wall standing before you, encapsulating the leafy floor you were splayed across. You had managed to run straight into the remains of the cottage. 

If matters couldn't get any worse, the very thing commonly experienced by those who ventured to this area happened to you. It was said that if you ventured onto her land, the witch would drain the power of your devices and most often—the batteries of your flashlights.

Any sort of light brought near the ruins in the dead of night would be promptly snuffed out, assumingly because of the tragedy that occurred the last time beacons of light were brought to the location. 

Your flashlight began to flicker. 

Once.

Twice. 

And then the light was gone, submerging you completely in the stale darkness of night. 

Everything after that was a blur, all you could comprehend were the quick flashes terrorizing your mind. 

Dark midnight skies.

Clusters of twisted tree branches. 

A wooden maze of towering trees. 

Dry dirt and bits of gravel stinging your legs. 

Burning muscles. 

Overgrown paths.

Panicked screams of both you and Nate as you scrambled blindly through the wood. 

Your heartbeat pounding in your head.

Just as it felt like you were running aimlessly then, you felt as if you could make no progress now. 

No matter how far you ran—no matter how much time had passed—you stayed terrified. 

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Both bedside lamps were on as you burrowed yourself under countless layers of blankets and sheets, your body curled in a tight ball. After all, if your blankets are covering you, the monster under the bed doesn't know you are there.

All that peaked out from the fluffy mass on the bed were your eyes, gaze solely focused on the Disney movie you'd turned on moments before, proving to yourself that witches aren't really as scary as they appear.

Good always wins and bad things can't reach you. 

Nate entered the room about fifteen minutes into your movie, hair still damp from the shower and one of your favorite shirts of his draped over his shoulders. It was an old T-shirt from who knows how long ago, but it was soft from wear and one of the most comforting things in the world to have pressed against your skin when he pulled you into his chest at night. 

His eyebrows furrowed at your eyes, wide and alert, quickly darting to him when he entered the bedroom, "Babe?" he spoke softly, slowly approaching and kneeling down by the bedside, fishing for your hand beneath the blankets, "Are you ok?" 

His eyes were sincere and brimming with worry as he looked upon you, gaze scanning over what he could see of you, assessing any damage that may have occurred in the brief time he left you alone.

You nodded slowly, eyes abandoning the movie and choosing to find solace in him instead. 

Once deeming you in no worse condition than he left you in, his head moved finally noticing the laptop perched on the mattress and the movie that previously held your attention playing out on the screen. 

A teasing smirk graced his features, "Really?"

Heat rose to your cheeks and you somehow managed to descend deeper into your cocoon. Your words were muffled by the comforter blocking the lower half of your face, "I needed to get my mind off of it." Nate laughed quietly at your explanation making you double down out of embarrassment, "I needed something to distract me so I could sleep." 

"A Disney movie?" he spoke, equal parts teasing and condescending. 

"What?" you whined rolling your eyes at him, "It always worked when I was younger." 

He hummed, standing up and plucking the laptop from the bed, quickly shutting it off and placing it to the side despite your protests. 

"Well," Nate spoke, waggling his eyebrows at you a few times in order to get you to laugh, "now you don't need 'em."  

You raised a single eyebrow, scanning him skeptically, "Why's that?" 

"Because," he trailed off, leaning to press a loving kiss to your forehead, "I'm going to be the best damn distraction you've ever seen."

"Oh really?" 

He hummed again, pressing a kiss to your nose.

You tilted your head slightly to the side with wide puppy dog eyes staring up at him, not quite getting what he was implying, "And how exactly are you going to do that?" 

Nate pulled the covers down to your chin with a soft, lovesick smile, "Like this." he whispered, finally placing a kiss on your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, a warmth flooding your body unlike the one gained from the blankets. This was a warmth that came from the innermost parts of your soul, igniting each and every nerve, setting them on fire. 

He slowly peeled back the blankets to reveal your form, arms covered with goosebumps from the stark temperature difference flew up to wrap around his neck the second they were released, fingers sinking into his hair. His own arms swiftly moved around your waist, pulling your bodies even closer as he moved onto the bed hovering over you, never once daring to break the kiss. 

The only time his lips left yours where when they moved to trace your jawline and trail down your neck leaving you breathless. 

He moved across your skin, leaving a tapestry of red and purple in his wake, painting your skin the same colors as the fireworks dancing behind your eyelids. With your mind focused on him, there was no room to think of anything else, he moved in a way that you couldn't fathom wanting to think of anything else. 

His hands dipped lower and lower, teasing beneath the hemming of your sleepshirt and caressing your warm skin.

He leaned back, removing his lips from you after what felt like hours, pupils blown wide and a loving, lustful haze clouding over his eyes. 

The only reason he parted was to drag the shirt up off your body with his own quickly following suit to be thrown blindly into a corner, lips hungrily returning to your own the minute the barrier was gone. 

He held your attention fully until the sun breached the horizon line, chasing the moon and darkness of night away as it found its rightful place up in the sky. The night was over, any thoughts you had of terrible twisting branches and evil witches dissolved in the light of morning—at least the ones that hadn't been valiantly chased away by your very own knight in shining armor. 

You lay in bed beneath the single bedsheet, head resting against Nate's chest as he absentmidedly traced shapes across your back, humming a random melody as he did so. The warm light of day breaching through the cracks of the drawn curtains, bathing your tangled limbs in soft gold. 

He was right, you didn't need to distract yourself with the technicolor animations of your childhood. You didn't need to dull your senses with endless hours of princes and princesses saving the day anymore. 

Not when you had your very own fairytale sitting right in front of you, ready and waiting to do whatever it takes to give you your happy ending. 

With that thought and a sweet smile gracing your lips you closed your eyes, finally able to get some sleep. 

[zillasvilla]

Mayhem Chapter Two: Touched

Summary: Two sisters deal with the harsh realities of living within a crime syndicate. It’s not all diamonds and money. It’s blood, sweat, and more bloodshed that keeps these families in power.

WC: 3267 Pairings: Joseph Anoa’i x OC Black Character; Randy Orton x Black OC Character co-written: @keyaho

AU : Mafia x WWE

. . . . . ╰──╮ADX FLORENCE╭──╯ . . . . .

He’s been counting down the days until he was home the moment he stepped into the facility. The same day he was stripped of everything that reminded him of Ziva except his thoughts. His business and business dealings were nothing compared to her and if he lost everything, like he felt he had now, he knew she would always be there. Just like she had been. Her loyalty was unmatched by anyone, except his friendship with Joseph. To find that in a woman and she remains true, true enough to carry his children, he didn’t want to forget her. He hated seeing her walk through the cells and bars to get to him. She was always excited as if it was their first time seeing each other. She kept his spirits up and he barely had the decency to say I Love You before he left. Though he left another woman for Ziva, he couldn’t lie and say he loved that other woman and he understood what love was when Ziva leaned into him one night they were out.

It was a simple gesture because someone had been bothering her. Her agitator didn’t notice but Randy saw the way her right brow shot up in confusion and her lips pursed in a cute but fretful way. A man who could read the most unreadable, Randy saw the slight slouch in her shoulders as she leaned towards him. Her hair brushed his arm and he fell into protective mode, silently pulling Ziva to stand in front of him while they stood in line for the ice cream she had been begging him all day for. His lips found the side of her head, kissing her temple as she sighed. Her shoulders relaxed and the smile he put on her face that day came back. She needed him. He liked to let her handle herself when they were out. Randy didn’t want to be overbearing. But now he wasn’t there and as protected as he knew she was, she wasn’t because it wasn’t him protecting her. 

ADX Florence was cold as shit. His beard was scratchy, dry, needing the moisture from Ziva’s pu-

“ORTON!” 

Randy looked from the ceiling to his cell door, unamused. With his hands behind his head he was trying to get some sleep in the always lit cell, only for his closed eyes to snap open again when his cell door was banged on. 

“Hands through the slot, prick!” 

Hannigan. 

A guard that had been a pain in his ass. Though, he had a remedy for that. To think he couldn’t do what he was good at while locked up was a miscalculation. Ziva’s last visit had given him all the information he needed. Randy sat up slowly, rolling his neck side to side as he swung his feet over the edge of the concrete bed. He took his time as Hannigan watched through the slot. Before he stepped to the cell, he dropped his pants and used the bathroom, knowing full well the guard would only see his stream of piss. 

When he was finished he righted his clothes and washed his hands. Only then did he slide his hands over to be cuffed. 

“You have a visitor. Some black dude in a suit. St. Clair something. He said you two had a mutual friend.” 

Randy stayed quiet. He was trying to place the name, but nothing came up. His curiosity peaked but his senses were on high alert. The last thing he wanted was a situation that would fuck up his release and getting back to Ziva. She’d kill him herself if that happened. 

He was taken to one of the rooms used to speak with his lawyer from time to time. More comfortable than the room he had to have Ziva endure seeing him chained up in. The room was empty when he was brought in. In the center was a metal table bolted to the floor with a matching bolted chair. His cuffs were locked in place to a hook in the table while he was forced to sit down. A few minutes ticked by and like Hannigan said a black man in a suit walked in. His face was familiar, but not in an old acquaintance's way. 

“Mr. Orton, I am sure you were confused when you were told you had a visitor.” The man’s eyes flickered to Hannigan who had not left the room. “Tact is lost on a lot of people. I could hear him down the hall in the way he spoke.” 

Randy leaned back in the chair, his posture relaxed and uncaring. His gaze was one of disinterest and his guard was firmly in place. 

“You should get to the point,’ Randy replied, “I’m a busy man.” 

The man laughed briefly. “Clearly.” 

As the man sat, Randy noticed beneath his coat was a crisp suit, tailored to his broad shoulders and larger build. He wasn’t one of the regular lawyers that came in and out hoping to replace other’s for more lucrative clients. Randy had his fair share slide in and out of these concrete walls. His own was amused at the attempts to persuade him to their side. What man would do for money. 

“I’m Lawrence St. Clair. You know my daughter, Ziva.” 

There weren't many people in Ziva’s life that he wasn’t aware of. She had been open about her relationships and what they meant to her. Before him, she created her own family because the one she had been born into had done her an awful disservice. Yet, at the mention of this man being her father, Randy’s body language changed. His shoulders squared off and his eyes narrowed. 

“She’s never mentioned you.” 

“The last time I saw her the chance for that to be different was taken from me. I, admittedly, have not been in her life like I should.” 

“But you know enough to come here, first,’ Randy pursed his lips. “Smart man.” 

“I’ve been watching them from afar, too reluctant to approach them. I’ve always seen her with you, or her sister and her husband. The four of you are close?” 

“If you are here to fish information you’re at the wrong lake. What do you want?” 

“I want a chance to meet my daughter and future grandchildren.” 

Randy shook his head. Anger he had suppressed for years was creeping up, warming his face as his pale skin began to redden. To mention seeing Ziva or his kids made Randy jerk the metal table, the strength making it shake enough to cause Hannigan to take a step forward. 

“A gesture of good faith,’ he said, sensing Randy was not a man one could easily make a request from. Lawrence stood up, not wanting to anger Randy more than necessary. He’d seen enough. He saw a man that loved his daughter more than he ever could hope to. And if Randy said so, Ziva wouldn’t give him the time of day. 

“It was nice meeting you, son,’ he said. “I hope you will give me a chance to fix my mistakes.” 

. . . . . ╰──╮Monday Night Raw╭──╯ . . . . .

Naira had done her best to keep Ziva off her feet, wanting nothing more than to alleviate her sister’s stress while pregnant. Sebastian–her son, had other plans. The active four-year-old is using the arena as his playground.

“Sebastian!” She shouts, tearing her focus away from Ziva, who was in good hands with Rhea and Bianca. Her hands won’t be good when she gets them on the little terror she calls a child.

His childlike giggles could be heard from a mile away as he ran away from her; knocking over everything in his path and what his little hands could reach. Naira had to count to ten, not wanting to curse her child out. He was still within her sight-line; dodging the unphased wrestlers that lurked around. Phil and Josh watched on while talking, mostly blocking the exits to keep Bash from running outside and getting snatched up. The breath she took did nothing to calm her nerves. 

“I swear to god Bash!” Naira probably looked crazy to onlookers, others probably offered a look of sympathy. 

Josh had watched Naira and Bash from a distance–usually not wanting to interfere unless asked or he became too much to handle. However, the kid was a menace, a miniature version of his father. A soft chuckle left his lips at the smaller version of Joe–the child painting the perfect picture of what he was like as a child–whacking someone in the leg while running. Naira was close behind, probably cursing to herself for not investing in a leash or the fact that she had on heels-stopping for a moment to take them off to better catch up with him. He was a fast runner though, making it halfway down the long hall before deciding that crates were the best thing to use as a jungle gym.

“Oh no, I don’t think that’s safe buddy.” A strange lady tries to grab him from under his arms, struggling as the kid almost weighs a hundred pounds. “Just trying to help you.”

“You’re not my mommy !” Her hold was pretty tight, and frustrated he couldn’t move his arms–his foot connected with her chin while screaming. 

Sebastian’s screams and her curses caught the attention of Josh and Naira. The tattooed Samoan rushed to intervene, frowning at the sight of Dakota. Naira hated her with a passion, making her presence known to the half-samoan woman. 

“Ow, you little fucker.” 

She holds on to her now bruising chin as Naira makes her presence known. Her blood boiling at the curses towards her child. Sebastian makes a quick getaway to the top of the crates, lying belly down to watch his mother yell at Dakota.

“Why are you touching my kid.” She arches a brow at the woman, peaking up to see he was hiding, she would deal with her first before getting him down.

“He was going to fall off the crates….wanted to get him before he fell. Seems like you were too busy to do it.” Naira lets that slick comment go, for now, not wanting to get out of character in front of these people. Dakota’s rambling continued, petting Bash’s hair. She couldn’t stand the woman, something about her face just setting her off, and that obnoxious laugh. Naira wishes she could just cut her tongue out to make her stop talking. Naira sighs with a laugh, the visual picture she painted in her mind an impossible dream. 

“I advise you to get the fuck out of my face.” 

Dakota was caught off guard. “You should be grateful, the kid almost hurt himself–” She stops her protest at the look on her face. Throwing her hands up, while backing away. Naira ensures she walks away, turning to look up at her son.

“Sebastian, come down now.” 

His piercing brown eyes bore into hers with a shake of his head, kicking his legs while looking around the arena, the new vantage point allowing him to see everything. He loved terrorizing his mother, sometimes she made it too easy, especially when she was worried about making sure Ziva was comfortable. Sebastian had zoned out his mother’s voice–not intentionally. His attention span was short. 

Joseph shook his head at his son’s antics, his absence probably the reason for his behavior. His eyes trail over Naira’s frame. She had gotten thicker in certain areas, most notably her ass. He wanted to pull her into one of the many storage closets and fuck her from behind, but first, he had to be a father.

“Get down.” The all-too-familiar voice demands. His husky-deep voice fills her ears, eyes matching the person she thought it was as he approached them. His six-foot-three frame towering over her shorter one. Joe. She starts pouting, his bulking frame stretching out the thin material of his shirt. Sebastian looks between the two. His view of her is blocked as he sits up on his hands and knees. The hard glare on Joseph’s scares him down, allowing the older man to grab him into his arms still unsure of who the man was.

“aisea ua e tuuina atu ai ia mama se taimi faigata” (why are you giving mama a hard time). Sebastian hugs his neck, realizing it was his father. Joseph had only ever talked to him in Samoan and Italian, usually forcing Naira to learn as well–not much, but enough to understand.  He preferred it every time they visited, wanting some form of privacy even while chained up like a dog. Don’t get it twisted he was still The Big Dog.

“Malo.” ( hi). Sebastian’s voice is small, while sleepily looking at him. Her soft sniffles had Joseph turning his attention to his side, Naira next to him with a small pout on her face, she was trying so hard not to cry. She cried over everything; being pregnant, giving birth, his first steps, him leaving.” He loved it though. 

“e aulelei.” (hey beautiful). His free arm hooks around her back, pulling her flush to his chest. A soft kiss was pressed to the crown of her head as he inhaled her scent. She’s slapping his chest before giving in to the touch. Sebastian resting his head on his father’s shoulders, eyes fluttering closing at the familiar warmth, and after being able to finally hug him–he fell asleep. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home.” she dabbed at her eyes with her right one, the left fanning them to keep the tears at bay. She had a ton of questions, but firstly she wanted to love on her man. Her arms pull him down into a hug by his neck–thicker than she last saw him. His lips pressed into her cheek with a hand ghosting down to grip her ass. 

“Mhm, It was your dad.” He mumbles. He couldn’t stand that man. Lawrence was a money-hungry coward and he was willing to sell his daughter's life for that. Naira rolls her eyes at the mention of her father. A glorified picture perfect dad at the hands of her stepmother Valerie St. Claire. “Randy asked me about hi-”

Ziva’s loud cry of pain has Naira rushing to her side, Joseph right behind her with a sleeping Sebastian. Only the little terror would fall asleep at a time like this.

✶ . . . . . •ZB • . . . . . ✶

“I made Dwayne buy those strollers,’ Ziva said while pointing a fry towards the table of bags she brought in from shopping. Rhea went with her and she had promised Bianca and Trinity she would show them when they came back. 

“That was nice of him!” Bianca squeals while pulling out a pair of pink and blue booties. “Girl, these are too cute!” 

Ziva placed her hand on her stomach while she leaned back in the cushioned back studio chair. Producer was embellished on the back and it was one chair that was comfortable enough for her to sit and relax. Naira’s threat of no brownies tonight had her feeling some type of way. Randy got your ass spoiled, bitch I aint Randal! Ziva had to remind her that she still made Joseph peel her oranges. 

“I had such a hard time picking out clothes. All Randy wanted was matching Js.” 

“How did you get Dwayne to pay for both strollers?” Trinity had put it together quickly so she could detach the car seats and have them in the SUV. It had been on the expectant mother’s list of items to get. 

“He wanted to get Jade’s number.” Shooting her quiet friend a wink, the group let out a series of giggles.

As she bit into her burger, towel across her belly to keep her white dress pristine, she felt one of the babies kick. Hard. Randy managed to do the unthinkable and knock her up with twins who liked to take turns kicking her internal organs. Baby girl was putting pedal to the metal against her kidneys. Her eyes clenched shut and she leaned to her side, taking deep breaths. Naira noticed her sister’s face change to one of pain and before she could step over a pale hand landed on Ziva’s stomach. Rubbing the pregnant belly in a way that was too familiar.

Time moved fast. Ziva’s eyes snapped open to a hand that wasn’t her husband’s touching her lower belly. A cheshire smile was on the man’s face and Ziva anxiety began to kick in. She opened her mouth to speak when Rhea stepped over, ready to handle it herself when someone came from behind Ziva. Her body was so rigid a pain shot through her back making her cry out in pain.

Before she could react the hand was being yanked back from her body and she was shielded from the beady eyes of Dexter Lumis. He was a new addition to Raw, on a trial from the Indies. 

Outside of her sister and Rhea, few had permission to touch her. Let alone her stomach. That had been vocalized many times. When she realized the familiar scent of Randy’s cologne she grabbed his shirt from behind. Ziva couldn’t move much, but Randy got the hint. 

He looked Dexter in the eyes while squeezing his wrists. 

“I don’t ever remember giving you permission to touch her.” He said. 

It had to have been the adrenaline pumping through her veins, the anxious feeling Dexter caused, and Randy’s return, but Ziva felt a large bubble burst between her legs, at least that’s how she’d describe it. Tunnel vision took over and she began to cry, tugging on Randy’s shirt while Naira returned and flew into action, coming to her sister’s side to get her to breathe. 

Joseph, who was trailing behind them with Sebastian, passed him to Bianca while going to his friend who was dead set on pummeling Dexter into the concrete ground. 

“Not right now,’ the Samoan mumbled, peeling Randy’s grip away from the offender’s wrist. “Snap out of it and get Z to the hospital.” 

Dexter scurried off, disappearing in the many tunnels of backstage. 

Randy snapped his head around, softening at the sight of Ziva crying and staring at the puddle of water on the floor. 

“Shit,’ he cursed, allowing Joseph to help him get her out of the chair. 

He swept her up in his arms, easily carrying her down the hall while those important to them gathered up their things and followed. 

Paul had been expecting Ziva to drop anytime now and knew to take over for the night. She didn’t trust anyone else and knew that he’d treat the product like he did with Smackdown. It was another sold out show and she wanted to keep the fans as happy as she was about to be. 

Her head fell to Randy’s shoulder as they walked, she tried holding in her wails but the contractions were hitting hard and for the first time in a long time she felt vulnerable and scared. 

She was about to be a mother. 

Two babies.

Two new lives to protect. 

As much as she was scared, the motherly instincts she lacked in her own life kicked in. 

She was ready. 

🌞🌻Little Sunflowers🌞🌻: Comment to be added

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[booksbeansandcandles]

With cold and flu season fast approaching, I want to post herbal recipes I am finding. These are not mine, and not medical advice!!!

Plant Origins of Thieves Oil

Clove: clove buds originate from the evergreen tree Syzygium aromaticum or Eugenia caryophyllata. These flower buds contain up to 20 percent essential oil, and are incredibly pungent, thanks to the major active chemical component called eugenol.

Rosemary: rosemary is a popular herb that comes from a small evergreen plant that belong to the mint family. It is native to the Mediterranean region, and possesses strong anti-inflammatory properties .

Eucalyptus: eucalyptus trees are native to Australia, Tasmania, and nearby islands. They’re the popular plant exclusively enjoyed by koala bears, and come in many different species. The oil is derived from the leaf of the eucalyptus tree, and is commonly used in cold remedies.

Cinnamon: cinnamon oil and the dried spice cinnamon both come from the bark of the true cinnamon tree (Cinnamomum zeylanicum). Essential oils that come from the leaf, bark and root of the cinnamon tree are much different, but the most common used version in Thieves oil is the cinnamon leaf. The active component in cinnamon bark essential oil is cinnamaldehyde.

Lemon: lemons come from a small tree in the Rutacea family. Lemon essential oil is derived by cold-pressing the peel of the lemon fruit, which is rich in different phytonutrients and beneficial compounds.

Thieves Oil Recipe

As long as you have all of the necessary essential oils on hand, you can easily make your own version of Thieves oil at home.

Ingredients: Master Blend

80 drops of clove essential oil

70 drops of lemon essential oil

40 drops of cinnamon essential oil

30 drops of eucalyptus essential oil

20 drops of rosemary essential oil

Method:

Combine all of the above essential oils in a dark amber coloured 15 milliliter (0.5 fluid ounce) glass bottle. Make sure you store it a cool, dry place, away from heat and light.

Benefits and Uses of Thieves Oil

This thieves oil recipe can be used to address certain health ailments, check out the benefits and uses below! Not medical advice

1. Relief from Aches and Pains

This Thieves oil recipe is loaded with plenty of anti-inflammatories to ease muscular and joint aches and pains. Rosemary and eucalyptus oil have actually been found to relieve rheumatoid arthritis, as well as muscle and joint aches and pains. You can dilute Thieves oil in a carrier oil (like jojoba oil, almond oil or grapeseed oil) to be used topically on the ache or pain. Typically the ratio is 1 drop essential oil to 4 drops carrier oil.

2. Immune System Support

Thieves oil was used to protect the “thieves” from the Black Plague, so you can be rest-assured that this oil provides some hefty immune support. Clove and rosemary essential oils are powerful antibacterials and anti-fungals. They’ve both been shown to have significant anti-microbial effects against dangerous bacteria like Staphylococcus epidermidis, Escherichia coli, and Candida albicans.

Massage the blend on your feet, lower back, neck and behind your ears for daily immune support. You can also diffuse Thieves oil to allow the essential oil molecules to enter your blood stream after they’ve entered your lungs! To get Thieves oil into your lungs is to diffuse the oil in a diffuser. Diffuse 15-20 drops of Thieves oil for 15 minutes, 3-4 times a day.

By live life fruit.

[swampstew]

Trafalgar Law, B-6 ~ Master/Servant

Summary: Part 3 to Trafalgar Law as a Fylgja: A supernatural being associated with fate, usually an omen of one’s impending doom, who can shapeshift - his favorite form is a Snow Leopard. You're his new little pet and this a little treat on how your life with Law would be.

Part 1 | Part 2 Author's note: This needs to the final part for Fylgja Law, I'm exorcising him from my brain space and back into the friendzone where he belongs (for me, Raven, personally.)

Warnings: Spicy, pet play kink, master/servant relationship, Monster Law, hybrid Law/leopard form. Adding dead dove in case people take issue with monster fucking/hybrid fucking or whatever. Word Count: 643

Law is quick to bring you into his home. He doesn’t mind you keeping the apartment if you want, but he wants you around at all times when he has the time to be home. Being a Fylgja and moonlighting as a surgeon means he seldom has down time. Any time he does, he wants to spend it with you.

When he’s gone, you do whatever you want to entertain yourself in his absence. You won’t need to work because his pay is phenomenal, but if you do its fine by him – so long as you wear a token of his ownership on you. A stunning golden choker with a dangling crystal heart charm. Never take it off unless you want to be in the doghouse.

You take care of his place when you’re under that roof, not because he expects you to but you do it anyways, and you always wear your cat ears – that’s the only rule. Your real catsuit only comes out whenever its play time. He loves shopping for you too, absolutely adores seeing you wear the outfits he buys.

He always starts by having you change into your ‘house’ outfit, the same outfit he gifted you that first day he made you his pet. He washes your hands and feet, drying them with a soft towel before slipping your gloves and socks on. He slips on your panties and bra and you admire the way he restrains himself when his eyes eat you up with a predatory gaze. If you give him a teasing look he’ll flick your cat ear and give your ass a slap. Law looks ravenous by the time he clips on your collar. Before he can indulge – can’t forget your tail plug.

Law will make you purr, hiss, mewl, and downright yowl with what he knows about the human body. He wasn’t an expert at first but when he figured out your cues he was on them like a hound. Loves taking care of his Kitten, in every single way. He saved you and now you’re all his so he wants to spoil and protect you.

He’ll fuck you however you want. Human form, hybrid form – he’s game for anything, he’ll make sure to never hurt you and heavily enforces safe words and check-ins to make sure you’re not lying to him or yourself about being in situations you may not enjoy. Enjoys watching you in the mirror, alone, with him, him making you pleasure yourself, he just loves watching you and watching himself fuck into you. It releases a deep growling that normally doesn’t come out during any other times you are together.

If you’ve ever in your life thought – I wish I could quit everything and become someone’s pet, Law’s the guy you want to be adopted by.

Also: the King of Aftercare. He knows that he’s rough sometimes, especially when he’s shapeshifted (oh yeah, he’ll appeal to your appetite if you want a different breed of cat. Or marine animal), so he performs medical care under the guise of aftercare but honestly you don’t mind it much. He disguises his prodding for discomfort as massaging your muscles, ‘stretching you for the next round’ to make sure nothing is broken or sprained, applies several kisses to remedy any scratches or bite, and teases you with playful snatching of comfort items to check for concussions or brain damage. He’s a natural worrier.

But then – the snacks he brings, taking charge of clean up, the vibe he sets to just hang out with you in post-sex comfort, making you laugh and feel cherished as he feeds you little bites and just talks with you. He might treat you like a plaything, a pet, but make no mistake, you’re his little house cat. He’s in it for life. Well, the rest of your life anyway.

13 tiles to go, 37 calls made so far.

[meluiloth]

LOTR Week Day 7: The Fellowship of the Ring

LOTR20 Day 7: Free Day

Summary: Frodo hosts an unexpected party. 2094 words

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.

Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

This particular hobbit hole had a perfectly round door with a yellow brass knob in the exact middle; it boasted a fresh coat of vivid green paint, and the decorative plants by the entrance were lush and trimmed perfectly. It was the nicest hobbit hole anyone could think of.

The inside, however, was decidedly less clean; books, papers, and maps were so plentiful that they were stacked on the floor as well as every surface, and little trinkets and knick-knacks were piled wherever they could fit, making the house look smaller than it actually was.

This was something that Sam was working very hard to remedy—he dashed determinedly from room to room like a bumblebee, trailing dust and frantically organizing everything as best he could, his face flushed red from exertion.

Frodo did not understand his mission, or the severity in which he pursued it—it was all he could do at times to stay out of Sam’s way and avoid being bowled over. “Sam, what is going on?” he exclaimed. “Is anything the matter?”

“I couldn’t tell you now, Mister Frodo,” Sam answered as he was on his way to Frodo’s office, carrying an armful of scrolls and maps. “There’s not enough time!”

“Time for what?” Frodo pressed, taking the maps out of his hands and putting them into the correct drawers. If Sam was so bent on cleaning Bag End, Frodo decided that he could at least make himself useful and help—after all, he was like Bilbo in the sense that his possessions would simply continue to pile up if he wasn’t somehow compelled to clean them—and here he was, quite literally, being spurred into action.

Sam muttered something about how ‘they could be here any moment’, which piqued Frodo’s interest; Sam rarely invited guests to Bag End, something that Frodo knew was for his sake, as he wasn’t as effervescent a host as Sam and Rosie could be (although he had told Sam many times that he was welcome to have whomever he wanted over at any time). The fact that Sam would suddenly take him up on the offer without even letting him know was curious indeed—and although Frodo asked who was coming, Sam was very tight-lipped about the whole thing.

It wasn’t until the early evening, when the sky outside was beginning to be tinged with pink and gold, that a sharp rap came from the door.

Frodo quickly shoved the last of the clutter—a banner he had received from the King of Rohan that he had nowhere to hang—into the nearest closet and rushed to open the door.

Standing there, grinning wide and carrying bowls of punch and mulled cider, were Merry and Pippin.

“Hello, Frodo!” Pippin exclaimed. “Surprised to see us?”

Frodo laughed and answered, “Well, Sam was being so secretive about all this I didn’t know who to expect! Please, come in and make yourselves at home.”

Merry and Pippin gladly obliged, setting the drinks down on the table and commenting on how nice Bag End looked.

“Must’ve taken hours,” Merry said, sitting down on one of the many plush chairs in the living room and propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Sam did most of it,” Frodo supplied, “so it went shockingly fast. I—”

He was interrupted by another knock on the door, this time heavier. As he went to go greet the newcomer, Frodo called back to Sam: “Who else did you invite?”

Sam trotted up to the door, a bashful grin on his face. “Well, if I told you it would spoil the surprise,” he said, sharing a look with Merry and Pippin.

Frodo opened the door, and was so shocked by what he saw that he stood there for a long moment in awkward silence.

There, on the doorstep, looking quite out-of-place in the quaint town of Hobbiton, were Legolas and Gimli. Gimli was dressed in rich red robes, his beard adorned with intricate braids and beads of silver and gold, but his eyes sparkled even brighter as he let out a hearty laugh and crushed Frodo in an embrace before the hobbit could protest.

Legolas, who was too tall to fit under the doorway without crouching, was also smiling, his fine hair hanging loose about his shoulders; he was clothed less ornately than Gimli, but he looked no less ethereal with his long ears and green silk uniform.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” Frodo managed to sputter out once Gimli had released him. “I had no idea you would be coming!”

Legolas laughed. “Your friend thought it best to keep it a surprise for you,” he explained. “May we come in?”

“Of course,” Frodo said, stepping aside so the Dwarf and the Elf could enter. Legolas still stooped a little, but Gimli was quick in complimenting the size of Frodo’s home. 

“It’s just like my father said it was,” he said, “Only cleaner!”

This made Frodo laugh—Bilbo always was a bit of a magpie, and he had never changed in his ways, only passed his habits on to Frodo. “Please, help yourself to anything in the pantry,” he said, opening the door for them; to his credit, he always kept the pantry well-stocked with every type of delicacy and meal, though he rarely entertained guests. 

Legolas and Gimli thanked him, setting their own contributions beside the punch: a delicious-looking loaf of bread, speckled with cranberries and orange peels, along with a crate of Dorwinion wine from Legolas, and a whole haunch of roast venison dripping with spiced juice from Gimli.

“Who else is coming?” Frodo asked. He suspected at least Gandalf was on his way.

Sam grinned. “Oh, we’re expecting two more,” he said. 

Merry emerged from the pantry, carrying a sticky bun in each hand, and pointed out the window. “There they are now,” he announced.

Frodo went to look for himself, and saw that two people were making their way up the path; he could not tell their faces in the fading light, but he knew one of them was Gandalf by the white robes and tall pointed hat he wore.

When the two of them arrived at Bag End, Frodo was already waiting for them; it was indeed Gandalf, looking older and more wizened than when Frodo had last seen him, carrying a satchel instead of a staff. “My dear Frodo,” he said, putting a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “It is good to see you.”

“And you, Gandalf,” Frodo answered with a smile, placing his hand on Gandalf’s. “What a happy surprise!” He turned to look at his companion, and encountered another shock when he saw it was none other than Aragorn, King of Gondor—though he had exchanged his regal crown for a blue velvet hood, and his robes appeared more comfortable than kingly. “Strider,” he greeted.

“Master Underhill,” Aragorn replied, a jovial glint in his eye. “It is a privilege to be here.”

“The privilege is mine,” Frodo said, waving them both into his home. The gentle sound of voices had filled the hall, a welcome change from its usual silence; the others had gathered in the living room, enjoying glasses of punch and sweets. When they saw Aragorn and Gandalf, they all cheered with delight.

“Now our Fellowship is complete,” Legolas said, smiling. “You look older, my friend,” he said to Aragorn.

“Only a year, wiseacre,” Aragorn protested. “Raising an infant and ruling a nation is no easy feat.”

Gimli laughed and chimed in with, “Aye, and a feat I’m glad I’m not required to perform—the Elf and I have spent this past year traveling!”

“We haven’t,” Merry added. “I don’t think I’ll ever take a step out of the Shire again—not even to raid Farmer Maggot’s crops!”

Frodo snorted as he lit the candles on the table. “Not that you would ever have to, being filthy rich,” he said with a grin. Merry shrugged his shoulders affably and laughed with the rest.

“We’re ready to eat, I believe,” Sam called out. He had set the table magnificently, and soon everyone had taken their place around the table. There was one empty seat beside Aragorn, for the ninth member of the Fellowship who was no longer there.

They spent the whole evening laughing and sharing stories of how their lives had been this past year, and even some tales of their time in the Fellowship; Sam was eager to tell everyone that his wife was expecting their first child sometime in the coming Spring.

After a while, Frodo began to fall a little quiet, his energy running low from the excitement; he swirled the wine in his glass idly, his eyes sometimes falling on the stump that used to be his third finger.

He sometimes wondered how his life might have been, if he had not stood up in that Council and took the burden of the Ring upon himself, or even if Bilbo had never found it in the Mountains. Would he have been so haunted, so weary, so odd? Would the people of Hobbiton have whispered about his slipping sanity, or would they have praised him as the life of any party?

Perhaps he still would have been quiet and reserved; part of him knew that he would never have met the magnificent and wonderful men sitting around him, that he would never have formed these bonds.

But was it all worth it? 

“Mister Frodo?” Sam’s quiet voice interrupted Frodo’s wandering thoughts and brought him back to himself; his brown eyes were filled with concern. “You look tired… are you ill? Is it…” His eyes slid downwards and he gestured to Frodo’s shoulder.

Frodo managed a smile. “No, Sam. I’m all right. Just a little worn down.”

“Do you want me to tell everyone to leave?” Sam asked.

Frodo shook his head. “No… I’ll be fine. I’ll just probably go to bed soon, if that’s all right; I’ll be well in the morning to say goodbye.”

He began to stand up, but he caught everyone’s eyes on him; they were watching with a mixture of reverence, love, and pity, just like Sam—Gandalf especially.

Frodo’s cheeks began to heat, and he felt bad for wanting to leave without saying farewell. So, he turned to face them all, looking into their eyes; Sam’s warm with compassion, Merry and Pippin with affection and joy, Gimli and Legolas with excitement, Aragorn with nobility, Gandalf with peace and the same weariness that Frodo felt.

“My dear friends,” he said. “I am honored to have you all with me.” He paused. “It makes… it makes celebrating what we have done worth it, in a way; the Enemy has been defeated, and thousands of lives have been saved because of us, but I know that we all have suffered through our quest. Some of us…” his eyes fell upon the empty seat, “...Some of us have even lost their lives fighting for this peace. But what makes it all worth it is the true peace that came with our struggle. There were people we loved who deserve the best parts of the world, and to live without fear. I took the Ring because I knew that, even if I did not come back alive from our quest… at least those who would come after us would be able to live freely. And now the world has been saved, and…” And I’m very tired, thought some part of him. The world is bright for everyone but me. “And I am so glad to know that all of us are living richer lives because of it,” he ended, quietly. “It has been such a privilege to have you all here.”

He dipped his head to the company, who were all silent with emotion; Gimli was brushing tears out of his beard, and Merry and Pippin were smiling past the glassiness in their own eyes.

Merry stood up and lifted his glass of wine. “To Frodo,” he announced.

The rest of the Fellowship stood also, repeating the gesture. “To Frodo!”

As they all finished their glasses and laughed with each other, Frodo drank the rest of his wine and said, quietly, “To the Fellowship of the Ring.”

Well, I'm so proud to have finished LOTR Week 2023!! It's been so wonderful and fun, and also challenging as a person who starts projects and has a difficult time finishing them. I loved each of these stories, and I'm so glad you did too!

Thank you so much for your kind words and support of my writing, and I'm so happy to have been able to participate in this lovely challenge with so many other talented writers, artists, and aesthetic makers! Thank you to @lotr20 for hosting this challenge, it's been so fun!!

Taglist:

@lotr20, @frodothefair, @kylobith, @konartiste, @acornsandoaktrees, @kylobith, @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras, @lanthanum12

[muchmoreclever]

so... this is my first time writing smut. I'm very nervous about it so, apologies if it absolutely sucks. also, there is such a lack of marauders ladies smut so obviously i had to remedy this.

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words: 4194

warnings: knives, blood, oral (f. rec), marking, biting, hair pulling, aftercare.

It's late. Far later than she should be awake, and yet here she is. She had been sleeping peacefully, dreams of something warm and bright, the smell of chestnut and vanilla still lingering in her nose, when something had startled her awake.

Her first thought is someone is breaking in. She doesn't exactly live in the best part of town, and it wouldn't be the first time someone around her was robbed. Her second thought is if she should call the police, it seems the logical thing to do when one’s home is being burgled. Just as she's reaching for her phone she hears something that sounds familiar to her flatmate's voice–no, yeah that is definitely Lily. She’s humming something. So… they're not getting robbed then? Surely if Lily is out there humming about, nothing out of the ordinary can be happening.

Mary pushes back the blankets on her bed, sliding her legs over the side and walking tentatively to her locked bedroom door. With bated breath, she unlocks the door. In the silence of the room, the click sounds far too loud. She stands there for a moment with her hand on the doorknob, her heartbeat hammering away at her chest despite the fact she knows nothing can be wrong, there's just something in the air making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. In the purely animal part of her brain, she almost feels like prey.

When she pushes through the ridiculous fear, and steps into the hallway she can see a light on in the kitchen. The small little nightlight they had plugged in directly after Lily moved in, complaining of a fear of the dark. It's a warm sort of lighting that only casts over half the room, and barely makes things recognisable.

Mary walks slowly toward the light, her bare feet freezing on the cold hardwood. When she makes it to the kitchen she can just see the outline of Lily by the sink, her eyes still adjusting to the darkness. Lily has something in her hands, and her humming has become louder now, the song recognisable, it's a song she never even heard Lily listen to before, who’d of thought she was a fan of Nelly Furtado?

“Lily?” Mary hesitantly asks, Lily's humming cuts off and her body straightens, but she keeps her back to Mary.

“Did I wake you?” Lily asks, “I didn't mean to, was just… Getting a snack.”

There’s something in the way Lily says the last word, it has weight to it, but Mary couldn't think of a single reason as to why. She steps further into their tiny kitchen, barely a few steps away from Lily, and reaches into one of the cupboards, pulling down a bowl.

"Do you want me to make you something?” Mary asks, and it's silent for a beat too long, “Lily?”

Something is dripping, in the silence Mary can now hear it. For a moment she thinks it's the sink, that Lily left it on or maybe it has a leak but as her eyes travel to it, it's dry as a desert. Her eyes search for the source of the sound, travelling down from the sink to the countertops, and from the countertops to Lily's hands, which are, in fact, dripping . At first, she isn't really sure what it is, only that the parts of Lily she can see are covered in it. 

“Oh my god–Lily?” She breathes, “Are you alright? You're blee–?”

“Are you scared?” 

Yes. Especially now.

Because Lily has turned around, all innocently doe-eyed and covered in blood. And Mary is no stranger to blood, she's been an ER nurse for nearly three years now, and she sees blood every fucking day of her life. Pints of the stuff, all poured out onto herself and other people, she knows inhumane amounts of blood–but somehow this is more. It's everywhere–in her hair, arms, her mouth. Yes, her mouth thats where it's the worst. It’s caked around her lips and her chin, and neck, as if she had been–

As if she had been eating it.

Mary is a logical girl, there has to be a logical answer to this. She just can't think of one.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” Lily says, and she brings her hands up, for a moment Mary tenses, as if Lily is going to reach for her, but no. She simply is holding an apple and a knife, she continues talking as she casually cuts the apple, as if she and it aren't slathered in blood. “I thought you were working, or I would've been quieter.”

Mary can't say a word, her mouth has gone completely dry and her heart is once again working double time. She watches as Lily cuts into her apple, her crimson hands a stark contrast to the slick silver of the blade, she watches as those same hands take the apple slice and slowly pop it onto her tongue, she seems to almost hesitate for a moment, her mouth hanging open before her teeth sink into the skin, liquid slipping between her lips and falling down her chin, mixing with the blood.

Lily lets it fall for a moment, before darting her tongue out and licking her lips. And really, there must be something horribly, awfully wrong with Mary because she is… she is finding it difficult to breathe for an entirely different reason than fear. Lily must know it too, because she is staring intently at Mary, her pupils blown and her lip between two sharp teeth. 

Carelessly, Lily lets her hand fall limp, the knife falling from it onto the floor with a clatter.

“Oh.” She sighs as if completely shocked by the turn of events, “Do you mind?”

Mary should know better. Mary should say no. Instead, she keeps her eyes on Lily’s and sinks to her knees, just for the thrill of seeing Lily's reaction and it does not disappoint. Lily's eyes widen slightly, a small proud smirk on her lips and she gives an encouraging nod to Mary. Mary lets her hand feel around blindly for the knife, not caring if she gets cut, Lily would probably like that anyway.

When she does finally find the knife, she lets her eyes leave Lily’s for a split second, just to watch herself wrap her palm around the handle, to see the way the blood stains her skin. When she looks back up at Lily her gaze has darkened, the smile is gone, and she is just observing Mary. As if waiting for the wrong move.

With the knife in hand and eye contact reinstated, she makes a move to stand back up but quickly stops when Lily gives a small shake of the head. Standing as tall as she can from her knees she hands Lily the knife and watches intently as Lily takes it back and gives it a once-over. Lily looks down at her with hooded eyelids as something akin to hunger overtakes her features, and without sparing Mary another look she sticks out her tongue and licks over the length of the knife, from the handle to the tip of her blade that she lets snag her tongue, cutting into it so very gently. Lily continues to lick the blade, letting her own blood mingle with the blood already on the blade, a sick union that Mary is so sure is born of murder of some sort.

When Lily finishes, she leaves the knife spotless. Mary is completely hypnotised. Lily, sweet, kind, fucking teacher Lily, is standing in front of her with a knife in her hand and a completely feral look on her face. She looks as if she wants to rip Mary apart, and for some reason, Mary is willing to let her. God, she never pegged herself to have a blood kink–

Lily is breathing heavily now, and twisting the knife around her fingers carelessly as if she wants to be cut. When she has a solid hold on it again, she decides the best thing to do is to stick it to Mary's throat, tilting her head up. The blade is warm on her skin, Lily is pushing with just enough pressure that she can feel the threat of skin breaking, one wrong move and she's bleeding.

“Are you still scared?” Lily asks in a whisper.

“Yes,” Mary answers honestly.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“No .” She all but pleads.

Lily smiles at her, and trails the knife up her face, to the tips of her cheekbones and back down to her cupids bow. Lily holds it to her lips for a moment as she slowly sinks down, crouching until she’s at eye level with Mary. Lily brings the knife down, pulling Mary’s bottom lip into a pout.

“God, you're just so fucking appetizing,” Lily whispered leaning in closer and closer until the only thing that separates them is the blade of her knife. Mary expects her to move it, maybe hold it under her throat again in a way so intoxicating, but Lily chooses to kiss her over the knife. She isn't careful about it, nor gentle, and Mary feels panic flare up when she tastes the first bit of blood fall onto her tongue, but it only seems to encourage Lily.

Lily does eventually remove the knife, once again licking it before she throws it carelessly over her shoulder so she can deepen the kiss. It's nothing like the kisses Mary has ever had before, it's heavy and violent. Lily’s tongue licking at her teeth and biting her lip where it split so blood will spill over, every time Lily tastes it she groans. The sound enough makes Mary willing to give up every ounce of her blood as long as Lily keeps making those noises.

Lily's hands are everywhere, travelling slowly from the small of Mary’s back up to her shoulders and then into her hair where she grabs a handful of Mary's curls and pulls . Mary can’t help but gasp as her eyes roll back, a moan falling from her lips as Lily takes advantage of the new territory, mouthing up and down Mary’s neck. Lily licks the heated skin, nipping at it gently at first and then more violently. Mary isn't completely sure, but it is almost as if Lily's teeth get longer, sharper . The more into it Lily gets, the more aggressive until she pulls back with a groan, wiping violently at her own face and smearing the old blood away, making a clean canvas for her newest project. Lily is hovering around Mary's neck, just under the soft spot where she can feel Mary's pulse. Mary can feel her haggard breath on her skin, she can feel Lily lick the skin and drag her teeth along it, but just before she can get on with it, Mary has a revelation.

“Wait–Wait, stop.” Mary gasps, and God, she knows she’s the one that stops it all but when Lily leans away she can't help but whine, “We can't. It's wrong, Lily.”

“Doesn't feel wrong to me,” Lily says, leaning closer and running her hands up and down Mary’s thighs.

And in all honesty, it doesn't, maybe it's the fact that she's never been more turned on in her life thats clouding her judgement, but she has never felt so sure about something. Even as she feels the blood from Lily's hands drying on the skin of her thighs, she's sure she’s never wanted anything. And really, she would just go ahead and fuck her if wasn't for the fact that her boyfriend would not at all appreciate it.

“I can't.” Mary shook her head desperately, “Nash would be so upset.”

Lily let out a sweet laugh, her hands tightening their grip around Mary’s thighs, leaning back into Mary’s neck, “Nash isn't a problem anymore, dont worry your pretty little head .” She punctuated the last three words with gentle bites up Mary’s throat.

Mary used every ounce of her self-control to pull back away from Lily, heavy-lidded eyes staring into hers, “What do you mean?”

Lily smiled something sinister, her pretty white smile stained red. Mary was starting to think she knew whose blood it was, and found herself… relieved, in a sick sense. God, she was so fucked up. So fucked up for this girl.

“You trust me, don't you Mare?” Lily asked, “You would've run if you didn't.”

Mary nods.

Lily leans in close to Mary’s ear, “Then stop thinking and let me help you.” Lily pulled back with a tender smile, “Thats easy enough isn't it? Just to sit there and look pretty?”

“Mhm.” Mary hummed as she watched Lily search for the knife she had disposed of earlier, her eyes brightening when she saw it.

Lily crowds back into Mary's space, pushing the knife flush with her thigh, “Just sitting there, trying not to get hurt? Sit so very still and careful for me?” Mary nods, “Letting me just… do what I want?”

“Yes.” Mary breathes.

Lily hums, something deep in the back of her throat and smacks harshly at Mary's leg. She pulls herself up in a way that should not be so seductive in their dingy little kitchen and lets her hands cradle Mary’s face.

“Stand up.”

Mary does.

Lily's hands wrap around her waist, pulling Mary to where she wants her, and with a strength you wouldn't expect from such a person she lifts Mary up, pushing her back onto the counter and stepping in between her legs. Her hands travel up from her ass to the hem of her shirt, and agonizingly slowly Lily's hands slip under, cold skin meeting warm and shivers erupting for both parties. Her hands go farther and farther until she’s caressing Mary’s breasts.

“No bra?”

“What?” Mary's mind has ceased to work, the words taking far longer than they should to sink in, “No I was–I was uhm, sleeping.”

“You never wear one to sleep?” Lily asks, but Mary hardly hears her, she’s gone ahead and let her eyes slip shut just enjoying the sensations that come with every move of Lily's hands. “If it's too distracting I’m going to stop.”

“ No! No, it's... No, I don't.” Mary grits out, “It's restricting. Bad for you.”

Lily's hands fall and Mary can't help but throw her head back into the cabinets out of frustration, “What the fuck? I answered–”

“Oh hush,” Lily chastises with a sharp pinch on the soft skin of Mary’s stomach, “stop being so fucking needy. Good girls are patient.”.

When Mary has finally pried her eyes open she sees Lily in a new position, the knife held snugly between her lips as examines her her hands. Most of the blood was gone by now, at least the bits that covered her arms, leaving just patches of pale skin and freckles. Mary wants to lick it, bite it, just as Lily had done to her. She wants to be just as violent. 

With a sigh Lily pops the knife out of her mouth, tossing it to the side once again and refusing on her hands–or more specifically her nails. Lily is a pretty girl, which was only amplified by the fact she kept herself somehow perfectly groomed at all times, including always having a fresh manicure. This week her nails are white, dotted with little pink roses. Innocent, and sweet. Everything she isn't. 

At first, Mary doesn't really get the problem. Yes, you have beautiful fucking nails, awesome! Get on with it and put your hand to use– oh. Yeah, she's starting to realize what's wrong. The woes of lesbianism. And honestly, she is fine with skipping that bit. Wouldnt bother her a bit as long as Lily just fucking does something, but Lily seems to have other plans as she brings her hand up to her face and all but rips the acrylic off with her teeth, spitting out the fake nails onto the floor. 

“Ow.” Mary hisses, cringing a bit, “Did that not hurt?”

Lily looks at her incredulously, “I'm a literal maneater. No, it did not hurt.”

“Oh,” Mary nods, “Right, sorry. Wait, are we gonna talk about that because–”

“Later .” Lily groans as she grabs Mary’s cheeks roughly and all but inhales her.

The kiss deepens quickly, hands in hair and nails clawing at skin hard enough to break. Lily is gripping everywhere, her shoulders, her waist, her breasts… Her mouth follows everywhere her hand bruises, kissing the pain away until she's grasping at her thighs and pushing them further apart.

She nips her way down Mary’s legs, taking her sweet time and ignoring every single beg. She only comes up to suck a bruise on her inner thighs, so close to where Mary wants her but dutifully neglecting it. Mary isn't even sure she’s alive anymore, her brain has become completely mush, she is only sensation. Lily has hardly even touched her and yet she feels like a single breath on just the right place could push her over the edge. 

Lily pulls away and wipes the spit from her chin, without a word she grips the bottom of Mary’s shirt and pulls it up and over, throwing it somewhere away in the abyss. Her mouth takes quick advantage of all the free skin now, biting at the sensitive skin before letting her tongue soothe the ache that came with being denied for so long.

Mary tangles her fingers in the soft strands of Lily's hair as she continues to mouth at her breasts, her back arching seeking the warmth of Lily's mouth. Lily continues to just bite, looking up at Mary with wide eyes and stained teeth, Mary’s dark skin so contrast to the white of Lily's teeth.

“Lily, Please– Please .” Mary gasps, “Please, please, please–”

Lily pulls away with a pop, “What? Tell me what you want and you can have it.”

“I, uh... Fuck..” Lily has slid her hands down to the waistband of Mary’s shorts, just the tips of her fingers venturing in.

“Keep talking.” Lily orders, “I want to hear what you want.”

And so Mary does. Babbling every incoherent thought as Lily drags her shorts, and then her panties. Even when Lily finally gives her what she's been begging for she talks, fighting through each moan and gasp as Lily puts her tongue to use, because if Mary stops talking…

There’s a harsh slap that brings Mary back to reality, Lily's glare sobering her as she realises the pleasure has stopped. Mary gasps and pants as she scrambles to get it back, willing to say or do anything.

“I'm sorry, sorry. Please, I'm sorry–Fucking christ ..”

“It's like you want me to stop,” Lily chastises as she lets her finger drag across Mary, “You just want me to get upset with you.”

“No, I don't, I'm trying I swear–” Marys cut off with a moan as Lily lets a single finger slip inside, pumping antagonizingly slow, her other hand rubbing comfortingly on her thigh,

“I think you want me to be mean to you.” Lily continues, “Don't you? You want me to deny you? Call you a fucking slut?”

“Lily, more, please–Please, I was–”

“Or do you want to be good?” Lily asks, “Take everything I give you? Like a good girl?”

“I can be good–I am.” Mary shakes her head, if she just moves her finger just there then Mary can… “I can be so good, swear.”

“Then stop fucking begging.” Lily whispers, “And take it.”

Mary has to bite her lip to stop the pleas from falling past, and as Lily slips in another finger Mary swears she's done for. The pace is slow at first, really drawing it all, but then Lily uses her tongue and she's starting to see stars. Lily can obviously feel it too, sucking Mary’s clit between her lips and humming as her finger goes deeper, curling up deliciously. 

Mary is choking, biting down on her lip so much that the split reopens and she can taste herself. She's trying her hardest not to beg, not to touch, to be good but when Lily groans around her clit she can't help but grab a handful of her hair and grind upwards. It doesn't take much after that to send her over the edge, her thighs shaking on either side of Lily's head and her eyes rolling back inside her head as waves of pleasure consume her.

When Mary is conscious of herself once again she can feel Lily pressing a soft kiss on her lower stomach, and massaging her thighs from where they have unclenched from around her head and fallen limp. Mary's face is burning and she’s sticky with sweat, her heartbeat is beginning to fall back to normal and her head is clearing up. She feels… well, kinda gross but in a really, really good way. Because nothing Lily could ever do, especially to her, could ever be bad.

“Alright, love, you're alright.” Lily is whispering as she pulls Mary flush against her own body, her hands hooking under Mary's thighs, “Come on, now.”.

Mary lets herself be pulled up, wrapping her arms around Lily's shoulders and letting her head rest upon them as she feels Lily walking them away from the kitchen. The air is cold and practically freezing on Mary’s bare skin, the only thing she can hear is the hum of the refrigerator and the pat of Lily's bare feet on the hardwood.

“Mare, open your eyes for a mo’, yeah?” Lily encourages, “Gotta put you down for a second.”

Mary hums in dissatisfaction but does open her eyes and unravel her arms from Lily's neck, allowing her to be put down on the bathroom counter. For a moment she’s confused about why they're in here, having assumed Lily was just bringing her to bed, but her questions are quickly answered when Lily flips the shower on and starts to undress herself. Mary watches intently as Lily pulls the stiff, blood-soaked clothing from her skin, it's stained her. Lily is careful with her discarded clothing, folding the garments the best she can and placing them atop the laundry hamper. Lily pulls her underwear off next, letting it fall down her legs and rest on the floor, in only her bra she comes toward Mary and turns.

“Little help?” She asks, pulling her hair over her shoulder.

Mary’s hands make quick work of the strap, unclipping the back of the bra and gently shrugging it off Lily’s shoulders, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder blades as she goes. Lily hums appreciatively, her head slipping back a little bit to give Mary room to kiss her way up her neck. Eventually, Lily's hand comes up to Mary's cheek and pulls her into a kiss, honesty it's hardly a kiss, just a brush of lips, the best part is how Lily rests her forehead on Mary's.

Lily offers her hand to Mary, helping her down off the counters as the bathroom steams up, pulling her into the soft spray of the hot water in their shower. Mary relishes in it, dipping her head back and letting her curls get wet. Lily’s hands are caressing her hips, soothing over dark bruises, she only pulls away to squirt soap on her hands and then begins to clean Mary’s skin. She massages away the sweat, blood and tears, whispering sweet things the whole time.

When it's Lily’s turn, Mary is exceedingly gentle. The water and previous activities have rid of most of the blood, but there's still enough to be noticeable. Mary and Lily switch positions, Lily now under the spray of water and Mary's hands lathered in sweet-smelling soap. Mary starts at her legs, working her way up until Lily is lying back against the hard wall of their shower and completely relaxed. In all honesty, it could turn sexual very fast, if thats what either one wanted, but the intimate nature of just taking care of one another is just as satisfying as sex would be at the moment. So Mary works her way up, taking careful consideration of every inch of Lily, until the water is stained pink and her skin is clean.

After, they wrap each other in towels, trading soft murmurs and even softer kisses. Lily eventually leads Mary to her bedroom, and without a second thought, they curl around each other under the warmth of the duvet. Mary's hands have found their way to Lliy’s hair, and Lily's arms have wrapped around Mary’s waist, her head resting on her chest. It's domestic in a way you expect from someone thats apparently.. so violent. It's something Mary wants for the rest of her life.

“Lily?”

“Hm?”

“What are you?”

Lily pushes herself up from Mary's chest, looking down at her with an expression so soft it makes her want to melt, “I haven't a clue what you mean.” Lily tucks a wet damp curl behind Mary's ear, “Maybe you should go to sleep, hm?”.

And so they do.

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[keyaho]

Mayhem.2

summary: two sisters deal with the harsh realities of living within a crime syndicate. it's not all diamonds and money. it's blood, sweat, and more blood shed that keeps these families in power.

chapter warnings: none word count: 3267 cowritten with: @zillasvilla

. . . . . ╰──╮ADX FLORENCE ╭──╯ . . . . .

He’s been counting down the days until he was home the moment he stepped into the facility. The same day he was stripped of everything that reminded him of Ziva except his thoughts. His business and business dealings were nothing compared to her and if he lost everything, like he felt he had now, he knew she would always be there. Just like she had been. Her loyalty was unmatched by anyone, except his friendship with Joseph. To find that in a woman and she remains true, true enough to carry his children, he didn’t want to forget her. He hated seeing her walk through the cells and bars to get to him. She was always excited as if it was their first time seeing each other. She kept his spirits up and he barely had the decency to say I Love You before he left. Though he left another woman for Ziva, he couldn’t lie and say he loved that other woman and he understood what love was when Ziva leaned into him one night they were out.

It was a simple gesture because someone had been bothering her. Her agitator didn’t notice but Randy saw the way her right brow shot up in confusion and her lips pursed in a cute but fretful way. A man who could read the most unreadable, Randy saw the slight slouch in her shoulders as she leaned towards him. Her hair brushed his arm and he fell into protective mode, silently pulling Ziva to stand in front of him while they stood in line for ice cream she had been begging him all day for. His lips found the side of her head, kissing her temple as she sighed. Her shoulders relaxed and the smile he put on her face that day came back. She needed him. He liked to let her handle herself when they were out. Randy didn’t want to be overbearing. But now he wasn’t there and as protected as he knew she was, she wasn’t because it wasn’t him protecting her. 

ADX Florence was cold as shit. His beard was scratchy, dry, needing the moisture from Ziva’s pu-

“ORTON!” 

Randy looked from the ceiling to his cell door, unamused. With his hands behind his head he was trying to get some sleep in the always lit cell, only for his closed eyes to snap open again when his cell door was banged on. 

“Hands through the slot, prick!” 

Hannigan. 

A guard that had been a pain in his ass. Though, he had a remedy for that. To think he couldn’t do what he was good at while locked up was a miscalculation. Ziva’s last visit had given him all the information he needed. Randy sat up slowly, rolling his neck side to side as he swung his feet over the edge of the concrete bed. He took his time as Hannigan watched through the slot. Before he stepped to the cell, he dropped his pants and used the bathroom, knowing full well the guard would only see his stream of piss. 

When he was finished he righted his clothes and washed his hands. Only then did he slide his hands over to be cuffed. 

“You have a visitor. Some black dude in a suit. St. Clair something. He said you two had a mutual friend.” 

Randy stayed quiet. He was trying to place the name, but nothing came up. His curiosity peaked but his senses were on high alert. The last thing he wanted was a situation that would fuck up his release and getting back to Ziva. She’d kill him herself if that happened. 

He was taken to one of the rooms used to speak with his lawyer from time to time. More comfortable than the room he had to have Ziva endure seeing him chained up in. The room was empty when he was brought in. In the center was a metal table bolted to the floor with a matching bolted chair. His cuffs were locked in place to a hook in the table while he was forced to sit down. A few minutes ticked by and like Hannigan said a black man in a suit walked in. His face was familiar, but not in an old acquaintance's way. 

“Mr. Orton, I am sure you were confused when you were told you had a visitor.” The man’s eyes flickered to Hannigan who had not left the room. “Tact is lost on a lot of people. I could hear him down the hall in the way he spoke.” 

Randy leaned back in the chair, his posture relaxed and uncaring. His gaze was one of disinterest and his guard was firmly in place. 

“You should get to the point,’ Randy replied, “I’m a busy man.” 

The man laughed briefly. “Clearly.” 

As the man sat, Randy noticed beneath his coat was a crisp suit, tailored to his broad shoulders and larger build. He wasn’t one of the regular lawyers that came in and out hoping to replace other’s for more lucrative clients. Randy had his fair share slide in and out of these concrete walls. His own was amused at the attempts to persuade him to their side. What man would do for money. 

“I’m Lawrence St. Clair. You know my daughter, Ziva.” 

There weren't many people in Ziva’s life that he wasn’t aware of. She had been open about her relationships and what they meant to her. Before him, she created her own family because the one she had been born into had done her an awful disservice. Yet, at the mention of this man being her father, Randy’s body language changed. His shoulders squared off and his eyes narrowed. 

“She’s never mentioned you.” 

“The last time I saw her the chance for that to be different was taken from me. I, admittedly, have not been in her life like I should.” 

“But you know enough to come here, first,’ Randy pursed his lips. “Smart man.” 

“I’ve been watching them from afar, too reluctant to approach them. I’ve always seen her with you, or her sister and her husband. The four of you are close?” 

“If you are here to fish information you’re at the wrong lake. What do you want?” 

“I want a chance to meet my daughter and future grandchildren.” 

Randy shook his head. Anger he had suppressed for years was creeping up, warming his face as his pale skin began to redden. To mention seeing Ziva or his kids made Randy jerk the metal table, the strength making it shake enough to cause Hannigan to take a step forward. 

“A gesture of good faith,’ he said, sensing Randy was not a man one could easily make a request from. Lawrence stood up, not wanting to anger Randy more than necessary. He’d seen enough. He saw a man that loved his daughter more than he ever could hope to. And if Randy said so, Ziva wouldn’t give him the time of day. 

“It was nice meeting you, son,’ he said. “I hope you will give me a chance to fix my mistakes.” 

. . . . . ╰──╮Monday Night Raw ╭──╯ . . . . .

Naira is backstage wrangling her son Sebastian when Joseph shows up. 

Naira had done her best to keep Ziva off her feet, wanting nothing more than to alleviate her sister’s stress while pregnant. Sebastian–her son, had other plans. The active four-year-old is using the arena as his playground.

“Sebastian!” She shouts, tearing her focus away from Ziva, who was in good hands with Rhea and Bianca. Her hands won’t be good when she gets them on the little terror she calls a child.

His childlike giggles could be heard from a mile away as he ran away from her; knocking over everything in his path and what his little hands could reach. Naira had to count to ten, not wanting to curse her child out. He was still within her sight-line; dodging the unphased wrestlers that lurked around. Phil and Josh watched on while talking, mostly blocking the exits to keep Bash from running outside and getting snatched up. The breath she took did nothing to calm her nerves. 

“I swear to god Bash!” Naira probably looked crazy to onlookers, others probably offered a look of sympathy. 

Josh had watched Naira and Bash from a distance–usually not wanting to interfere unless asked or he became too much to handle. However, the kid was a menace, a miniature version of his father. A soft chuckle left his lips at the smaller version of Joe–the child painting the perfect picture of what he was like as a child–whacking someone in the leg while running. Naira was close behind, probably cursing to herself for not investing in a leash or the fact that she had on heels-stopping for a moment to take them off to better catch up with him. He was a fast runner though, making it halfway down the long hall before deciding that crates were the best thing to use as a jungle gym.

“Oh no, I don’t think that’s safe buddy.” A strange lady tries to grab him from under his arms, struggling as the kid almost weighs a hundred pounds. “Just trying to help you.”

“You’re not my mommy !” Her hold was pretty tight, and frustrated he couldn’t move his arms–his foot connected with her chin while screaming. 

Sebastian’s screams and her curses caught the attention of Josh and Naira. The tattooed Samoan rushed to intervene, frowning at the sight of Dakota. Naira hated her with a passion, making her presence known to the half-samoan woman. 

“Ow, you little fucker.” 

She holds on to her now bruising chin as Naira makes her presence known. Her blood boiling at the curses towards her child. Sebastian makes a quick getaway to the top of the crates, lying belly down to watch his mother yell at Dakota.

“Why are you touching my kid.” She arches a brow at the woman, peaking up to see he was hiding, she would deal with her first before getting him down.

“He was going to fall off the crates….wanted to get him before he fell. Seems like you were too busy to do it.” Naira lets that slick comment go, for now, not wanting to get out of character in front of these people. Dakota’s rambling continued, petting Bash’s hair. She couldn’t stand the woman, something about her face just setting her off, and that obnoxious laugh. Naira wishes she could just cut her tongue out to make her stop talking. Naira sighs with a laugh, the visual picture she painted in her mind an impossible dream. 

“I advise you to get the fuck out of my face.” 

Dakota was caught off guard. “You should be grateful, the kid almost hurt himself–” She stops her protest at the look on her face. Throwing her hands up, while backing away. Naira ensures she walks away, turning to look up at her son.

“Sebastion, come down now.” 

His piercing brown eyes bore into hers with a shake of his head, kicking his legs while looking around the arena, the new vantage point allowing him to see everything. He loved terrorizing his mother, sometimes she made it too easy, especially when she was worried about making sure Ziva was comfortable. Sebastian had zoned out his mother’s voice–not intentionally. His attention span was short. 

Joseph shook his head at his son’s antics, his absence probably the reason for his behavior. His eyes trail over Naira’s frame. She had gotten thicker in certain areas, most notably her ass. He wanted to pull her into one of the many storage closets and fuck her from behind, but first, he had to be a father.

“Get down.” The all-too-familiar voice demands. His husky-deep voice fills her ears, eyes matching the person she thought it was as he approached them. His six-foot-three frame towering over her shorter one. Joe. She starts pouting, his bulking frame stretching out the thin material of his shirt. Sebastian looks between the two. His view of her is blocked as he sits up on his hands and knees. The hard glare on Joseph’s scares him down, allowing the older man to grab him into his arms still unsure of who the man was.

“aisea ua e tuuina atu ai ia mama se taimi faigata” (why are you giving mama a hard time). Sebastian hugs his neck, realizing it was his father. Joseph had only ever talked to him in Samoan and Italian, usually forcing Naira to learn as well–not much, but enough to understand.  He preferred it every time they visited, wanting some form of privacy even while chained up like a dog. Don’t get it twisted he was still The Big Dog.

“Malo.” ( hi). Sebastian’s voice is small, while sleepily looking at him. Her soft sniffles had Joseph turning his attention to his side, Naira next to him with a small pout on her face, she was trying so hard not to cry. She cried over everything; being pregnant, giving birth, his first steps, him leaving.” He loved it though. 

“e aulelei.” (hey beautiful). His free arm hooks around her back, pulling her flush to his chest. A soft kiss was pressed to the crown of her head as he inhaled her scent. She’s slapping his chest before giving in to the touch. Sebastian resting his head on his father’s shoulders, eyes fluttering closing at the familiar warmth and after being able to finally hug him–he fell asleep. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home.” she dabbed at her eyes with her right one, the left fanning them to keep the tears at bay. She had a ton of questions, but firstly she wanted to love on her man. Her arms pull him down into a hug by his neck–thicker than she last saw him. His lips pressed into her cheek with a hand ghosting down to grip her ass. 

“Mhm, It was your dad.” He mumbles. He couldn’t stand that man. Lawrence was a money-hungry coward and he was willing to sell his daughter's life for that. Naira rolls her eyes at the mention of her father. A glorified picture perfect dad at the hands of her stepmother Valerie St. Claire. “Randy asked me about hi-”

Ziva’s loud cry of pain has Naira rushing to her side, Joseph right behind her with a sleeping Sebastian. Only the little terror would fall asleep at a time like this. 

✶ . . . . . • ZB • . . . . . ✶

“I made Dwayne buy those strollers,’ Ziva said while pointing a fry towards the table of bags she brought in from shopping. Rhea went with her and she had promised Bianca and Trinity she would show them when they came back. 

“That was nice of him!” Bianca squeals while pulling out a pair of pink and blue booties. “Girl, these are too cute!” 

Ziva placed her hand on her stomach while she leaned back in the cushioned back studio chair. Producer was embellished on the back and it was one chair that was comfortable enough for her to sit and relax. Naira’s threat of no brownies tonight had her feeling some type of way. Randy got your ass spoiled, bitch I aint Randal! Ziva had to remind her that she still made Joseph peel her oranges. 

“I had such a hard time picking out clothes. All Randy wanted was matching Js.” 

“How did you get Dwayne to pay for both strollers?” Trinity had put it together quickly so she could detach the car seats and have them in the SUV. It had been on the expectant mother’s list of items to get. 

“He wanted to get Jade’s number.” Shooting her quiet friend a wink, the group let out a series of giggles.

As she bit into her burger, towel across her belly to keep her white dress pristine, she felt one of the babies kick. Hard. Randy managed to do the unthinkable and knock her up with twins who liked to take turns kicking her internal organs. Baby girl was putting pedal to the metal against her kidneys. Her eyes clenched shut and she leaned to her side, taking deep breaths. Naira noticed her sister’s face change to one of pain and before she could step over a pale hand landed on Ziva’s stomach. Rubbing the pregnant belly in a way that was too familiar.

Time moved fast. Ziva’s eyes snapped open to a hand that wasn’t her husband’s touching her lower belly. A cheshire smile was on the man’s face and Ziva anxiety began to kick in. She opened her mouth to speak when Rhea stepped over, ready to handle it herself when someone came from behind Ziva. Her body was so rigid a pain shot through her back making her cry out in pain.

Before she could react the hand was being yanked back from her body and she was shielded from the beady eyes of Dexter Lumis. He was a new addition to Raw, on a trial from the Indies. 

Outside of her sister and Rhea, few had permission to touch her. Let alone her stomach. That had been vocalized many times. When she realized the familiar scent of Randy’s cologne she grabbed his shirt from behind. Ziva couldn’t move much, but Randy got the hint. 

He looked Dexter in the eyes while squeezing his wrists. 

“I don’t ever remember giving you permission to touch her.” He said. 

It had to have been the adrenaline pumping through her veins, the anxious feeling Dexter caused, and Randy’s return, but Ziva felt a large bubble burst between her legs, at least that’s how she’d describe it. Tunnel vision took over and she began to cry, tugging on Randy’s shirt while Naira returned and flew into action, coming to her sister’s side to get her to breathe. 

Joseph, who was trailing behind them with Sebastian, passed him to Bianca while going to his friend who was dead set on pummeling Dexter into the concrete ground. 

“Not right now,’ the Samoan mumbled, peeling Randy’s grip away from the offender’s wrist. “Snap out of it and get Z to the hospital.” 

Dexter scurried off, disappearing in the many tunnels of backstage. 

Randy snapped his head around, softening at the sight of Ziva crying and staring at the puddle of water on the floor. 

“Shit,’ he cursed, allowing Joseph to help him get her out of the chair. 

He swept her up in his arms, easily carrying her down the hall while those important to them gathered up their things and followed. 

Paul had been expecting Ziva to drop anytime now and knew to take over for the night. She didn’t trust anyone else and knew that he’d treat the product like he did with Smackdown. It was another sold out show and she wanted to keep the fans as happy as she was about to be. 

Her head fell to Randy’s shoulder as they walked, she tried holding in her wails but the contractions were hitting hard and for the first time in a long time she felt vulnerable and scared. 

She was about to be a mother. 

Two babies.

Two new lives to protect. 

As much as she was scared, the motherly instincts she lacked in her own life kicked in. 

She was ready. 

[redahlia-writes]

you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

two. landslide

content (for this chapter): (kinda) religious imagery, food as love language, mentions of food, mentions of drugs and drug usage, mentions of death, a little angst from both of them, self-doubt, hurt/comfort, fluff, one bad (and explicit) joke everybody say thank you elvira, mentions of illness

word count: 7.4k

a/n: i'm so unbelievably happy about the response ch1 got, thank you all so so much

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

previous

“I was lost when you found me. I know it might sound like a cliché, like something every couple tells each other. My life had no meaning before you, I didn’t know who I was before I met you, you made me into a better person, I started to live again with you–all that stuff that sounds overused, and pointless. But in this case it’s–I had a life before you, and it was a mess, I was hanging on by a thread just for Alba. But then you came along, quite literally sweeping me off my feet and it’s true, we didn’t do things the proper way, if there even is such a thing–knock it off, Miller, I’m not giving you the satisfaction either. But Mila, amor, my life only got better from the moment you came along, and I’ll never, ever stop being grateful–for you, for the fact you put up with me, and saw in me not the person I used to be, but who I could become. I’ve never been religious, but I do believe you’ve been my salvation.”

Frankie’s head was pounding, Alba’s tears now drying on his neck and shirt, her warm forehead pressed against the bent of his shoulder and her breath calming at last after hours of crying and screaming and trying to scratch her ear.

The house was a mess, multiple attempts at making the child eat scattered on every flat surface, covers she’d drooled over abandoned on the couch and on the chairs he’d tried to sit for a few minutes before she started screaming again, forcing him to resume his walking around rocking her against his chest.

With the throbbing in his temples, he almost didn’t hear the soft knocking at his door–so soft he for a moment thought he’d imagined it and had to wait out until he heard it again, still soft, but definitely somebody’s knocking. He wondered whether it was Alba’s doctor, coming back to tell him what an awful job he’d been doing all day with her, or his mother with one of her home-made remedies he wasn’t sure would be good for the kid or not.

“Mila?” she stood with her back almost to the door, as if ready to go down the steps, turning her head only when he called her name quietly. Her cheeks were red, hair half-piled up on top of her head, and a scarf covered the lower half of her chin. “God–I thought I called you, I must’ve forgotten to call you, I’m sorry, Alba–”

“I know, you did call me,” her eyes flickered to the sleeping child, expression softening. “Let’s get her out of the air, it’s alright.”

Frankie moved almost on auto-pilot at her words, backing inside the house until she’d slipped inside, too, and closed the door behind her, toeing off her shoes the same way she had that first night they’d stumbled inside his house.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated tiredly, his hand coming up to cover the back of Alba’s head when she shifted in his arms. “She just now calmed down, it’s been a long day and I can’t–I don’t think–”

“Frankie, it’s alright, I’m not here for our date,” she smiled gently at him, reassuringly, then lifted what he’d thought was her bag between them–it was a mesh bag, anonymous wrapped up items inside he had a hard time focusing on. “I brought dinner for you–figured you wouldn’t have thought of feeding yourself through the day, so,” she shrugged, glancing away almost shyly.

And she was right–he couldn’t even remember when he’d last taken a sip of water, let alone ate anything. Did coffee count? Had he had any coffee?

“I also got the blueberry muffins Alba likes–I think, hope. For when she feels better,” she added, her gaze drifting towards the asleep child.

“You didn’t have to,” he wanted to get closer, rest his forehead against hers and close his eyes for the first time since the previous night, when Alba had woken him up with her wailing.

“I know,” she nodded, and reached over with her free hand, her cool fingertips brushing his chin–there, then gone, bringing a single moment of clarity to his mind. “I’ll heat up your dinner, then get out of your way, alright?”

Words felt stuck in his throat, a gratitude he wasn’t able to express as she caressed his cheek again, one more reassuring smile that softened her eyes before she walked towards the kitchen–he followed shortly. It was a mess in there, too, and he almost apologized.

Camila proceeded on unbothered, resting the bag on the counter and shrugging off her jacket and scarf before beginning to fix everything–placing the dirty dishes in the sink, putting aside the various attempts of food he’d tried to feed Alba unsuccessfully.

“Can I–” he took a step in her direction and froze, unsure of what to do with Alba still in his arms, and also that he could be of any help with the drowsiness in his head. “Do you need anything?”

“Just go sit down now that she’s asleep,” she hadn’t turned on the light yet, which made Frankie wonder how she moved so effortlessly through the room. In the month they’d kept seeing each other, she’d been back at his house just one more time, to recover her jacket from that first night–it had turned into having a quick dinner with him, ruefully saying goodbye at the door. “I’ll manage, don’t worry.”

For the first time that day, Frankie wasn’t worrying. Still, there was a nagging feeling in his throat–an apology, a justification, worry in the shape of non-formed words–that melted away only when Camila stopped moving and lifted her gaze to him, brown eyes so soft he felt his breath stutter, his shoulders sag. It wasn’t the first time she had that effect on him, he noticed, a way of putting him at ease just with a look.

They’d gone out often after that first night, but always for a short time that left him unsatisfied, yet warm all over. Tranquil. They’d take a walk with Alba in her stroller and the moment she locked her arm with his, he felt like the day got better, brightened up. He’d drop by her workplace for lunch after his shift was over, a little before he had to go get Alba from daycare, and Camila would kiss his cheek as a greeting and goodbye, leaving him to rub the spot multiple times a day with a foolish grin on his lips.

Each time, she seemed to sense the moments he started to grow uneasy–he could never pinpoint the actual reason, he just knew a tightness constricted his chest and his legs tingled with the sudden desire of running away, mind screaming at him that was not where he was supposed to be, not with her. A hand on the nape of his neck, her head on his shoulder, or her gaze locking with his, and he could breathe again.

“Go,” she repeated, voice still gentle but a little firmer. He couldn’t argue with her then. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to, in any case.

Alba didn’t wake once while Camila was in the kitchen–in his half-asleep state, Frankie could hear her move around, the sounds of the stove and of water running in the sink, chairs moved to be put back into place. He should’ve told her to not bother, that he could do it later.

He didn’t realize his eyes had closed until he felt the shift of air in front of him–he went to tighten his arms around Alba, only to notice the absence of her weight on his chest. He sat up abruptly, stopped only by a hand on his shoulder.

“Frankie, it’s alright,” Camila was whispering, and she turned her head towards Alba’s cradle–she’d started to outgrow it, Frankie knew he’d have to replace it soon. “She rolled around a bit, but she’s fine.”

“I didn’t feel–” he looked down at himself, a blanket draped across his legs, similar to the one tucked around the sleeping child. Her face looked more serene, the red spots on her cheeks dimmed slightly to a blush pink. He exhaled, leaning back against the couch. “I’m sorry.”

“It was just a few minutes,” her hand trailed up from his shoulder to his neck and then his cheek, another reassuring touch that had his breath slow down a little. “I made guiso carrero, and there’s coffee ready in the kitchen.”

He picked up the scent of food and coffee just as she said it, sleepy mind catching on–when he looked around, the house had a semblance of order. He brought his hand over hers still resting on his cheek, turning to brush his lips against the sliver of wrist exposed by her sleeve–the smell of the dish soap lingered on her palm, and he closed his eyes with a frown.

“You didn’t have to clean the house, too,” he muttered, and a breathy laugh left her, reaching up to brush his hair back.

“I just did the dishes, Frankie,” she held his face in her hands for a moment, looking down at him with those soft, gentle eyes that made him feel like he could crumble at any moment. “Less for you to worry about.”

“Thank you,” he breathed out, wrapping his hand around hers–his was cooler compared to hers, and when he looked back up at her, she was smiling softly again. He pulled on her hand gently, tugging her closer as he straightened his back, and brushed a quick kiss to her bent lips as she caressed his face again, up to his ruffled hair.

It was a soft kiss, quick and shallow, a support to his words, a further thanking.

“Here,” she let go of him and, reluctantly, he let her move back towards the coffee table, picking the warm bowl to hand him. “You eat up, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Wait,” struggling with balancing the bowl on one hand, he reached up again to grab her wrist. He looked at the stew swaying in the bowl, then glanced up at her, his lips slightly parted. “Can you–could you stay? Just a little longer?”

“Of course,” she turned her hand so she could grab his, giving it a quick squeeze before moving to his free side on the couch, sitting down carefully with her legs folded underneath her. Frankie leaned towards her almost unconsciously, until his shoulder was pressed against hers, her warmth spreading all across his side.

Silence engulfed them–familiar and easy, interrupted only by the scraping of Frankie’s spoon across the plate. With each mouthful, he noticed how hungry he’d been the whole day, how much of himself he’d poured in Alba’s sickness.

The child would make a noise, every now and then, a small hiccup that had his head jerk to the side, his whole body tense for a second, two, and then Camila’s elbow dug in his side, rooting him. Alba’s doctor had told him ear infections were common in children her age, that more often than not it was nothing to worry about, it would even heal by itself in a few days.

Still, Frankie felt unnerved. Because Alba was all he had, the one thing he could hope he was doing right, and her ear-piercing cries had made his heart drop in his stomach where it still remained, uneasy.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted in a whisper after several more moments of silence, the empty plate abandoned on the coffee table. “I’ve never had to deal with her like this, I’ve never–it wasn’t easy when she was teething, but it wasn’t like this, and I don’t know–” he exhaled shakily, his eyes fluttering close as Camila’s hand wrapped around his, gently bringing it on her lap, fingers interlocking. “You managed to do more since you arrived here than I’ve done for the whole day.”

“I heated up some stew and cleaned a couple of dishes, Frankie,” bumping her knee into his, she turned her head to look up at his face, chin brushing his shoulder for a moment as she leaned in, then pulled back. “Don’t sell yourself so short, honey. She’ll be fine.”

Honey. Somewhere between their first night together and the third time they’d had lunch together, the nickname had started making its way into her sentences–the first time, Frankie had stopped dead in his tracks and hiccuped a breath, equally confused and endeared. He’d read the question in her eyes right away–was it too much?–and immediately kissed the tender word onto her lips again. He liked to feel her smile within each kiss.

“There’s something else,” though a hint of uncertainty colored her words, she didn’t exactly pose it as a question. And then, “what’s wrong?”

“I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he admitted in a whisper, and when he turned to look at her she was frowning, brows pinched closer and her head tilted slightly to the side. “I’m not sure what you’re doing here, with somebody like me.”

“Frankie–” at the beginning of her argument, he was already shaking his head.

“No, you–” he sighed heavily, and she squeezed his hand, interlocking their fingers together. “There are things I’ve done–things you don’t know about me,” he lowered his gaze to their hands, keeping his voice low. “And you should know the truth, but I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll leave.”

“Have a little more faith in me,” still with a light frown knitting her brow, she reached up to brush his hair away from her forehead, “would you?”

“I’m not–it’s bad,” unable to help himself, he sought her touch furthermore, leaning towards her, head tilted into her hand.

“Okay,” thumb rubbing against his temple, the other fingers interlocked between the short strands of his hair, she angled her body so she was almost facing him, elbow propped up above the back of the couch in support of both herself and his head. “Try me.”

“Mila–”

“I mean it,” a delicate tug at his hair made him look up towards her again, her eyes attentive and a little expectant. “Because I’m sure whatever it is that you’ve done in the past, whatever it is that’s making you feel as if you’re not deserving of–” she hesitated a moment, glancing at their still joined hands, “of this, or more, and whatever it is you think is so unforgivable, it won’t change my mind about who you are now. Nor will it change how I feel for you. I’m sure of it.”

Would it be better like this, he wondered? Rip the bandage off before she became too essential in his life, when he was still able to let her go. Perhaps. He wasn’t sure. He was tired, and scared, for Alba and for what his confession would mean to them.

He couldn’t look at her. But he owed her that. He owed her the truth. Before it was late for her, too. It was the least he could do–after all her patience, and kindness and–

“Look at me, Frankie,” she called softly, and his eyes stopped wandering. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Your past is your past–it can stay as such.”

“I know,” he lied–knew he was lying.

He knew that, whatever he decided, Camila would be fine with.

Which was why he suddenly felt so at ease, even with his fear–as long as she kept looking at him with that gentleness in her eyes, his only focus.

Which was why he needed to tell her, in spite of his nerves.

So he told her everything, tiredness aiding the words tumbling from his mouth alongside her thumb rubbing his knuckles and the attentiveness of her gaze. He told her about the military days and the boys, their bond. He told her about the afterwards, how hollow he felt, and about the cocaine, about losing his license–she knew he’d been a pilot already, just not the extent of it. He told her about Colombia, about Lorea and his money, choking up on his words a little when talking about Tom’s death.

He told her about Alba’s mother being pregnant when he left–how she hadn’t wanted to be, how she’d done it for his sake, the sake of their already failing relationship, which a part of him still thought was utter bullshit yet he couldn’t help be grateful for, because Alba was the only reason he’d managed to get some of his shit together after Colombia, to get clean, to keep going. And he told her he always felt like he didn’t know what he was doing, which terrified him, because he’d constantly heard about the parental instinct kicking in when needed and he feared it would never happen for him, that he would fail her.

“You do have that instinct,” was the first thing she said, a tentative smile on her face. It baffled him how she still managed to be gentle with him after all he’d said–he’d spoken, and she’d just listened. “That fear–you’re a good dad, Frankie. You’re good.”

“And now there’s you, too,” her lips turned in a half-pout, a flash of worry in his gaze. “Possibly the best fucking thing that has happened to me since Alba’s birth–and I’m terrified of fucking this up, too.”

“You won’t,” she spoke while a bright flush spread across her cheeks. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, Morales,” she added then, leaning towards him, her hand falling from his head to the nape of his neck.

“You’re too good to be with someone like me,” she scoffed at his whisper before pulling him closer, her hand cupped behind his head to guide him forward until she’d kissed him. Harsh, a little hasty, Frankie’s lips tingling as he freed his hands to reach for her waist to bring her closer, too, that single kiss enough to quieten his mind.

Camila pulled back just as his tongue darted out, a soft groan leaving him as he leaned further forward, his back protesting with the movement. He let his arms wrap around her middle, her knees shifting over his lap as he got her closer still.

“Let me be the judge of that,” he looked up, lips parted ready to argue, and she silenced him again, another hurried kiss that left him aching. “Nuh-hu, you’re too tired to have an argument about it now. Just take it.”

He chuckled then–low and hesitant, although amused, and tightened his hold around her as he lowered his head furthermore, until it was resting on her chest and he nodded, the movement barely visible but perceptible as she locked her arms around him, too.

“Thank you,” he said again in a breathy whisper. She hummed, fingertips scratching slowly up and down the nape of his neck, her chin coming down to rest over the top of his head, a twisted lock of limbs huddled in a corner of the couch.

“I was right, by the way,” he could feel the rumble of her words alongside the beating of her heart, eyes fluttering shut as if lulled by them both, and the smell of rosemary that lingered on her skin that he’d started dreaming of. “None of it changed the way I feel about you.”

Frankie had been to Camila’s apartment only twice–once he’d driven her back and had stopped at the door, a lingering kiss through a dance at the threshold, one step in and two out because he needed to go back home but he really, really wished he could stay; the second time, they’d stumbled inside and barely made it to the couch, barely made it out of their clothes, tangled together with soft laughter and softer sighs. 

The third time, he stood with a bag in his hand, knocking against the chipped white wood as softly as possible–still, on the other side, he heard her groan and had to stifle a chuckle. 

“Coming,” she called out, voice hoarse followed by a sniffle. The lock clicked after a few more moments, and the door opened just a inch to reveal Camila, wrapped up in a thick blanket, large framed glasses sitting on the tip of her reddened nose. She was frowning, leaning against the frame. “Frankie? What are you doing here?”

“I brought you some medicine,” he spoke softly, yet still she flinched, a little groan leaving her already parted lips. “And some of my mom’s ajiaco–pretty sure it was the only thing I would eat when I had a cold.”

“Oh,” her eyes, a little glossed, moved from his face down to the bag in his hand and up again, a tentative smile making its way on her chapped lips. “You shouldn’t have, honey,” murmured tiredly as she leaned a little more against the doorframe, her cheek pressed to the wood and eyes drifting closer.

“I know,” he shuffled forward, lowering his head towards hers. Her eyes shot open at his sudden closeness, stumbling back from him and pulling her blanket over the lower half of her face, shaking her head quickly.

“I’m gonna get you sick, stop,” her voice muffled, she stared up at him still wide eyed, rocking slightly on the spot with her arms tight against her chest. “Thank you. But go away.”

“Oh, baby,” Frankie chuckled, walking past her inside the apartment–he used the same soft voice she’d heard him use with Alba, a sort of cooing that imitated the child’s speech. She whined in complaint, trying and failing to stop him from closing the door behind him. He took advantage of her step back in his direction to lean down and leave a kiss against her forehead, right above the frame of her glasses, making her mumble again. “I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t get you sick–what about Alba?” she kept at it, walking after him as he headed towards the kitchen–she’d made coffee for him there and sat on the counter in an unbuttoned shirt and underwear, his frame slotting between her thighs as they spoke before he had to leave again. “Francisco,” though she tried to sound firm–and it worked more often than not, the mere mention of his name making him fumble to get to her–her voice was low and raspy, that whine clinging to her tone.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked instead, placing the bag on the small kitchen table and retrieving the pot he’d taken at his mother’s when he’d dropped Alba off. Para que tu novia se sienta mejor, she’d said–to which he’d replied, stuttering a little, no es mi novia, mamá.

“Some toasted bread this morning,” she leaned her weight against the doorframe of the kitchen, taking a slow, deep breath that then had her clear her throat and stifle a cough, eyes falling shut again. “It’s fine. It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine.”

Frankie placed the pot on the stove and then, after removing his jacket, walked back towards her–with her eyes closed, she heard him coming and mumbled another complaint, trying to escape him. He held her with an arm around her shoulders, her hands pressed to his chest as he leaned down again and brushed his lips to her temple–he lingered there long enough she eventually gave up fighting him off, her entire body slumping forward.

“How’s the fever?” her skin was warm under his lips, cheeks flushed when he cupped his free hand over one, thumb gently pushing her glasses up.

“Still there,” she muttered, tipping her head back as if trying to get away from him–he could feel her pushing weakly against his chest, too. 

“And how’s your head?” he asked, rubbing his thumb across the apple of her cheek.

“I haven’t had any complaints yet,” she retorted, making him snort softly and shake his head. Her eyes fluttered open, lips turning in a half pout before adding, “Sorry, I’m–”

“You need some sleep,” bringing both hands to her shoulders, he slowly guided her out the kitchen and into the living room.

“I was sleeping!” she protested, hands curling above his chest.

“Were you?” he glanced at her glasses, and the papers scattered on the coffee table by the couch. Camila huffed and pouted again, and Frankie stole a quick kiss to her downturned lips. “Off to bed.”

“If I go to bed, I’ll just spend the whole day asleep doing nothing,” she complained, managing to make a little more resistance as he tried to push her towards the bedroom.

“Good–you’re sick, you shouldn’t be doing anything,” he reached over and took the glasses from her face, taking advantage of her rapid building to gain more ground along the short corridor that led to her bedroom. “You lie down, I’ll eat up your soup–”

“I can do that,” he sighed, stopping them both in their tracks and taking her face in his hands, glasses dangling at the side of her head as he gently tipped her head back.

“I know you can,” eyes dancing across his face, she licked her lips and sniffled again. “But let me do it for you.”

“Frankie–”

“Camila,” he mimicked her pouty tone, lowering his face to hers–she held her breath when he got closer, and he almost chuckled again. Instead, he gave her a soft smile, brushing his thumb across her cheeks. “Why are you so against the idea of me taking care of you?”

“I’m not,” she blurted out–a tad too quickly, her gaze darting away before she cleared her throat. “I just–you don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he repeated, “but I want to,” her bottom lip jutted out slightly, tired gaze softening. “And it’s not out of some sort of obligation because you’ve been nothing but good to me,” he bowed his head as she turned hers, his kiss landing at the corner of her mouth. “You deserve someone looking after you, too, y’know?” another kiss to the other corner, her head twisting with a soft sigh. “You stubborn woman.”

“First time I’ve been called stubborn like that,” she murmured, his palms gently pressing into her cheeks making her speech a little more slurred, her lips in a perpetual pout.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s not an insult,” her eyes fluttered open again–not sure when she’d closed them, even less sure of how they’d reached her bedroom without her noticing–her glasses had ended up on the drawer right at the entrance of the room. Frankie’s smile was still soft as he leaned in again, and she wrinkled up her nose. “I’m not letting you kiss me, Morales. You’ll get sick.”

“I’m willing to take the risk,” he shrugged lightly, and before she could argue again he pressed his lips to hers, purposefully sloppy, her hands coming out of the blanket as if to stop him–one of his hands slid to the nape of her neck, and the slow touch made her sigh, melting into the kiss. Unlike the rest of her body, her fingertips were cold brushing his neck. “And I like that you’re stubborn,” he murmured, following it with another kiss she submitted to. “Although right now I’d like it more if you got into bed and let me take care of you.”

She tasted as if she’d eaten too many lemon candies, sweet and sour equally, her lips chapped and her breath short when he moved away to pepper the rest of her face in kisses, feeling her hands slide up from his neck to his jaw.

“Okay, fine, fine,” she took a stumbling step back and landed in a seated position at the edge of her unmade bed, her lips turned in a pout again, the tip of her nose even more red as she tightened the blanket around herself, head tilted back as if to look at him, even though her eyelids were drooping already. “But if you get sick, I’m not nursing you back to health.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” he chuckled, slotting himself between her legs to press a kiss to her forehead. Camila’s shoulders sagged, an exhale leaving her as she leaned forward against him, hands shifting up his sides. “Should I go heat up the soup?”

His hand shifted over the top of her head, brushing down the start of her long, messy braid that was tucked underneath the blanket. Camila’s head fell to his chest with a soft hum, her whole body rocking forward and then back and forward again, balanced only by Frankie’s gentle grip.

“Yes, please,” she murmured after a moment of hesitation, face half-buried into the fabric of his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her skin even through the material, and let her linger there a moment longer, one hand on her shoulder and the other still over her head, massaging her scalp gently.

“Go on, scooch,” he said then, guiding her back towards the pillows. Camila curled up on her side with a sigh, curling her hands against her chest and tugging the blanket closer with a tremble. Frankie brought the rest of the covers that were rolled at the foot of the bed over her, waiting until she stopped shivering. 

Back in the kitchen, he brushed past the rosemary plant she kept on the windowsill–he’d seen her crush some of it between her fingertips. She would carry the smell of it with her for the rest of the day, smearing it across his brow or mustache when she brushed his face–the one other night she’d spent in his bed, it had lingered in his sheets for days. 

Camila had the covers up to her chin when he returned, eyelids trembling when she heard his steps but without opening her eyes, slowly tilting her head towards him.

“Are you spoiling me with food in bed?” she hummed, a tired smile on her lips.

“After all the hassle I went through to get you in there, I am,” he walked around the bed to get to her side, placing the bowl of soup on the nightstand, alongside the water and some medicine. “Surprising, really, since it was so easy to–”

“Don’t try to sweet talk me while I’m sick, Francisco,” she grumbled, shifting a little underneath the covers–when she looked up at him at last, her eyes slightly red rimmed, he was grinning and leaning towards her. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You started it,” he replied, one knee pushing against the bed as he shifted closer–Camila scoffed, then cleared her throat. “Can you sit up?” he asked then, brushing a loose strand of hair back from her forehead. She nodded, her eyes fluttering close for a moment before she pushed herself onto her elbow.

Frankie’s body pillowed her side, her frame slightly askew as she leaned into him with a soft groan, eyes screwed shut. The room was dimly lit, sheer curtains drawn filtering the noon light.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, slightly shaky hands coming out of the blanket to fix it over her shoulders, while he folded the duvet on her lap. 

“A little,” he returned, without any other justification. She smiled tiredly, eyelids moving as if she was rolling her still closed eyes. “Food or aspirin?”

“Food,” he moved slowly, so that he could still support part of her weight as he took the bowl and carefully placed it in her hands. He wasn’t sure she’d realized how much she was leaning against him, and truth be told he didn’t want her to move. “Thank you,” murmured so low he wouldn’t have heard it if she wasn’t so close.

So he sat still as she ate, his gaze carefully trained on the light grip of her hand around the spoon–he spoke to her in the meantime, his voice soft as he talked about work, Santiago–who kept asking about her–and Alba, pulling a tired smile out of her every now and then. Camila made it half-way through her plate before her hold started faltering, cold fingers cracking softly and a light hiccup that threatened to make the rest of the food spill onto the covers.

“Alright?” he asked quietly, and she nodded, slow motions as she sank deeper back into the pillows. “Do you need anything else?” she shook her head with a quiet groan, letting him take the plate from her.

“Think I just need to lie down,” her voice remained low, a little nasal. “My head hurts,” she added, bringing one hand as if to shield her eyes.

“Here,” he curled one hand around her jaw, a gentle touch as he brought the aspirin to her mouth. Her lips parted with no hesitation, though wrinkling her nose as soon as the pill brushed her tongue–he brought the glass of water to her lips, too, tipping it back gently to help her drink as he supported her head.

She hummed when he helped her down again, settling more comfortably at her side as he fixed the blankets over her once more, back resting against the headboard–her head sinking in the pillows, she curled forward until her forehead was pressed into his side, one hand shifting up to rest on his thigh, his body working as a shield against the feeble light.

She’d felt on edge all day–the splitting headache slowing the work she was forcing herself to do, cold settling in her bones while she remained on the couch, stomach turning from emptiness because she couldn’t stand to fix herself a proper meal. Frankie’s presence had spread through her limbs like sunlight warming her, a newfound sense of safety that started in her chest and wrapped all around her with his arm around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and though her eyes hurt she still tipped her head back to look up at him–they were glazed over, slightly reddened, and Frankie looked back at her with a softness that made her heart beat a little quicker. “I’m sorry,” she added then, and he tilted her head to the side, confusion in his eyes.

“It’s just a cold, Mila,” he smiled, caressing the side of her neck and the shell of her ear, gently brushing her hair back. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“It’s just–” she curled her hand over his thigh once, twice, fingers shaking until he rested his other hand over hers. “You didn’t have to be here, or take care of me, I’m–”

“I told you, I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted her with a gentle voice, her hiccuping breaths pulling him a little lower on the bed–her head shifted over his chest, standing closer now. “I wanted to–I like being with you,” he squeezed her hand, offering her another smile. “Snot and all.”

She groaned at that, screwing her eyes shut and bowing her head as if to hide away from him. With a chuckle, he coaxed her to lean back again, shifting with her until he was resting fully at her side, one arm trapped under her and the other, still holding her hand, pulling her delicately until she was pressed against him.

“You have enough going on already,” voice low, she let go of his hand and curled her fingers into his side. “Last thing you need is me being a burden like this.”

“Hey,” he tapped under her chin gently, so that she was angled towards his face. “Look at me for a moment,” she was slow in opening her eyes, the pout returning to her mouth for a split second before she trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing nervously. “You could never be a burden,” she scoffed, looking away, and he pushed his thumb into her lip to free it from her hold, pinching her chin at the same time. “I mean it, baby.”

She exhaled heavily, a shaky breath as she pushed herself forward and buried her face against his chest, arm curling fully around him to keep herself against him. He locked her in an embrace with a sigh, shifting so his chin rested over the top of her head, slowly rubbing her back as she shook into the circle of his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice muffled by the blankets and his shirt. He shushed her gently when she said it again, hand moving to the back of her head and brushing down, freeing her hair and wrapping his finger around the end of her braid. “Frankie–”

“You need some rest, sweetheart,” he chided, soft-voiced. “We can talk about it later, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I am so sorry,” was the first thing Frankie said when he opened the door. “I tried texting you but you must’ve gotten in the car already and–she ambushed me,” he looked over his shoulder and sighed heavily, his head dropping slightly.

“What are you talking about?” Camila frowned, mimicking his low tone.

“Cisco, déjala entrar,” a voice called loudly from behind him, and then he stepped aside–or, rather, was moved to the side. A woman stood by him suddenly, graying hair pulled back from her face and a big smile widening across her lips. “Ay, mírate–tan bonita.”

“Mamá,” Frankie groaned softly, to which the woman responded by backhanding him across the chest before smiling again, opening her arms towards Camila.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, eyes widening a little as her gaze darted between the two Morales. “Lo siento, señora, Frankie no me dijo–”

“Ah, no señora,” she scoffed, and promptly pulled her in a tight hug–Camila huffed at the impact, tentatively wrapping her arms back around her, her eyes turning to Frankie again. His expression looked pained, and she almost laughed. “Llamame Verónica, cariño–pasa, pasa,” she added then, shepherding her inside.

“Mamá, por favor,” Frankie closed the door and watched as the two women walked deeper into the house, his mother’s arm linked with Camila’s. “I’m sorry, I’ll fix it, I–”

“It’s alright, Frankie,” she said, looking over her shoulder with a gentle smile.

“Ah! See, Cisco?” his mother exclaimed, holding her a little tighter. “She has no problem meeting your mother,” she tipped her chin up, then patted Camila’s hand. “Él quiso esconderte,” she added then, lowering her voice in a mock whisper, and Frankie sighed.

“I wasn’t!” he protested, walking with them into the kitchen where Alba sat in her high chair. As soon as she saw them all walk in, she squealed and threw her hands in the air. “Wait, is that why you’re here?”

“Claro,” the older woman shrugged, her eyes following as Camila moved closer to Alba with a wide smile, letting the child grab one of her fingers as she leaned in and kissed the top of her head. Verónica hummed, seemingly pleased, and turned to Frankie with her eyebrows arched high. “¿C��mo sino iba a conocerla?”

“You could’ve asked,” he argued with a loud sigh, shuffling closer to Alba and Camila, her hand still held up by the child.

“I did!” she retorted, scoffing. “Few weeks ago, I gave you the ajiaco and asked when I could meet her, and you just brushed me off,” Camila’s eyebrows lifted slowly, her gaze moving from Frankie to his mother.

“Thank you for the ajiaco,” she said quickly, before Frankie could reply instead. Verónica’s expression softened again, a gentle smile that wrinkled her face. “Estaba delicioso.”

“Thank you, cariño,” she nodded her head, one hand over her chest. 

“Mamá, Mila and I–” Frankie started, and got cut off right away.

“Mi-a!” Alba exclaimed, tugging on the woman’s hand. Verónica’s eyes widened, and Frankie’s head whipped around to look at the child as she squealed in delight. “Mi-a, mi-a,” she repeated, bouncing a little in her seat.

“What is it, nena?” Camila asked softly, lowering herself next to the high chair.

“Did she just–” Frankie looked between Alba and his mother, whose lips had parted slightly as she stepped forward. “Alba, sweetie, can you say that again?” he asked, shifting until he was crouching in front of them both. “Were you calling for Mila?”

“Mi-a!” she said once more, wrapping both her hands around Camila’s one. The woman frowned lightly at Frankie’s reaction, her gaze flickering between him, his mother, and back to the child again.

“Once more,” Frankie asked, his face split open by a wide grin. “Come on, sweetie.”

“I’m gonna go, mijo,” Verónica said softly, and he turned his head around.

“Wait, mamá, it’s–” she smiled softly at him, lowering herself to kiss the top of his head.

“Lo sé,” she told him gently, rubbing his shoulder. “Enjoy it–both of you,” she added, winking in Camila’s direction–she looked confused, still, and when the woman chuckled softly it turned into a deeper frown. “It was nice meeting you, Camila.”

“You too,” she said, though her voice sounded uncertain, watching as she walked out of the kitchen with one last pat to Frankie’s shoulders. “I don’t understand–”

“First word,” he breathed out, his eyes wide and shimmering as the smile did not waver from his face. “That was her first word–you were,” he said, turning to look at her.

“What?” Camila felt like the air had left her lungs, warmth spreading across her skin down to where Alba was still holding onto her, and her eyes widened, too. “Coño–sorry. What?” she repeated, words falling rapidly from her lips rapidly.

“I think she heard me say it so many times and it stuck,” he murmured–Alba was looking at them, her eyes attentive and shimmering, tilting her head towards one and then the other, still smiling wide. “Isn’t that right, honey? Will you try again?”

Alba’s only response was a soft babble, waving her hands around and dropping Camila’s. Frankie waited, expectancy bright in her eyes, but when the child just kept blabbering, he sat back on his heels and tilted his head.

“Is that alright?” Camila asked softly, lowering herself at his side.

“Well, she already said it more than once,” he shrugged lightly, his hand shifting blindly to reach for hers across the floor.

“I mean that it was–” she cleared her throat, hooking her fingers around his, “that it was me.”

“Oh, baby,” he said softly, shuffling closer to wrap his arm around her waist–the position was far from comfortable, the hard, cold floor under both their knees unwelcomed, and one hand each still lifted towards Alba’s high chair. “Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged lightly, leaning into his side. “This is still new, and it was her first word, I don’t–” digging his fingers into her side, he pulled in to kiss her cheek, impetuously. “It’s important.”

“Yes,” he nodded, peppering softer kisses down her shoulder. “And I’m glad it’s you.”

“Mi-a!” Alba exclaimed, leaning all the way forward across her chair–they straightened quickly, legs protesting at their kneeling stance as they faced a giggling Alba, both their smiles widening.

“I think she’s gonna abuse her new power,” he murmured, bumping his shoulder with hers. She chuckled, looking between the two of them, and Frankie turned slowly–head first, then his eyes. “My mom liked you, you know?”

“She’s nice,” she hummed, bumping her hip into his. “Did she really drop by because she knew I was coming?”

“Yes,” he sighed, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m sorry–and I wasn’t trying to hide you, I just–”

“I don’t think you could hide anything from her, Frankie,” Camila chuckled, bringing one hand to his shoulder and slowly letting it slide to the nape of his neck.

“No, probably not,” he sighed in defeat, tilting his head back into her hand. “Plus, she’s known about you since the first night.”

“Wait, what?” a little gasp left her with the question, and he laughed softly. “Frankie!”

“It’s not my fault, you were upstairs when she dropped Alba off,” he moved closer again, both his arms coming down to wind around her waist. “You said it yourself–can’t hide anything from her.”

“You know I won’t be able to face her again, right?” still chuckling he inched closer to brush his lips to hers–one kiss, two, one a little deeper than the previous one and so on.

“Too bad,” he mumbled between kisses that widened her smile. “I think you’re stuck with us, now.”

“Mi-a!” Alba added, as if to highlight her dad’s point, and Camila melted into a fit of giggles, the hand resting behind Frankie’s head pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

That same evening, when Frankie looked at his phone after Camila had fallen asleep on the couch–her head on his lap and her arm around Alba, keeping her in place–there was a single message from his mother: No la dejes ir.

next

[courfee]

if this be done (part 2)

@jegulus-microfic | august 28 - injury | wc 992 | part 1, 2, 3

witchboy james and crow regulus

The first thing James tries in his attempt to lift the curse off Regulus, turn him from a crow back into the man he used to be, is of course the same thing he tried with Sirius. It was a curse back then, too. A similar curse, turning him into an animal, so it seems only reasonable that the process to unravel Regulus’ curse would be similar too.

It isn’t, as it turns out.

“Are you sure you have said the words correctly?” Regulus huffs, when all that happens after James has completed his magic is that Regulus’ feathers look a lot more ruffled.

“I am sure,” James says. It has been over a week of James collecting flowers from his garden and drying and milling and boiling them, and another week of writing and rewriting his spell and knotting the strings of his magic together, and in the meantime Regulus has not gotten any kinder. He has made himself a home in the little library James has in his cottage. It’s a cosy room James rarely visits because he is a firm believer in finding his knowledge through trial of error instead of reading. “I’ve had success with the exact same spell on a different curse.”

Regulus scoffs, “You reused the spell? Why ever would you think that’s the solution?”

“Why ever would I not?”

Regulus angrily walks to the other side of the table (he barely ever flies, preferring to stick to the way of transportation he was used to as a human. James doesn’t get it, if he got turned into a bird he would use every single second to use his new skills and soar through the air), spreading out his wings as if he was gesticulating. “Unravelling curses has nothing to do with the subject of the curse but rather the person getting cursed. You can’t treat a curse like an injury with one universal remedy to heal it. What worked for your past clients will not work for me, because I am not them and therefore the nature of my curse is a different one.”

James looks perplexed. “And how would you know that?”

“It’s common knowledge,” Regulus says condescendingly.

It really isn’t. Even here, where magic flows through the world like the gentle yet persistent stream of a clear forest brook, curses are not common, and what’s not common cannot pass into common knowledge.

“Besides,” Regulus continues and points with his beak at a book lying next to the vase with yellow carnations James picked for Regulus this morning when he refused the first cup of tea that James brewed for him on the pretext that James let it brew for exactly fort-eight seconds too long. It’s a book Regulus read and James hasn’t. James had to get it off the shelf for Regulus the previous day. James has to do a lot of things for Regulus, and Regulus has yet to ask for any of those things with a please. “If you looked at your own books you would find that same explanation there as well.”

“So it’s not common knowledge at all,” James challenges. “You simply read a book last night and now think you’re so much smarter than I am.”

“I don’t think so, I know,” Regulus argues. “That’s what having more knowledge than you means.”

James crosses his arms. “If you know so much more than I do, why don’t you tell me how to unravel your curse? Better yet, why don’t you do it yourself? I didn’t ask you to be here. You are free to leave whenever you want.”

Regulus doesn’t leave. He doesn’t move to lift his curse. He doesn’t even tell James how to do it. He just stands on his two little crow feet and glares at James defiantly, black, beady eyes glinting with despite. James wonders if they were black, too, when he was a human. If they would bore into him the same way as they do now, or if there would be a hint of kindness in them instead.

“That’s what I thought,” James huffs. “You don’t know either.”

“You were still wrong and have wasted two weeks of my life,” Regulus complains, not one to back down.

“With the way you act and talk I’m not surprised someone wanted to curse you.” The words slip past James’ lips before he can spin them around in his head, weave them into something more beautiful. They are rough, ugly words. Rough, ugly things can be made into soft and beautiful things as well, or into useful ones at least. A blanket to keep you warm, even if scratchy, a base for a fire to light a room. James didn’t take the time to transform his words, to weave his magic through them, and so they fall rough and ugly out of his mouth, and land rough and ugly in front of Regulus.

Regulus folds his wings, presses them tightly against his body and stands up straighter, more stiffly. “If you lay out more books for me I will read up more on curses and tell you what I find,” he says curtly. “The sooner we solve this, the sooner I can leave here.” James knows he feels sorry, somewhere on the inside he feels sorry for presenting the words as they formed and not as what they should have been. Is sorry for hurting Regulus with them, because Regulus looks hurt in that way he has turned hard, his whole body a shield to keep his heart safe. James knows he feels sorry somewhere, but he does not feel sorry in the space right behind his ribs, that space that connects his heart and his tongue, and so he does not say the words. What he says instead is, “I will get you the books. The sooner we solve this, the sooner you can leave here,” and turns from the room to resume his work.

[humanrindswrites]

doctor

summary: reader is sick and it's up to 'doctor' taylor to look after her

pairing: corey taylor x female reader/oc

warnings: sickfic, fevers, fluff

word count: 899 words

originally posted to ao3 september 22 2022

She was dying. She had to be. Nobody could cough as loud as she had and not be on the brink of death.

It had only been a couple of days since her cold had started, and at first, she’d managed to convince Corey that it was nothing for him to worry about, but now she couldn’t get out of bed without her joints hurting and her migraine seemed like it was never going to go away. She didn’t know how bad her fever had gotten exactly, but it must have been over 100 degrees.

He couldn’t call himself a medical expert by any stretch of the imagination, but Corey really did try his best to take care of her while she was bedridden. His own medication was as simple as taking a couple of painkillers, sleeping it off and shutting the fuck up about it, but he knew it wasn’t a good remedy for everyone.

She’d slept for what felt like an entire day when she was woken up by the bedroom door softly clicking open. Her eyes prised themselves open and through the bleariness, she could see him approach the bed with a glass of water and something in his other hand. As soon as she raised her head, her headache came back, strong enough to knock her back down. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her arm over them to block out the light from the doorway.

“What time is it?” she croaked, her throat so dry and sore it felt like she’d swallowed a razor.

“About three p.m,” he said as he sat on the bed beside her and placed the glass on the nightstand. “You’ve been asleep all day.”

She took her arm away from her eyes and let them adjust to the low light as she slowly sat up, her joints stiff from not being used for so long. Her nose was completely blocked and her skull felt like it was about to burst open from the pain. She tried her best to hold a cough in but couldn’t help from hacking so hard a lung could have come up.

“I’d ask if you’re feeling any better, but that tells me everything I need to know,” he said as he reached around her to stroke her back.

“I feel like I got hit by a bus,” she rasped as she tried to catch her breath, her body trembling under his palm.

“I’ve never seen someone get wiped out by a cold like this,” he said. “Maybe you should go see a doctor.”

“It’s fine, just give me a week and I’ll be back on my feet.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced. Especially since she looked like she was about to fall asleep again.

“Here,” he said as he opened his palm and revealed two pills. “Take these before I go get us something to eat.”

“Will you stay for a while?” she asked as she took the pills and the glass from him.

“Sure,” he said. 

He watched as she took both the pills and finished the glass of water before lying back down and patting his side of the bed. Once he lay down beside her, he gathered her into his arms and rested her head on his chest as he gently stroked her hair. He could feel the heat of her fever through her scalp and hear how her chest rattled with each breath.

Every part of him was telling him that he shouldn’t be so close to her while she was so unwell, but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She clung to him as if she was afraid of letting him go and he was willing to let her for as long as she wanted.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, his voice soft. “Apart from the obvious.”

“I just miss you,” she said before sniffling.

“How do you miss me? You see me every day.”

“I know but we haven’t been able to do normal things.”

“And what counts as ‘normal’?”

She lifted her head slightly so that she could look at him. She hated making him worry about her, especially when he always had so much on his plate. Recording, touring, publicity, and home life was already so many things to juggle, having a sick girlfriend could have been that one thing to make him drop everything.

“This,” she said, gesturing at the two of them. “Being able to cuddle like this, or just have time with each other because I’m either asleep or too full of germs to do anything.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said as he brushed a lock of her hair out of her face. “If I could make it all better right now, I would. But the best I can do is bring you meds and hold you like this.”

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick too?”

“I’ve had worse than what you’ve got, I’ll live.”

She stiffly crawled up his body to softly kiss his lips, trying her best to not breathe her germs on him too much.

“Thank you, babe,” she said against his lips.

“No need to thank me,” he said. “I’m happy to play doctor for you when you need it.”

“Hmm, what would I do without the great Doctor Taylor?” she teased.

“Probably get better faster but with fewer cuddles,” he said with a soft laugh.

[dumfanting]

See You Again ch 3

Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Rating: E, explicit

Warnings: makeouts, confessions, dry humping, outercourse

Notes: f reader, pov second person, present tense

1913 words

I have a tendency to start outlining and wind up finished entire chapters without really intending to; that happened here. It also didn’t even remotely go like this while I was planning the story out, but hey, sometimes stories write themselves. (Also I just noticed the accidental Sweeney Todd reference, whoops)

F reader/ Gregor

Now that he’s walked you home, Gregor spends the night.

It’s dark in your apartment, but you remedy this by quickly flipping a switch near the front door, which illuminates the studio style space comfortably with soft yellow-white light. The place is kind of a mess, and in any other circumstance you’d be embarrassed by it, but a few dirty dishes are the farthest thing from your mind at the moment. You’ve started to tremble again as you double and then triple check the lock on the front door. Once you’re satisfied with that, you quickly dart around the room making absolutely sure that the windows and balcony door are locked up tightly.

You pass Gregor, about to check the lock on the door a fourth time, but he steps in front of you and stops you. Cautiously, he very loosely holds you by the shoulders and speaks softly.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe here,” he says, but you can’t hear him over the panic rising in your chest. You look through him, babbling incoherently and shifting uneasily on your feet. You glance between the doors and windows, and he notices that your breathing is quick and shallow. Taking a chance, he moves a hand and gently cups the side of your face, making you look at him. He says your name a few times, until your eyes focus on him.

“Stop,” he says. You open your mouth to protest, but he surprises you by softly holding a finger to your lips, making your heart race in an entirely different way and quieting you.

“No one is going to hurt you, not while I’m around,” he says firmly. “I promise, you’re safe with me,” he continues, moving his hand away from your mouth and to the back of your neck. The warmth of his palm on your skin grounds you.

You meet his eyes, see something fierce in the way he’s protectively focused on you, and you believe him. But, overcome by fear and adrenaline, you crumble into his chest, sobbing. He tucks your head under his chin and holds you tightly, swaying ever so slightly for a while. When you hiccup, he moves you back from him enough to see your face.

Gregor glances around your apartment and sees that you don’t have a couch, so, after catching your eye again, he jerks his head at the next best thing: your bed. You nod at him, chuckling weakly. He steers you towards it and sits on top of the blankets, back against the wall, while you curl into him. Over the next few minutes, your tears dry and the shakes taper off into an occasional twitch. You break the silence with a halfhearted laugh, and he peers down at you with a look of mild confusion.

“I want to say something snappy about you getting me into bed so soon but I can’t really think of anything,” you explain, your voice strained as you shrug at him. Your ear is still against his chest, so when he laughs you can feel it, and the sensation is deeply comforting, prompting you to relax into him a little more.

“Yeah, you could at least let me take you on a date first,” he says, smirking at you. You sit up and look thoughtfully at him.

“I’d like that,” you say, hoping the light is low enough to hide the flush that spreads across your cheeks as you speak.

“Wait, you would?” Gregor says, taken aback by your words. You nod at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and watch as he seems to think it over.

After a few seconds, he slides closer to you and cups your cheek again. You sigh, content, and relax into his hand, closing your eyes.

The next thing you know, his lips are pressed against yours, almost shyly. You kiss him back, and you both make a kind of ‘oh thank god’ sound as you grab his shoulders and pull him closer to you. The kiss intensifies, and he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. You oblige, quickly opening up for him. When you taste each other for the first time, his hands slide to your hips and you climb into his lap, straddling him. He starts to tug at the hem of your shirt, but abruptly stops himself, pulling back from you.

“We shouldn’t,” he says. In response to your confused face, he continues: “considering what you’ve just been through, you probably aren’t thinking clearly.” You frown at him and lean back.

“What, are you saying I wouldn’t want you otherwise? Because I do,” you say, almost offended. “I… have for a while, actually,” you continue, and your voice goes soft, but you maintain eye contact. You pause for a second, then smile softly at him. “I won’t push it. Besides, you should take me out first, you said so yourself,” you say.

He’s quiet for a moment, and despite the way he shakes his head at you, you can’t miss the way his face lights up. He leans forward, kissing you again, softly this time. You pull away, then he shifts forward and presses his forehead into yours, closing his eyes and breathing you in. The intimacy of it makes you shudder, and you follow suit.

The two of you stay like that for a while, until the hour-chime of the chrono on his wrist pulls you out of the comfortable quiet. Reluctantly, he shifts back away from you.

“It’s late,” he says. He glances over at you, his eyes searching yours. “Do you still want me to…?” he trails off.

“Stay with me, Gregor. Please,” you whisper, taking his hand into yours. He leans forward and softly kisses you again.

“Alright mesh’la, I’ll stay,” he says, whispering back.

With that decided, you slide off of the bed, grabbing something to sleep in before ducking into the refresher. Once the door shuts, Gregor turns and flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and grinning to himself. After a minute or two, the refresher door opens, and he sits back up to find you wearing nothing but your panties and an oversized shirt. You catch him staring and can’t help but giggle. He shakes himself, looking at you apologetically as he rubs at the back of his neck. You hop onto the bed and peck his cheek, then he gets to his feet and takes his turn in the refresher.

While he’s in there, you quickly double check all of the locks, and just before you reach the light switch, Gregor returns, and you see that he’s stripped down to just his boxers. You aren’t subtle at all as you eye him up, then shut the lights off. You crawl into bed, and despite the darkness, you can see him standing awkwardly at the foot. You shake your head at him.

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor,” you say, scooting to the side and patting the space next to you on the mattress.

“You sure?” he says. You nod, then realize he probably can’t see you.

“I’m sure. Come on, we should get some sleep,” you say. He hesitates for just a second, then shrugs and slips between the sheets to lie down with you.

You notice how stiff he is, and roll over to face him. “You can relax, you know,” you say, smirking at him. “I won’t bite.”

He laughs and turns to face you, propping his head up with an elbow and resting his other hand gingerly on your waist. You scoot forward enough for your chests to touch, then hold a hand to the side of his head. You briefly run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a relaxed humming sound. His eyes meet yours, and less than a second later, his lips are on yours again. You sigh into him, grip his shoulders, and turn over with him so that he’s now above you. He allows this, and moves his hands to your hips. Even through the cotton of your shirt, his touch burns like fire, and you want more.

The kiss deepens, and you test the waters, casually shifting your legs open to make room for him between them. He notices this, and settles down just above you, hovering there on his knees. Your tongues dance, and as you taste each other again, you move enough to bump upwards into him. He breaks the kiss with a groan, and looks at you as if trying to decide if you did that on purpose or not. You snake your arms under his and wrap them around his upper back, kissing him and bumping upwards into him with a little more energy. He softly gasps against your mouth, and you repeat the motion a third time, with more enthusiasm.

Taking the obvious hint, Gregor straightens out his legs and grinds into you at an angle against your panties, making you groan softly. Moving instinctively, you open your legs wider before hooking your knees around his thighs, pulling him closer to you. So close in fact, that you can feel how hard you’ve made him, and you giggle. You slip your hands along his sides, coming to rest at the small of his back, holding him tightly against you while you bump into him again.

He curses under his breath before kissing you once more, his hips jerking against yours, to the point where he can faintly feel how wet you are through the thin layers of fabric that separate you. He meets your eyes, and seeing the desire there spurs him to reposition himself. His hard cock is straining against the confines of his boxers, and he shifts his hips so that the bulge is butting up directly against your pussy. He shifts again, making your panties rub against your clit, and you whine.

You both hump into and against each other, quickly finding a rhythm, and with a particularly strong snap of his hips, you feel your peak approaching fast. You slip a hand between your legs, desperate for relief, but Gregor stops you by grabbing both of your hands with his, interlacing your fingers, and holding them up roughly even with your shoulders, all the while keeping pace without slowing.

He kisses you feverishly, grinding down against you, and you suddenly break away from his lips, gasping and whining his name.

“Oh, f-fuck, Gregor, please-,” you say, right on the edge.

“Well,” he says, chuckling darkly at you. “Since you said ‘please’,” he says, crushing his lips against yours while simultaneously driving himself against you perfectly.

You come hard, holding his hands in a white-knuckle grip while your legs quiver. This pushes him over the edge, and just before he cums, Gregor shifts himself downward and away from your hot core, grunting through his teeth as he does. You’re faintly aware of a small wet spot forming near your knee, but you’re too far gone from your orgasm to really care.

A split second later, he’s collapsed into your chest, his head resting over your pounding heart and his hands easing their grip on yours. Your body relaxes, and you slip your hands free of his. You grip him by the shoulders, and roll the two of you over onto your sides, facing one another. He softly smiles at you, then gives you a soft kiss before pulling you closer into his arms.

As you fall asleep, you’ve never felt safer.

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