#Homemade Body Soap

[northbirdblog]

Easy Recipe to Make Your Own Laundry Detergent!

Costs next to nothing, and does a wonderful job leaving your clothes clean and fresh!

[enepicorganicsposts]

[scentofsagittarius]

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[beloveds-embrace]

(poly 141 x fem reader) | Part One

The first thing John notices when he wakes up is warmth.

Not the dry, stifling heat of the hellhole they’d been trapped in, not the sharp burn of pain flaring beneath his ribs, but something softer, something familiar. A small hand curled over his own. The scent of clean linens mixed with something gentler, something yours.

He breathes in slowly, cracking his eyes open against the dim light filtering through the hospital room. The steady beep of monitors hums in the background, grounding him, but it’s you that he focuses on.

You’re slumped over in a chair beside his bed, forehead resting against his arm, your hand wrapped lightly around his own. Even in sleep, you hold on, fingers curled just enough to keep contact.

John exhales, letting his eyes roam over you.

You look exhausted, and it makes his heart ache.

Dark circles smudge beneath your eyes, your lips pressed into a faint frown even in unconsciousness. Your clothes are rumpled, the same ones you must have worn for days. The sight makes something in his chest twist again, a sharp pang of guilt cutting through the haze of medication.

He wants to reach for you, to trace his fingers over your knuckles and murmur your name until you wake, but he doesn’t. He lets you rest, lets you breathe. He knows you need it.

Because Christ, you must have been worried sick. He knows you, knows how much you worry for them on a good day even on the simplest of missions- and he still doesn’t know how long they’d been gone.

The memories are still blurry, slipping through his mind in broken fragments. Pain. Restraints. The weight of his men against him, Ghost half-conscious, Soap fevered and delirious, Gaz barely breathing.

And then-

He remembers you.

A shadow slipping through the chaos. A whisper-soft touch against his face. Hands steady and sure as they undid his restraints, coaxing him back to awareness.

It had to be a dream.

You weren’t trained for that. You weren’t meant for war, for blood, for the brutality of what they endured. You were their sweetheart, their delicate thing, the soft reprieve from the violence that defined their lives. He would rip apart everything in this world if it meant keeping you safe, sound and happy and far, far away from any violence.

So it couldn’t have been you.

It must have been an extraction team. That’s what had happened. Someone must have come for them, gotten them out. That was the only explanation, and the drugs must’ve messed up his mind enough he was seeing you.

But still-

He watches you now, the tension lingering in your features, the way your fingers tighten around his even in sleep, and something gnaws at the edges of his mind.

You had been there, hadn’t you?

The thought makes his head swim, exhaustion weighing heavy on him again, but he keeps his fingers tangled with yours, grip loose but unrelenting. He doesn’t want to let go.

Because for all the horror, for all the pain, for all the hell they’d been through-

You’re here.

Tired. Stressed. But here. And that’s all that matters.

For now, anyways.

The others then wake slowly, one by one.

Johnny first, groggy and confused, grumbling about how sore he is as you smooth a hand over his forehead. Kyle next, blinking against the light, his voice rough when he murmurs your name. Simon takes the longest, his body slow to rouse, but his first instinct is to reach for you, even before he fully opens his eyes.

In return, you are relentless in your care. You fuss over them, checking their bandages with the nurses’ help, brushing your fingers through their hair, whispering soft reassurances. You press ice chips to dry lips, adjust pillows, and coax them into drinking water.

When Johnny complains about the bland hospital food, you leave the room for an hour and a half and come back with something warm and homemade, tucking a spoon into his hand with a firm, eat.

When Kyle shifts restlessly, unable to get comfortable, you climb up onto his bed without hesitation, settling beside him so he can lean against you, your fingers threading through his curls gently and carefully until he sighs and relaxes.

When Simon wakes with a sharp inhale, eyes darting wildly as if expecting restraints, you’re already there, climbing onto the edge of his bed and murmuring soft reassurances into his ear, grounding him with the steady press of your body against his.

When John struggles to sit up, wincing against the pull of stitches, you scowl and press a hand against his chest, forcing him to lie back down.

“You’re pushing yourself too much,” You scold, brow furrowed in concern, arms crossed, your foot tapping on the ground. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve rested enough, love.” He rasps, voice still heavy with sleep, but he doesn’t fight you when you adjust the blankets over him.

You shake your head, lips pressing into a thin line. “Not nearly enough. Please, John.”

The worry in your voice is palpable, thick with something deeper, something almost frantic. John notices the way your fingers tremble slightly when you tuck them under the blankets, the way your shoulders remain tense, as if bracing for something unseen.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing gently. “We’re okay, love.”

Your throat bobs. You nod, but don’t speak, gaze fixed on where your fingers curl around his.

John doesn’t push.

You’ll talk when you’re ready. But for now, you keep your hands busy and full just tending to them.

Anything to keep from thinking about what comes next. What has to come next.

You smooth down the blankets over John’s chest constantly, brushing your fingers over the fabric as if that alone can shield him from the pain still lurking beneath. You press cool compresses to Kyle’s forehead when the medication isn’t enough to dull the ache. You help Johnny sit up when he needs to, spooning broth past his split lip, murmuring praise between each swallow. You lace your fingers with Simon’s when he stirs in his sleep, rubbing slow circles over his knuckles, grounding him even as you feel yourself slipping away.

You do it because they need it; because you need it, too. Because if you let yourself sit still for too long, you’ll remember the blood.

The fear- not of the blood, never, but for them; the way you had to drag them out of that hellhole with your own hands, because no one else would.

Because no one else cared enough to try.

And if you think too long about that- about how close it was and about what could have happened-

About what should have happened if you had listened to the same authorities who dismissed your pleas-

It will eat you alive.

So you focus and pour everything into them. Because as much as you love them and as much as your heart aches at the sight of their bruises, the bandages wrapped tight around their ribs, the exhaustion that weighs heavy on them-

There is still something unfinished, but not for long. Something you have to do:

Shepherd still lives and breathes the same air as them, and and you can’t allow that.

Not after what he did. Not after what he almost took from you.

Not after the endless, screaming nights you spent scouring every lead, chasing every whisper, tearing apart the world with your bare hands just to find them.

So you wait.

You tend. You soothe. You pretend. Because right now, they need you soft; They need gentle hands and quiet reassurances. They need your warmth, your care, your unwavering devotion, the one constant in all of this.

They need to believe that you are exactly the same as you were before and that nothing has changed. That you haven’t changed and reversed.

But soon-

Shepherd will never see it coming. You are keeping a bullet just for him, but he will never see it coming.

In the meantime, you don’t sleep much.

You pretend to, curling up in the chair beside John’s bed, but he knows better.

Your breathing is too shallow, never quite settling into the slow, even rhythm of true rest. Your body remains tense, shoulders stiff, fingers twitching slightly even in stillness, as if your mind is running too fast for your limbs to fully relax.

You’re thinking- plotting.

John doesn’t know what about- not yet, at the very least. But he watches you in the quiet moments, when you think no one is looking, and he sees it. The way your gaze lingers somewhere unseen, sharp and unfaltering, like you’re tracking something just beyond his reach. The way your jaw tightens in fleeting moments, your fingers flexing unconsciously before you school yourself back into softness. The way you breathe, slow and measured, as if bracing.

And it worries him.

He knows the woman who smiles at him across the kitchen table, all warmth and sleepy affection. He knows the woman who hums under her breath when she’s focused, who soothes them with gentle hands, who kisses his temple and tells him to be safe before every mission.

He knows you.

But this- this quiet, this edge-

It’s not you.

Not the way he’s always known you. And that thought lingers, gnawing at the edges of his mind as exhaustion pulls him under. Because something has changed, something has happened- something is different. And he doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know if it’s something you’ll tell him, or if it’s something you’ll try to carry alone.

And that- that- is what worries him.

Because he can see it in the way your hands still against the blanket you’ve been adjusting for the past ten minutes. He can see it in the way you chew the inside of your cheek, in the way your eyes flicker toward the door as if you’re already thinking about what’s waiting beyond it.

You’re planning something, and you won’t tell him what, and he worries so much for you, for their beloved.

But whatever it is, whatever it takes, he will be beside you even if he doesn’t understand it.

Even if it aches, knowing you are carrying something too heavy for soft hands alone.

Because he trusts you, loves you, and he will not let you bear it alone.

Part Three

[zanygamer25]

I feel like a luxurious moisturized baby seal that smells like a tropical fruit smoothie I love fancy soaps

[lay-z]

Simon Riley appreciates a healthy routine.

Neither Gaz nor Soap can quite tell what is stranger their Lieutenant declining to go for a pint after touching ground back on base or the sight of him furiously typing away on the cracked screen of his phone since they got some proper cell service.

They keep sitting in their respective seats on the plane, quietly observing Ghost and Captain Price for the past hours like they're some nearly extinct animals they shouldn't dare to startle; trying to gauge the latter's reaction, though that hint of a knowing smile barely hidden behind a coarse beard is only confusing them more.

It's as if Price has found the answer to a riddle that his Sergeants aren't even fully aware of.

Almost immediately, they lose sight of the sneaky Lieutenant as soon as the plane lands on the tarmac and once the tired soldiers receive permission to sign out for a long weekend after spending the last eight weeks deployed, travelling places no one else wants to go.

And of course, the lads think that Ghost has simply had enough of their bullshite, that the naturally aloof man is feeling too agitated and overwhelmed to linger, even though the mission was finished successfully. Perhaps he made arrangements with some working lady to get it out of his system (Soap's words, "Who else would the bloody geezer be textin' to, eh?"), or perhaps he's already being called in for a single op by Laswell.

They don't see the signs their Captain has picked up on a while ago when it comes to the closed-off Lieutenant.

The hushed phone conversations behind a closed office door, the more frequent rummaging for a phone that he usually didn't spare a glance at for hours on end, a spring in his step after suddenly spending more weekends off base, eating homemade biscuits from a Tupperware box that surely isn't his while doing his paperwork, pushing himself harder at the gym with a kind of natural energy that comes with higher testosterone levels, humming on his way back from a terrible training session with a squadron of rookies.

Yes, the signs are all quite obvious to a happily married man like John Price, because he remembers the honeymoon phase with his wife in the beginning of their relationship all too well.

Meanwhile, Simon manages the one hour long drive from base to your flat downtown in 37 minutes, and he takes the fact that he got caught speeding in stride. And what if he loses his driver's license? He's broken much worse laws in his lifetime than driving without legal documents.

The spare key to your home that you've gifted him with, feels heavier than all his tac gear combined as it rests in his jeans pocket heavy with meaning and responsibility, a reminder that he's found a new purpose in his life.

He sheds and leaves his gear and dirty fatigues in his truck, and he takes three steps at once as he rushes upstairs to your flat with single-minded focus, excitement and adrenaline equally coursing through his veins as if he's about to seize a hostile target by himself.

The familiar front door closes behind him with a soft click, and then he's greeted by peace and quiet.

Instead of finding fear or annoyance, Simon is met by raw happiness and adoration as he watches your eyes light up once you notice his presence all curled up and cozy on your couch.

"Hi!"

His socked feet make no noise as he approaches you over the carpeted floor.

"I didn't expect you for another hour," you tell him, even though he very well remembers what time he'd told you he'd arrive, though he had added two hours to that time frame just so he wouldn't disappoint you if he didn't make it.

"Your dinner is ah!"

Simon picks you up with practiced ease, and your little shriek of surprise dissolves in a fit of melodic giggles. Bulky arms wrap around your body and cradle you to his chest bridal style as he carries you towards the bedroom with simmering urgency.

The words he mumbles as explanation come out gruff and harsh, oafish even, but you can't help and feel utterly smitten by them: "Bed. Now."

You're dropped onto the mattress without warning, and the way you laugh again makes Simon's chest hurt with how hard his bloody heart flutters.

And then you're already reaching out for him right when he joins you, mattress dipping beneath his added weight as he drapes himself over the full length of your body; slotting his meaty thigh between your legs until he can lay down more comfortably on top of you like a weighted blanket.

"Can you rub my shoulders? Please?"

His voice is muffled as he nuzzles his flushed face in the crook of your neck. Sometimes, it still feels forbidden to ask for something so mundane from the person he would die for.

"Yeah, sure. Can I take off your mask?"

You can carve out his heart with a butter knife if you'd like, but he chooses to keep that to himself for now while the fact that you're asking for his consent again makes his head feel fuzzy and his arms tighten around your warm, welcoming frame reflexively.

Simon nods. "Aye, take it off f'me."

The cloth is gently removed when he manages to lift his head up before letting it drop back into the crook of your neck, and then your fingers card through his short, disheveled strands of dirty blonde hair; blunt nails scratching lightly at his skull until a full-body shudder runs along his spine.

It's heavenly.

It's more than he ever wanted and everything he never even dared to wish for.

It's a routine he's managed to build up with you from scratch.

Strangers to lovers, and he will never let you go now that he's sunken his sharpened claws into your willing flesh.

Yet he is but a tamed kitten in your tender embrace. Just a man enjoying and craving the simplest and purest form of affection right in this moment, stripped bare from his demons as you keep them off his back with your sheer, golden presence.

"You're safe now, Si. I missed you so much, baby," you coo into his ear, and his brain fills with cotton while he noses along your pulse point, breathing in your calming scent.

Then he feels the gentle press of your lips against his temple while your warm palms stroke and rub along his back, and he melts into a vulnerable puddle, exhausted eyes finally fluttering shut.

"Missed ya, too, pet," he murmurs gruffly, chapped lips brushing over your sensitive skin. "M'not gonna move f'a while, yeah?"

And Simon barely registers your answer when he's already drifting off into a dreamless slumber, allowing himself to cling to your body like a needy child while soaking up the warmth and comfort you're giving him oh so willingly.

He's home.

[kaissatou]

lovefool kento nanami x reader (18+)

tw; obsessive behaviour, nsfw!! (no minors!!!), slightly manipulative behaviour

Up thinking about obssesed perv Nanami.

Nanami Kento is not a pervert. Kento himself would like to consider himself to be a respectable, reliable man.-He's professional and collected, stoic (and slightly un-nerving), and he's certainly not a pervert.

That's what he tells himself when he's rummaging through your panty drawer.

And he's ashamed of himself, really! He doesn't mean to intrude on your privacy; but on the other hand, his perverse actions are benefitting you, he's just trying to take care of you! Nanami's a very observant man. While many see him as distant, he can't help when his eyes linger on you for just a little longer than necessary. He pretends to be lost in thought (with the façade that he's trying to block out Gojo's consistent rambling- which isn't really a lie), but in reality, he's admiring you. The way your hair falls and adorns your shoulders, The curve of your lips.

Though Nanami is usually composed, it all flies away when he's with you, and he can't always hide his desires. Nanami's a sweet talker, and he's definitely not a pervert- definitely not a pervert when you catch him observing an eyeful of your body when you bend over to pick up a fallen pen. You don't notice the way his voice switches up an octave when he hums, or the way his eyes linger on your backside for a second too long to deem normal, friendly.

So when a couple pairs of your panties mysteriously vanish, Nanami's not even a thought in your mind! He's respectful and sweet, but he's also very articulate, careful to not let you know- careful to not let your realise that he's the reason why your belongings disappear. It started subtle, and it started innocent. Whether it's a hair tie, a scarf you left behind at the school, or even an old receipt you never bothered to toss- He's got it all. To Nanami, these items bring him great comfort, like a physical reminder that you are his- and that's when his behaviour becomes less..innocent.

So when Nanami offers to come over after work and help you clean, you don't think a second thought over it- after all, he is a gentleman. You also don't think anything more of it when he offers to do your laundry, too. Nanami will go out of his way to 'help' you, making sure you're always taken care of in ways that feel intimate to him. Nanami Kento is a family man- he wants you to depend on him. Maybe it's making sure you're well fed by cooking you up a homemade meal, or running you a warm bath with luxurious soap and oils, his help is a guise to get closer to you, and keep you reliant on him.

He fantasises about you constantly. Your pretty pink lips around his hefty cock, cheeks hollowed as you try to take him all in one. The way your eyelashes would flutter shot as you gurgle around him, gags trapped under the confines of his cock, using all his self restraint to stop himself from cradling his hands around the back of your head and giving you that final push. The way his hot cum would slide down your throat effortlessly, dripping down your lips, the way he'd cradle your check, caressing your lips and using his thumb to push back in any wasted droplets, your tongue swirling around his digit.

He's dirty like that.

Or the way he'd caress your lips with hushed whispers of reassurance and praise as he pushes into your gooey pussy, thumbing your clit to ease you as well as possible when you're spearheaded on his mushroom tip. biiig stretch, that's it, he'd hum, shushing your cries and wails with his plush lips.

Supporting and encouraging these fantasies, are your used panties- holding them up to his nose, inhaling your scent with an excessive sniff, closing his eyes in bliss, his right hand pistoning his lube covered up cock, his thrusts sloppy and uncalculated. He'll feel bad, after, regretting for indulging into his perverse fantasies- but he can't help himself, not when he's too far gone.

Nanami's obsession goes beyond physical attraction. He wants to be a constant part of your life, and while he's not loud about it, he ensures you spend time with him by all means. He doesn't just see you as someone he loves, but something he owns- and he knows its bad, and unhealthy, but its overpowering, so he'll pump his cock to you just one more time (or three.)

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about nik bodying ghost into his quarters and forcing him to eat a full homemade meal bc he doesn't like seeing how little he enjoys food

he makes him the full gambit of hearty, delicious courses complete with dessert and ghost doesn't know what to do with the obvious act of care and love

ghost seeing food as a necessary task to be forced to complete, something that pulls him away from what actually needs doing. he's never understood comfort food or treats rewarded after a hard day and it breaks nik's heart a little that he's been denied even this simple pleasure

nik using the excuse of wanting to cook something from home, to connect with the culture he abandoned a long time ago and how else can he do that if not by sharing it with someone else? and price, gaz and soap just so happen to all be off base leaving only ghost for him to cook for, what a shame, oh well

ghost can't deny him (not that nik would let him) so he somehow finds himself in his room eating the most delicious food he's ever had in his life

and if nik watches over him after he accidentally falls asleep on his couch, experiencing the first food coma of his life, then that’s his business

[cuteandhughesy]

A Wonderful Christmas Time | William Nylander

summary: you and william living through the christmas eve traditions with your kids - as well as frantically preparing for santa's arrival. (dad!willy)

[word count] 3.1k

warnings: SFW! pre-established relationship | children | dad!willy | mom!reader | christmas eve shenanigans | suggestive comments

a/n: based off this request! merry christmas eve!! my present to you is another highly requested willy fic 🥰 also there’s 360 of you now, which is insane…I love you all omg <3 I’ll see you guys on new years for a quinny fic

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"honey you can't play with the ornaments." your tone is warning but gentle, gathering the attention of your daughter, lennon.

she giggles, plopping down in her diaper covered butt beside the tree. lennon smiles her two toothed grin, big round eyes looking at you with nothing but joy.

you smile from the couch. "yeah i'm talking to you lenny baby."

the 1 year old laughs again—that adorable baby belly laugh than never fails in making you join in. she's not long out of the bathtub, with damp blonde hair flat against her head and wrapped up in her candy cane onsie. lennon grabs onto her toes through the soft material, rocking forward slightly. "ma." she gurgles, reaching towards you.

that is all it takes for you to get up, making your way towards the christmas tree—decorated in various coloured and homemade ornaments—and pick lennon up under her arms, pulling her against your chest. you kiss your daughters chubby cheek three quick times, igniting another round of baby giggles from her tiny body. "should we see what daddy and lukey are up to? should we go see?"

she snuggles into your neck, smiling at the mention of her dad and older brother. you bring yourself up the stairs, bare feet barley padding on the carpeted flooring. you reach the landing and the familiar sound of your husbands voice, followed by your sons sweet laughter ring in your ears.

rounding into the warm and blueberry soap scented bathroom, your smile widens even further. luke reaches towards william, the water just merely missing the side of the bath tub as he bounces up. he covers your husbands face in scented suds, creating the illusion of a big white beard—very fitting for the day.

"you look like santa daddy." he laughs, small hands continuing to pile more bubbles on top of william's already full beard.

"ho ho ho." your husbands mimics father christmas's deep rumbling slogan, leaning further over the the edge of the grand bath tub to nuzzle your sons neck, transferring the bubbly mess to luke.

you watch with an amused expression as luke's laughter increases, squirming away from the bubbles and the scratchy feeling of william's beard. then his bright blue eyes find you standing against the door frame, and instantly he's distracted. "mummy!"

william looks over his shoulder, and the sight of you and lennon has him grinning wildly. "hey you two."

"hello my boys," you hum, walking further into the vintaged decorated bathroom. "how's bath time coming along? you getting clean lukey baby?"

"i'm not a baby mummy." your 4 year old is ever the sassy one, crossing his slippery arms over his tiny chest. "i'm a grown up." although his attitude drives you up the wall slightly, his little lisp and side eye makes it a little more on the cute side.

you snicker. "oh are you now?"

"yeah. i'm the grown up and lennon is the baby." luke points a finger in your daughters direction, and with that momentary attention on her, lennon squeals happily, fisting your pyjama top in her chubby hand.

william quirks a brow in luke's direction. "santa doesn't come to grown ups lukey."

he gasps loudly, eyes widening to a comical state at his dads words. "okay, Im a baby!"

it seems that lennon has realized her dad is crouched by the tub in front of her older brother, and she instantly starts whining, her chunky little arms stretched out as she asks for william.

"mummy, when's santa coming?" luke questions.

you put lennon down between your bare feet, sitting her on her bum. she doesn't stay, immediately crawling towards your husband while babbling his name happily.

"not until you're sleeping, bub."

he pouts, "but what if I want to see him?"

"that's not how it works buddy." william sighs gently, scooping lennon into his arms. "his magic will go away if you see him."

luke gasps, eyes wide with panic and unshed emotion. "I don't want his magic to go away daddy!"

you coo, joining your husband and daughter infront of the tub, getting down to your knees. you mimic your sons pout, reaching out to run a hand over luke's wet, curly hair. "it's okay bub."

he leans into your touch, blinking up at you with his wet eyelashes. luke's always looked identical to his father, meaning it's always been hard for you to be mad it him—but you're working on it. "we just gotta make sure we get into bed soon! so santa can come and bring you and lenny some presents."

that seems to do the trick, and a smile pulls at his tiny rosebud lips. "okay mumma."

you help luke get out of the bath and wrap him in his favourite blue dinosaur towel, holding him in your arms as you help dry him off, as well as keep him warm. taking baths in the nylander house was never such an event, but as soon as luke turned 4, he decided that you and lennon could no longer share bath time with him.

you really weren't going to argue with him about something so insignificant—so separate bath times it's been.

"you've such a good boy this year, lukey." you mumble into your sons chubby cheek, pressing two kisses against the flushed skin. "I love you."

"I love you too mummy, but we have to put the cookies out now." his serious deadpan stare up at you has you giggling, and you nod quickly.

you get luke dressed in his matching candy cane pyjamas before taking him downstairs—joining william and your sleepy daughter who'd previously slipped back to the fire lit family room.

"baby do think santa wants chocolate chip or oatmeal? what should we leave out?" you eye luke from across the kitchen island, an empty santa plate between you.

"I think santa wants chocolate chip." william says enthusiastically, holding lennon in his strong arms. she's practically asleep now, blinking dangerously slow against his chest.

you send your husband a warning look, to which he sends you a quick wink.

you look back at luke, who is leaning on the counter top with a thoughtful finger to his chin—something you often do that's he's adorably picked up on. "mhmmm..can we ask uncle alex?"

"why do you want to ask uncle alex?" you question with amusement, brows pulled together tightly.

"because he's smart." luke says matter of factly, looking at you with a curious expression.

william snickers. "that's going to inflate his ego."

you shake your head, a gentle smile pulling at your lips—you already know your brother-in-law will absolutely eat up his nephew's statement.

"lukey, uncle alex is sleeping right now. but I think you're smart too and you should pick the cookies."

"okay," luke chirps, "chocolate mummy!”

william leans down and presses a firm kiss against his sons damp hair, clearly feeling at peace with luke's cookie choice. "good pick baby."

you help luke put two cookies on the plate, reminding him multiple times to not eat the cookies himself, especially before bed, which proves to be a bit of a broken record—but you get there eventually. luke takes the plate and glass of almond milk over to the coffee table, barley keeping the milk from spilling over the rim as he roughly places them down.

right before finally getting luke to head in the direction of the stairs, he turns back towards you and william with wide eyes. "daddy! we have to put out the reindeer food!"

aryne tavares had seen the cutest DIY reindeer food craft on pinterest a few days ago, and the two of you got a bunch of the leafs kiddos together to make some before santa and the reindeers arrival. luke's been so excited for days about the damn glitter oatmeal concoction, and you're surprised he's only just remembering it.

you look towards your husband. "yeah daddy, you gotta put the reindeer food out."

after william bares the freezing cold christmas eve temperature and sprinkles the magic food mixture on your front step, you finally get luke into bed. your read him a holiday book while william gets the rest of the unwrapped christmas gifts from your linen closet, bringing them to the living room for your last minute wrapping session.

as you finish the last line of the book, you watch luke's eyes flicker closed, some much needed sleep taking over as he goes limp against the lightning mcqueen pillow.

you slip out of the dark room and tiptoe down the stairs, joining william and the rather large pile of gifts by the couch. you exhale loudly, hands on your hips as you asses everything. "you're on tape duty."

he groans. "I hate tape duty."

your pout is exaggerated, walking towards him and wrapping your arms around his sweater covered waist. "awh baby, you'll be okay."

30 minutes later and what feels like a hundred presents later, william groans for the 10th time, falling backwards against the shaggy rug beneath you. "ugh my back is killing me." he peeks over at you. "how do you do this every year?"

you slide the scissors down the holly printed wrapping paper. "i'm very flexible."

a boyish grin tugs at his lips. "yeah you are."

you look away from the present and over towards your dramatic husband. despite your cheeks burning red at his insinuation, your give him a deadpanned stare. "willy."

"I think we should take a break." he hums.

you sigh gently, folding the paper over a box full of ella nylander's favourite sephora pieces. "honestly as much as I'd love a break, it's quite literally christmas eve, babe. these presents gotta be wrapped."

he pushes up to his elbows, looking at you pointedly. "my family doesn't need their gifts wrapped."

you laugh. "yes, they do."

"fine—but if I strain my back and can't play...i'm giving staff your number." he teases you, sitting back into a proper position, fingers fiddling with some bows spewn across the rug.

"yeah yeah, pass me the damn ribbon."

thankfully you're only wrapping gifts for another 20 minutes, wrapping a beautiful velvet ribbon over every single one. you're sure your limbs will punish you for the extra ribbon work tomorrow morning, but the perfectionist in you doesn't care about that with how aesthetically pleasing the gifts look.

you make william drag out the bags full of presents for luke and lennon, passing them to you while you put them next to the christmas tree, ready for the morning.

you've definitely spoiled your two kids for another christmas now, but you and william can't help it—this time of year is so special and magical, and your kids are so well behaved that it's hard not to get them lots of things to celebrate another year.

hours after you would've liked to go to sleep, you're finally walking up the stairs, william hot on your trail, when you suddenly stop, a low groan rumbling through your chest. "the cookies."

his head hits your butt in exhaustion and defeat. "fuck me."

—

"santa came!" the shrill squeal of luke is the first thing you can register, tired eyes blinking open in the dim room.

beside you, willy groans, rolling onto your side of the bed under the warm covers.

luke pushes open your bedroom door, bare feet smacking against the hardwood as he runs towards your bed. "mummy! daddy! santa came." he slaps his hands on the side of the bed, a command that he wants up.

usually you'd work on his method of asking, but not today, his haste much understood. you gasp loudly, sitting up so you're able to lift him onto your and william's shared bed. "what? are you sure?"

he giggles, crawling into your lap. "yes!" subconsciously he starts playing with the buttons on your pyjama top, something he used to do when he was a baby.

"oh my goodness." you grin, gently tickling his sides. "well should we get up and head downstairs?"

he squeals again, and the sound is like gold—instantly walking you up. "yes mummy!"

beside you, william sighs sleepily, pushing up on the mattress into a sitting position. his smile is lazy, hand pushing back luke's crazy hair.

"daddy, it's christmas!" you're quickly forgotten about, luke sneaking over to william's lap and cuddling into his shirtless chest.

"I know buddy." he smiles, kissing his head.

"let's get your sister first, lukey. and then we will go downstairs." you chime gently, already pulling the covers back to slip out of bed. luke follows suit, sliding belly first off the tall mattress.

lennon is already awake when you open her door, holding onto the crib railing as she bounces on the mattress. she makes an adorable cooing noise as you greet her, gummy smile making an appearance as you get closer.

as soon as you all make it downstairs, chaos ensues. it's a mess of ribbon, bows and teared  wrapping paper as luke quickly opens all his presents. although the mess is a bit overwhelming, it's overshadowed by the joy of watching your sons face full of excitement.

at every present, luke will stop and bound over to your husband, gift clutched in his hand. "daddy can you open this one?" or "look at this one daddy!"

and everytime william shows the most enthusiasm, making that christmas magic linger as long as humanly possible.

"look daddy I have a hockey stick just like you!" luke jumps up and down in one spot, practically vibrating with excitement as he holds up his brand new hockey stick from santa.

he'd been begging for a 'big boy stick' for almost a year, and william thought this christmas would be the perfect opportunity to wrap up his sons newest obsession.

you hold lennon on your knees, letting her play with the velvety green ribbon from her gift. like usual, you watch luke waltz up to william, displaying his new hockey stick like his life depended on it.

"wow!" william beams, "you're very lucky lukey."

your son nods with enthusiasm, eyes still tranced on the stick. "now I can come play with you and uncle mitchy."

"that's right baby."

you make them pose for a photo after that. william tucks luke into his side, a smile on both of your babies faces as luke holds the stick out. you make sure to send it to steph marner, followed by how excited he is to play with mitch. it's all so cute, and you're so in love with your little family.

luke plays with his toys while you and william make breakfast, lennon gurgling happily in her high chair, sucking on a strawberry while she waits for her food.

eventually you get him to stop playing and come get his serving of eggs, bacon and toast—although he does bring the hockey stick to the table, but you didn't expect anything else.

it's when william is tidying up the dishes and you're just getting lennon out of the high chair, william's family arrives, walking through the front door in a flurry of snow and presents, smiles on their faces.

"merry christmas!"

luke's tiny gasp is almost humorous, and he drops the hockey stick and runs towards his grandparents, tiny feet smacking against the floor. "papa! nana!"

"oh my goodness!" camila greets warmly, dropping her bag to embrace her grandson. "hello my baby." william's mom kisses luke's face multiple times, which sends the toddler into a fit of giggles.

"and here's the other little baby." michael smiles gently, reaching towards your daughter, running his index finger along her soft cheek. "hello lenny bear! merry christmas sweet girl." she smiles, shying away from her grandfathers tickle.

his parents greet you both briefly, but their too wrapped up in the magic of christmas with their first set of grand babies that you're not even mad about the hasty greeting.

"lukey!" ella looks down at her nephew, arms open expectantly. "do I get a hug?"

"yes auntie ella!" he runs into her arms, squeezing william's sister as tight as he can manage.

she pulls back, looking down at luke with sparkling eyes. "did you open your presents from santa?"

"yes," luke beams, blinking up at his aunt warmly. "and he got me a hockey stick!"

"what?! you're so lucky." ella relates the words he's heard a million times today, running her palm flat over his unruly head of hair. "I bet uncle alex will want to see it!"

at the mention of his favourite person in the world (besides his father of course), luke gasps so hard you think his little lungs might explode. he catches sight of alex in the kitchen, chatting with you while he plays with lennon's tiny toes affectionately.

"uncle alex" luke giggles, running over to his uncle.

at the sound of his name, the second eldest nylander sibling looks over just in time for luke to run at his legs. alex smiles, grabbing your son under the arms and swinging him to his chest. "hey dude."

luke immediately lays his head on his shoulder, rubbing his cheek on the soft fabric of alex's hoodie. it's a rather sweet sight, and you're instantly feeling emotional about it.

you clear your throat, adjusting lennon on your hip. "lukey, wanna tell uncle alex what you said last night?"

your son nods gently. "you are smart."

alex gasps happily, pulling down luke's pyjama shirt from where it's ridden up against his sweater.

"he wanted to call you and ask what cookies santa would like because you're smart." you continue, adding a bit more context to the story.

alex nods triumphantly, "you're right lukey I am smart." he kisses your sons cheek once, a loud smacking noise that has lukey laughing, trying to squirm away from the tickle of alex's beard—something he's used to with william.

you'll never get tired of the holiday season, and seeing your family so content and happy with one another just adds to the festive atmosphere and pure joy of christmas.

you feel your husbands arms wrap around your waist from behind, william gently kissing the side of your face as he greets you. "merry christmas, babe."

lennon gurgles happily as she catches sight of william, reaching over you to touch his face, fingers raking through his grown-out facial hair and running over his lips. william nips her tiny hands gently, making her squeal with laughter.

you smile warmly, watching with loving eyes. "merry christmas willy."

[northbirdblog]

A refreshing and relaxing sugar scrub to brighten up and smooth out your skin!

[am-i-interrupting]

reminding you to write one shït about viktor helping me shower

Washed Away Like Soap Suds

Thank you for your services.

The day had been. . . a day for certain. It had been long and treacherous.

Your hand had several cuts. One could blame it upon being in the kitchen all day. However, it wasn’t sheer unlucky circumstances which had caused the blades you’d wielded to slip. No, instead it was your shaking hand and racing hard and inability to focus.

You’d been distracted all day. More accurately, you’d been extraordinarily stressed.

Your best friend was in the hospital. Had been all day. You were in the kitchen. Had been all day. The reason you weren’t there with her was purely because her parents and sister took priority in visiting rights.

The countertops were filled with baked treats. Your started the day off with cookies. Then bread. After that came the beignets, the pie (completely homemade including the crust), the danishes. The counter was well covered.

Just like your hand. The first nick came when you were making slices in the bread before you let it rise for a second time. The second when you were peeling the apples for the pie and the third soon after when you were slicing those same apples. The fourth came from the slicing of strawberries for the danishes.

You were placing the danishes onto a plate when Viktor placed his book down. He uncrossed his legs to stand. The pitter patter sound of his footsteps and cane were behind you before long.

His cane came into view as it was placed against the counter. His arms wrapped around your waist and his hands came to rest at your hips.

“As much as I support you opening up a bakery, I don’t believe we have the space,” he said.

You didn’t respond. Thoughts racing still. The spatula slipped between the pan and danish. You spun the plate so a bare spot was closer. Your finger lined with the back of the danish and you pushed it onto the plate. Your mind and body not registering the heat.

Viktor’s nose nuzzled against your temple. “My love,” he said softly, “you need rest.”

With the last danish on the plate, the full effect of your stress was visible through your shaking hands.

You laughed, sarcastic and devoid of true humor, “That’s not gonna happen.”

“If not your mind, then your body,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

His hands, steady and stable, covered your own. He picked up his cane and led you away from the kitchen. You let yourself be guided.

Your mind was fogged over and dreary like an abandoned railway station. However, it also raced like a train teetering off the tracks. An odd combination of very little coherent thoughts that led way to a mess of emotions.

The bathroom is where you were led. Viktor say you down atop the toilet lid.

He knelt to grab a towel. It was placed on the rack. He sidestepped the bathtub and went instead to the shower. He turned the knobs. The water began pouring down.

Propping himself up on the rim of the tub, Viktor’s hands slipped beneath your shirt. He pulled it up and over your head. His fingers undid the button of your pants and down they came as well with your underwear.

“Sit,” he said as his hands came to your shoulders.

You were guided to a seated position in the shower floor. Water just barely missed your face.

It wasn’t long before Viktor joined you, slightly elevated as he sat on the mounted shower seat. He grabbed the shower head and brought it down.

Your back pressed against the front of his legs as he washed himself off first. A very quick, brief process.

His hands went to your scalp. He massaged it causing the hair to bunch up and allowing the water to better penetrate. The water was warm in contrast to the chilled air.

Fingernails brushed against your scalp, just shy of scratching but he was gentle.

“Hold.”

Your fingers wrapped around the neck of the shower head on autopilot.

There was a click of a bottle opening, a small squirt of liquid. Your scalp, just heated seconds earlier, cooled as shampoo was lathered in your hair. You could hear the bubbles as they formed and popped.

A pressure was applied at the nape of your neck. You leaned into the touch. Tears formed in your eyes as tension began to relax. A tension you’d been holding onto for the past twenty-four hours.

Suds popped against your skin as Viktor used the lather to move onto your shoulders. Your lips curled up and down as your nose burned. A looseness coming to you that you felt you shouldn’t be having, not now, but fuck was nice.

Your head fell back into Viktor’s lap. Your eyes closed. You could feel the wetness which was not from the shower, roll down your cheeks. He must have noticed but made no remark.

He bent over. You could feel his torso push slightly against your hair. The shower head was taken from your grasp.

Water poured over your scalp. The popping bubbles washed away. The shower head was once again in your hands.

Another cap opened and it was followed by the sound of a thick congealed substance being spread across two hands. Your head was tilted a bit forward off Viktor’s thighs. Your hair was scrunched up from the bottom all the way to where your hair follicles began in sections.

A third cap was opened and more bubbles sounded as they formed and popped. Soon a net sponge was moving across your skin. It was soft and gentle. The barest of touches, leaving clouds that evaporated away in its wake.

Viktor grabbed the shower head once more. The sponge was washed off and set back into its place. Then your body followed. The water like rain that washed and cleansed you.

A knob was turned and the water went cool. A stark contrast to the warmth but not an unwelcome one. The conditioner was washed from your hair. Then the water went warm once more.

Two taps to your shoulder. You moved your body off of Viktor.

“I will be back,” he said as he reached for a towel.

His footsteps were pattering against the floor, sopping and dripping. Then he was gone.

You were left in the water. On the floor you watched as suds spun around the drain. They slowed as they neared it. Slowly they either slunk down the drain or popped before they had the chance.

Footsteps. The door to the shower slid open. The water was switched off. A towel was draped around your shoulders.

Viktor sat with you on shower floor. The outer side of his towel got wet as it soaked the remaining water.

He used your towel to dry you. His hand cupped your cheek when he was done. His thumb rubbed away a tear.

“How about you take some melatonin, we go to bed, I’ll read to you until you fall asleep, and in the morning we go back to the hospital and see if she’s accepting visitors?”

You looked at Viktor and for the first time all day you felt like you could see him. His hair was dripping. Longer and now halfway to his shoulders. His angles harsh but the curves in his lips, his ears, his moles so soft. His golden eyes were tainted with soft worry, creases near them to show it.

You felt your lips spread and your nostrils flare as hot tears fell down your face. Your head fell forward and landed on his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around you. No words were needed. Nothing could be said.

His hands were steady against your back. Your hands still shook were they lay near his hip.

“Dr. Emerson is wonderful at her job,” Viktor assured you. “If anything were to go wrong, her years of experience would not lead her astray.”

That was more comforting. More comforting than the words you’d gotten from your friend’s family the multiple times you went to the hospital to check in.

She’s alright.

You’re being overdramatic. You’re not the one getting operated on.

You should be thankful you’re not allowed to go back. At least this way you don’t have to keep up with what’s going on.

“Here, drink.”

A cup was placed in your hands. It was cold to the touch. You looked down at the water inside. The ice clanked against each other and the interior.

You brought it to your lips. A cool trail was traveled through your body. It started inside your mouth and went down your throat. You could feel it go down behind your breast plate and past your heart and lungs until it stopped in your stomach.

It helped bring down your racing heart.

There was a harsh click. It was followed by the sound of a cap unscrewing. Viktor held out the melatonin bottle to you.

You stared at it blankly for a moment and then two. You reached into the bottle and pulled out two gummies. Viktor raised an eyebrow for a moment before it blinked away off his face.

Normally you only took one. However, you knew if you didn’t get a higher dose you’d worry yourself through it then stay up all night.

You popped them into your mouth and slowly chewed. The strawberry flavor a nice moment of grounding. You swallowed and your ears popped.

Viktor plucked the cup from your hands and stood. “I’ll be waiting for you in bed whenever you’re ready.”

You stayed on the floor for several, long minutes. At least, it felt long and it felt like minutes. You weren’t entire sure though.

You pushed yourself up. Your body moved by itself through the motions of brushing your teeth and blowing your nose. It also moved by itself out of the bathroom and into the bed.

Your face hit the blankets. Your towel was still wrapped around you. You pulled the covers back and shrugged off the towel. No energy or will left in you to put on clothes.

Arms wrapped around Viktor’s torso. Your ear covered his heart. It was steady and consistent. There was a background rumble coming from his voice.

“Thank you,” you blurted out before the thought of even saying something crossed your mind.

Viktor’s reading came to a halt. “Of course,” he said like it was simple, like it was nothing.

He continued reading as your eyelids grew heavy.

[scentofsagittarius]

What the hell is ‘Scent of Sagittarius’!?

Scent of Sagittarius is my business-in-the-making!

What the hell kind of business?

I will be presenting a wide variety of products, such as: wax & jelly candles, natural & moisturizing soap bars, cloud-like whipped body soaps, exfoliating sugar scrubs (as well as salt and coffee scrubs!), bath salts, shave combos (pre-shave exfoliater, whipped shave cream, after-shave polish), refreshing face masks, washes, and creams, and so much more!

But will any of these products even f*cking smell good or look pretty!?

Yes! I have a HUGE array of scents for all products, ranging from floral to aquatic to woodsy to amber to fruity and etc. There are familiar scents that everyone knows and loves, such as vanilla or lemon; additionally, there are so many new, unique but amazing scents to try out as well. I also have products that are GORGEOUS! There are bright neon colors, passive pastels, bold and vivid colors, and copious amounts of mixtures and color combinations to match EVERY products original, differentiating vibe & theme!

Well, are these mother f*ckers going to be fairly priced or will I have to pay an arm and a leg?!

Why, yes! These wonderful mother fuckers are absolutely going to be fair priced! I will also be offering free samples of ALL products - as well as frequent sales, deals, and coupons to make the prices even MORE affordable!

Questions, comments, input, suggestions are always welcome! Feel free to message me or send via ASK!

[astroeleanor]

°💸⋆.ೃ🍾࿔*:･Your 2H Sign = How To Make More $$$ 💳⋆.ೃ💰࿔*:･

Your 2nd house is the part of your chart can show you the best side hustle ideas to increase your income. Look at the sign on your 2nd House cusp, its ruling planet, and any planets sitting there. They symbolize out how you monetize.

The 2nd House is the House of Possessions: movable assets, cash flow, food, tools, anything you can trade. The sign on the cusp sets up your style of 'acquisition' (Taurus = slow‑build goods, Scorpio = high‑risk high‑reward holdings), while the ruler’s dignity and aspects describe reliability, or lack thereof, of income.

Planets inside the 2nd act like tenants shaping the property: Jupiter here inflates resources, Saturn conserves but can pinch, Mars spends to make, Venus monetizes aesthetics.

Because the 2nd is in aversion to the Ascendant (no Ptolemaic aspect), you often have to develop its promises actively: wealth isn’t “you,” it’s something you must manage. So, let's look at the kind of side hustles you can do to increase your revenue!

♈︎ Aries 2H: Physical, Fast, ACTION-Driven

(Aries rules motion, competition, fire, physical activity, force)

Personal trainer or group fitness instructor.

Manual labor gigs like junk removal, or yard work (physical and gives instant results.)

Motorcycle/scooter delivery (Uber Eats, DoorDash): speed + autonomy? Very Aries.

Selling refurbished sports equipment.

Pressure washing services, which is oddly satisfying AND includes aggressive water blasting lol.

Fitness bootcamps in local parks (Mars rules the battlefield… or, in this case, bootcamps)

Pop-up self-defense workshops

Bike repair and resale (hands-on + quick turnaround)

Car detailing (mobile service). You vs. grime. Who wins? You.

Sell custom gym gear or accessories.

♉︎ Taurus 2H: Sensory, Grounded, Product-Based

(Taurus rules the senses and the material world, it’s a sign connected to beauty and pleasure)

Bake-and-sell operation (bread, cookies) at markets. Taurus=YES to carbs and cozy smells.

Meal prep or personal chef (nourishing others = peak Taurus.)

Sell plants or houseplant propagation, you’re growing literal value.

Create and sell body care products: lotions, scrubs, soaps… (Venus-ruled.)

Furniture refinishing for resale.

Offer at-home spa services (facials, scrubs.)

Curate and sell gift boxes (Venus loves a well-wrapped present.)

Do minor home repair or furniture assembly.

Build and sell wooden plant stands or decor (wood + plants + aesthetic = Taurus.)

♊︎ Gemini 2H: Communicative, Clever, Multi-Tasking

(Gemini = ruled by Mercury = ideas, speech, tech, variety, teaching)

Freelance writing or blogging.

Transcription or captioning services.

Resume writing/job application support.

Social media management (multitasking + memes.)

Sell printable planners or flashcards (info = money.)

Offer typing or data-entry services, which are low lift & high focus

Sell templates for resumes, bios, or cover letters, Mercury loves a system!

Write email campaigns for small businesses, you can become the voice behind the curtain.

Teach intro to AI tools or chatbots (modern Mercurial real-world applications.)

Create micro-courses on writing or communication.

♋︎ Cancer 2H: Caring, Cozy, DOMESTIC

(Cancer rules the home, food, feelings. It’s the nurturer through and through)

Home organization services, give cluttered homes and their owners love.

Baking and delivering comfort desserts (cookies = hugs in edible form!!)

Make and sell homemade frozen meals, nourishing the body AND soul.

Offer elder companionship visits (heartfelt and so needed.)

Run a daycare or babysitting service. Moon=family.

Run a laundry drop-off/pickup service.

Custom holiday decorating (homes or offices), make it feel like home anywhere.

Help seniors with digital tools (basic tech help.)

Create sentimental gifts like memory jars or scrapbooks.

♌︎ Leo 2H: Expressive, Bold, Entertaining

(Leo rules performance, leadership, fame, visibility, and the desire to SHINE)

Portrait photography (kids, pets, solo, couples.)

Event hosting or party entertainment.

DJ for small events or weddings.

Basic video editing for others (help THEM shine!)

Personalized video messages. charisma = income.

Teach short performance workshops (confidence, improv) to help others own a stage.

Become a personal shopper.

Sell selfie lighting kits or content creator bundles.

Host creative kids camps (theater, dance, art.)

Make reels/TikToks for local businesses (attention = currency.)

♍︎ Virgo 2H: Detailed, Service-Oriented, Practical

(Virgo rules systems, refinement, discernment, organisation, usefulness)

Proofreading or editing work. Spotting a comma out of place or “their/they’re” being misused = Virgo joy.

House cleaning or deep-cleaning services.

Virtual assistant (email, scheduling, admin.)

Sell Notion or Excel templates. Virgo: spreadsheets.

Bookkeeping for small businesses.

Create custom cleaning schedules or checklists.

Offer “organize your digital life” sessions.

Specialize in email inbox cleanups.

♎︎︎ Libra 2H: Tasteful, Charming, Design-Savvy

(Libra = Venus-ruled = style, beauty, balance, aesthetics)

Styling outfits from clients’ own wardrobes.

Become a personal shopper.

Bridal/event makeup services (enhancing natural beauty = Libra.)

Teach etiquette, the power of grace

Curate secondhand outfit bundles.

Custom invitations or event printables that are pretty AND functional.

Offer virtual interior styling consultations.

Sell color palette guides for branding or outfits.

Create custom date night itineraries (romance, planned and packaged=Libra!!)

Style flat-lay photos for products or menus.

Do hair, make-up, nails, etc.

♏︎ Scorpio 2H: Deep, Transformative, Private

(Scorpio rules what’s hidden, intense, and powerful, alchemy, psychology)

Tarot or astrology readings.

Energy healing or bodywork.

Private coaching for money/debt management.

Online investigation or background research (Scorpio = uncovering hidden information)

Teach classes on boundaries, consent, empowerment, etc.

Sell private journal templates for deep self-reflection.

Moderate anonymous support groups or forums.

Specialize in deep-cleaning emotionally loaded spaces (yes, THAT kind of clearing.)

♐︎ Sagittarius 2H: Expansive, Global, Philosophical

(Sag rules teaching, travel, and BIG ideas)

Teach English (or any other language) or become a tutor online

Sell travel guides or digital itineraries, help others travel smarter=Sag

Rent out camping gear or bikes (freedom for rent lol.)

Ghostwrite opinion pieces or thought blogs, say what others are thinking!

Create walking tours for travelers or locals.

Sell travel photography.

Become a travel influencer on the side.

Translate travel documents or resumes.

♑︎ Capricorn 2H: Strategic, Structured, Business-Minded

(Cap rules time, career, limitations, long-term value)

Resume or career coaching, help others climb the “mountain of success”.

Freelance project management.

Property management or Airbnb co-host (passive-ish income.)

Sell templates for business (contracts, invoices).

Create accountability coaching packages.

Sell organizational templates.

Freelance as an operations assistant (the CEO behind the CEO.)

Build a resource hub for freelancers or solopreneurs (structure = empowerment.)

♒︎ Aquarius 2H: Innovative, Digital, Niche

(Aquarius rules tech, rebellion, and the future. But it’s also connected to community!)

Tech repair or setup.

Build websites for local businesses, or anyone else for that matter.

Sell digital products (ebooks, templates).

Run online communities or Discords.

Host workshops on digital privacy or tools. Collective knowledge (Aqua)= power

Build and sell Canva templates for online creators.

Curate niche info packs or digital libraries.

Help people automate parts of their life or business.

♓︎ Pisces 2H: Dreamy, Healing, Imaginative

(Pisces rules the sea, the arts, spirituality, dreams, and all things soft)

Pet sitting or house sitting, caring for beings + quiet time? It’s perfect for this energy.

Sell dreamy artwork or collages.

Offer meditation classes or hypnosis.

Teach art to kids or adults.

Custom poetry or lullaby commissions (very niche tho.)

Sell digital dream journals or prompts.

Make downloadable ambient music loops.

Create printable affirmation cards.

Design calming phone wallpapers or lock screens.

Offer spiritual services (tarot or astrology readings, reiki, etc.)

Thank you for taking the time to read my post!Your curiosity & engagement mean the world to me. I hope you not only found it enjoyable but also enriching for your astrological knowledge.Your support & interest inspire me to continue sharing insights & information with you. I appreciate you immensely.

• 🕸️ JOIN MY PATREON for exquisite & in-depth astrology content. You'll also receive a free mini reading upon joining. :)

• 🗡️ BOOK A READING with me to navigate your life with more clarity & awareness.

[lotusbxtch]

Preciosa

A #happypedrohours Valentine’s special

Prompt: Pero Tovar + lingerie Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!wife!Reader Word count: 4.9k

Summary: You would have never predicted that such a delicate thing would be Pero Tovar’s undoing. Rating: Explicit - 18+ only, MDNI

Warnings/tags: heavy use of Spanish phrases and nicknames, probably not period-accurate depictions of undergarments and lingerie but I tried okay?, smut - fingering (f receiving), oral (m and f receiving), Pero is a MUNCH and eats it from the back, unprotected PIV (this is the olden days and they are married, but wrap it up, folks!), prone bone, squirting, creampie, v brief cum eating, mentions of rough sex, Pero being a grump, but also soft!Pero, aftercare, reader is described as Pero's "wife" and having breasts and female genitalia but otherwise is not described it's you boo

a/n: Apologies for the tardy publishing, but work has been craaaaaazy so I’m just getting to posting this now! Thank you @happypedrohours for putting on such a fun Valentine’s Day event, and thank you to my darling @for-a-longlongtime for beta-ing for me and helping shape the story. This is my first time writing Pero as the MMC so I hope it delivers on his character! Graphic by me (for vibes only), dividers/banners by @saradika-graphics.

MASTERLIST

When your husband, Pero, known by many as ‘The Spanish Mercenary’, returns to you after his long travels, there often is a gift for you carefully tucked into his pack - especially on missions where the stakes were relatively low. Not one for verbal extollations of devotion in public, he lets his actions speak for him, bringing you exotic treasures from far flung markets in places you’ve never even heard of. Curious spices, little handmade trinkets, dried floral specimens - they never cease to amaze you, and you knew that you were often the envy of many of the other women in your village.

This latest campaign was a grueling and dangerous one, not business like usual. Trips like these usually meant there weren’t presents in tow, but you didn’t mind; Pero’s safe return afterwards was a far better gift to you. The money he brought home was something that had a growing impact, as you put every bit of it to good use on your home and farm.

A cacophony of exclamations of your neighbors alerts you to your grumpy Spaniard’s return, and you gather your skirts up to run and welcome him home after many weeks. Pero swaggers into the village on the back of his trusty steed, his armor covered in grime, as are his clothes and hair. The exhaustion is lined clearly on his face, but pure relief peeks through his hardened expression when he spots you coming towards him.

“Amor,” he calls out, dismounting his horse as you reach him. You press your body into his, claiming his lips in a sweet kiss, before he gently pushes you away.

“I will not sully you with the filth of my travels,” Pero gruffs, as if this wasn’t what happened every time he returns home. You roll your eyes at his theatrics but relent, falling into step beside him. 

“Nonsense, mi esposo. I’ll always have you alive and well, filth and all,” you tut at him, giving the horse a kiss on the muzzle. She blows out air, relaxing into the familiar surroundings. When the three of you arrive at your home, Pero busies himself with grooming his mount and unpacking his bags, while you heat up water for his bath and to clean his armor. He enters your shared abode a short while later, eyeing the steaming wash water and homemade soap you’d set out for him with relief.

“Tell me about your travels, my love,” you ask as he shucks off his heavy armor with a clunk. Pero grunts in response, peeling the dirty clothing from his strong body and revealing tan skin. Once bare, he takes the wash cloth from you, soaking it with water and using it to wipe the majority of the filth off of his strong frame. 

“Long, far too long,” he replies finally, a man of few words. It’s a quality you love about him; Pero is never a man of flowery prose nor insincerity. He says only what he means, and as little as is necessary to convey it. Even still, with you, he is chattier than with anyone else. He dips the cloth into the tub again, wringing out the dirty water into a smaller bucket. “Missed you, hermosa.”

“Mmm, I missed you too,” you muse, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and handing him the soap. He begins to lather the cleansing suds, washing himself in a perfunctory, efficient manner. 

“How were things while I was away?” he asks, hands still soaping limbs. You fill him in on the village gossip (which he swears he doesn’t care about, but is absolutely enthralled whenever you reveal some new secret) while he cleans himself. He much prefers to listen to you chatter away, the soft lilt of your voice a balm to his soul after many days apart. Sometimes, you stumble on your words, getting distracted by the nakedness of his body, the lean muscle and broad expanse of his shoulders. When he starts sudsing his soft cock, you lose your words completely. 

Pero smirks, knowing full well what the sudden silence means. “See something you like, mi amor?” he teases, stepping into a shallow basin before using the rest of the warm water to rinse the soap from his body. You simultaneously giggle and rub your thighs together, arousal beginning to simmer in your body. 

“Yes,” you purr mischievously, noticing his rapidly-hardening length. “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

After sating yourselves with each other’s bodies, you and Pero lay intertwined in your shared bed. “I’m glad you’re back,” you murmur, hand tracing the paths of scars along his battle-battered skin. 

Pero presses a kiss to your forehead. “I am as well. Oh, that reminds me.” He climbs out of bed, padding towards his belongings unpacked from the saddlebags. Pulling out a carefully-wrapped parcel, he walks back to you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Open it,” he commands softly, placing the package in your hands.

“Pero,” you tut, “you didn’t need to get me anything. It’s enough that you returned in one piece.” Pero grunts but the corner of his mouth tips up, happy to indulge his wife. You gently unfold the outer packaging. When it unfurls, you gasp, turning your face to your smirking husband wordlessly.

“You always ask me about what unique things I have seen in the East,” Pero explains. “Many of them I cannot divulge, or are unable to make it back with me. But this was a gift from the wife of one of the men who hired William and I during this last job.” His eyes meet yours, softening. “I spoke of my love for you during a meal one night, and she wanted you to have something from her as a token of her gratitude. She knows what it is like to have a spouse afar.” You’re surprised he had spoken of you; most people could never get a single word out of him on a good day.

You look down at the bundle of sumptuous fabric, light as air and softer than a newborn kitten. It shimmers slightly in the light of your fireplace, a pale golden hue with the warmth of sunshine. As it runs over your hands, you notice a slight chill run across your skin. It’s unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

“It is the finest Chinese silk,” Pero continues, “made from the cocoons of special grubs. The fabric created from the strands has a cooling effect. She thought that an extraordinary woman deserves a rare gift.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, kissing his hand. Suddenly, a thought occurs. You cock your head to the side curiously. “How does she know that I am an extraordinary woman?” you ask.

Pero begins to turn beet red, and you start to giggle. “I… may have indulged a bit too much in their rice wine,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You bark a laugh.

“Mi amor,” you chuckle, “if the worst thing that happens when you’re drunk is that you profess your love for your wife, I’ve clearly married the right man.” You pepper his face with kisses as he grouses, but you feel his hand caress your arm lovingly. 

“I’ll make something beautiful from it,” you tell him, folding it back up into the packaging carefully and storing it with your sewing items.

“May I see it when you finish?” Pero asks, curling his body around yours once more and pulling you flush with him.

You nod. “Of course,” you promise, an idea already beginning to form.

Pero leaves the following week for another job, and you begin working on your surprise for him. As you observe the qualities of the fine silk, you realize it should be turned into a special occasion garment, something worn when you want to feel luxurious. Pero told you before about the beautiful flowing dresses and robes that Eastern ladies wore, which were markedly different from the heavier gowns typical in your homeland. As your dear husband wasn’t the most descriptive with words, you had to take a guess at how they looked and were constructed. Luckily, a traveling merchant struck up a conversation with you and, as it turned out, he had visited the East as well and helped to fill in the design details you were missing. 

Every spare minute outside of tending to the farm, selling your produce and flowers at the market, and tidying your home is used to painstakingly cut, sew, and embroider your silken treasure. It is a silver lining, then, that it takes Pero three weeks to return home to you. 

As usual, you greet him upon his entry to the village, walking home beside Pero and his mare while he recounts his latest completed job. This time, however, when he arrives inside to bathe, you move to slip away to the bedroom. Pero grabs your arm gently.

“Am I truly so ripe that you must leave while I wash?” he jokes, a smirk painting his lips but confusion lingering in his eyes. 

You smile demurely, looking up through your lashes. “I have completed my silk project and thought you’d like to see it,” you explain. “Come to the bedroom when you’re clean.” Pero’s smirk widens more, and he visibly relaxes at the reassurance.

“Ah, well, by all means, do not let me stop you,” he responds, watching you as you retreat and shoot him another smile over your shoulder. Huffing a small chuckle, he hastily scrubs his body clean.

Entering the bedroom, you pull the finished pieces from the chest in the corner of the room. Pero likes seeing you in anything or nothing, so you’re not worried about his approval. But there is a part of you that hopes seeing you in your new outfit unleashes the feral lust that sometimes simmers just under the surface of his contained demeanor. Your hands slide along the silk, caressing your own body, slick beginning to gather between your thighs with the thought of him taking you roughly. 

Just as you finish adjusting everything to your liking, Pero walks into the room, wearing his simple sleeping pants, forgoing a shirt. His reaction catches you completely off guard.

Your husband - the broad, intimidating warrior, feared by many men across the continents - stands frozen in place as he scans your adorned body with wide eyes. He takes in the long, elegant robe, its open style fluttering slightly with your movements. 

The gown, made from the same pale golden silk, flows beautifully over your frame, reaching the floor and ruffling gently at your feet. It tapers towards your bust in an empire waist, where you’ve meticulously stitched crimson tiger lily motifs across the chest - Pero’s favorite flower. Delicate straps hold it up on your shoulders, and both the dress and robe are gossamer thin, the sumptuous fabric leaving little to the imagination. The silk creates an ethereal glow across your curves from the reflection of the fireplace, as if you are encased in a sacred golden light.

Pero doesn’t move. His chest heaves, and his hands repeatedly twitch and clench at his sides. You’ve never seen him so tense in your life. 

“Pero?” you try, an edge of laughter lightening your concerned tone. “Is everything alright?” Your eyes flick downwards, picking at the hem of a billowing sleeve in confusion. You know it may not have been what he expected, but it’s a far cry from how you thought he’d react. 

You feel Pero’s fingertips gently grip your chin. “Look at me, querida,” he rasps, voice tight. You bring your eyes to his and are instantly hit with the intensity of his gaze upon yours. 

“You… I….” Desperation laces his face as he tries to explain his reaction. The sudden realization hits you.

You would have never predicted that such a delicate thing would be Pero Tovar’s undoing.

Pero inhales a shaky breath. “Mi vida…” he whispers. “My beautiful wife… you look so soft, so delicate.” He holds a hand out as if to touch you, but retreats. “These hands…” Pero swallows hard. “They are too rough for something so pure.” His eyes cast downwards, and you know he’s not only talking about his callouses. 

You slip both hands to the sides of his face, lifting his gaze back to you. You allow all of your desire, your love, your lust to suffuse into your face. With your heart aching with the weight of your devotion for this man - so gruff and harsh on the outside, but utter bone-melting softness inside - you search his eyes pleadingly.

“Touch me, Pero,” you beg, bringing his hands to your waist. “I need your hands, roughness and all.”

Pero’s body shudders as his palms make contact with the soft silk on your body. He gently smooths his thumbs across your hip bones, eliciting a whimper from your throat. They travel back up the curve of your waist, brushing the swell of your breasts, and your nipples pebble at his touch. Eyes focused on following the path of his fingers, he traces circles around the peaks, more soft, desperate sounds coming from your mouth. 

You stare into his eyes with unwavering love. “I missed you, mi amor,” you whisper. 

Pero slowly leans forward to press his forehead against yours. “I am here, mi esposa,” he murmurs back, his hands pressing more surely, feeling the slip of your gown beneath his fingers. You can feel the fabric catching slightly on the rougher parts of his hands. 

Leaning forward, you capture his lips in a slow, sensual kiss. You missed the way he tastes, the quiet grunts he makes as he claims your mouth with his. Biting his lip, you pull back and say breathlessly, “Show me how much you missed me.”

Pero presses his mouth to yours hungrily, his fear of sullying something so divine beginning to wane. As he walks you backwards towards your bed, he gathers the fabric of your robe and dress to your hips. Gently, he lays you down onto the bed, the gilded silk fanning out around you. Pero pushes the fabric further up, exposing your dripping core to the air. A rough groan rips from his throat. 

“Mmm, mi vida, you are so wet for me,” he grits, fingers tracing over your labia, making you whine in desire.

“Pero,” you moan. You spread your thighs open, inviting him in. Pero cages your body in with his, kissing you fiercely while slipping two of his fingers into you, your slick aiding him to slide in all the way to the last knuckle. You keen his name in pleasure, and he feels you clench down on him, hot and sticky. His kisses trail from the corner of your lips to your jaw, then down your neck, pumping in and out of you to build your pleasure. 

“You make me want to be anything but delicate with you,” Pero grunts, swirling his fingertips against the soft spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars. 

You curse and moan at his admission, your earlier desire for him to take you roughly coming back to the surface. “Do not be gentle,” you beg him. A wild look crosses his face, and he nips at your throat while his fingers thrust more rapidly inside you. Mewling, you spread even wider for him, driving his digits further inside the hot clutch of you.

“I want to feel you break for me, amorcita,” Pero growls, then thumbs your clit in tight circles.

Your orgasm surges up and crests, and Pero slaps his hand over your mouth just in time to quiet the shriek erupting from your throat. He pins you down and groans into your hair roughly. A rush of slick coats his already-drenched fingers inside of you while he guides you through the waves of your rapture. When your breathing begins to calm and your voice peters into tiny whimpers, Pero removes his hand from your mouth. You watch, entranced, as he sucks your essence from his other fingers. 

He curses. “I have traveled countless foreign lands, and still have tasted nothing sweeter than you,” Pero groans, then sweeps you into a deep kiss, feeding you your own flavor. His hard cock presses into your side, throbbing and insistent.

You reach down to caress his length. Pero shivers and bites your lip in return. “Let me return the favor,” you whisper, sliding your body down the bed. He pulls down his sleep pants, the thick swell of him springing to attention. You love Pero’s cock and never miss a chance to worship it.

His warrior hands gently grip your skull as you lave your tongue across the expanse of him, tasting the salty musk of his most intimate parts. It clouds your head with potent desire. 

“Fuck, amorcita,” Pero gasps, your wide, glassy eyes locked on his. “You have the face of an angel and the mouth of a fucking devil.” His words make you moan on his length and slide his shaft even further down your throat. His hands tense, his control slipping further away, and he gently pulls you off of him with a pop.

“I cannot have this end so soon. I need to be buried in you,” he grits. He gets off of the bed, coming to stand at the side. Excited shivers run down your spine, knowing exactly what he wants from you. He knows it’s your favorite way to take him.

You turn your body to face him, draping your garments off the mattress, and lay on your back, exposing the apex of your thighs to your husband once again. 

Pero’s gaze fixes on your slick pussy. “You are the most stunning goddess,” he croons while he takes himself in hand and rubs the swollen head through the evidence of your arousal. The heat in your cheeks flares hotter at his words. 

“Please, Pero,” you whine. “I crave you. My soul needs you.” Sweat dews up across your skin from your desperation.

In one slow, long, devastating thrust, Pero slides home.

You both cry out at the pure pleasure of flesh meeting flesh, of your bodies joining once more. It feels overwhelming, inevitable, not of this world. For you, no man could ever sew themselves as deeply into the fabric of your spirit than Pero. As your body adjusts and welcomes him in once more, you gaze deeply at each other, breaths syncing, an electric current running through your veins. He fills every iota of empty space within you. You feel everything.

When he bottoms out a few seconds later, the silken fabric of your robe brushes his shins, the unfamiliar feeling causing a shudder of pleasure to skitter across his body. Pero grips the backs of your thighs as if to tether him to this realm, awash in intense desire for you. A breathy moan snakes out of your throat when he pulls back and thrusts in once again. Every nerve alights in euphoria at his intrusion. His eyes roam across your body, drinking in the sight: every curve of your supple body writhing in pleasure; every freckle and mole; the way the thin sheen of sweat on your skin shimmers in the light of the fire; the way your brows pinch together and lips falls open as he hits that devastating spot inside of you; the shine of your slick and cream coating his rigid length as he works you relentlessly.

It’s both everything he could ever need and not nearly enough to sate him.

Pero reaches down between your thighs and thumbs your clit. You keen, back arching off the bed. “I can feel you tightening for me,” he rasps as his hips punch an unforgiving rhythm into you. “Shatter for me. Come on my cock, preciosa.”

At that favorite pet name - preciosa - your body obeys his command with a snap. A shockwave of climactic euphoria races through your veins. His name leaves your lips as a sob over and over again, your orgasm wringing you dry while Pero clenches his jaw and guides you through your peak. Blinking your eyes open, you’re met with Pero already staring deeply into them. Devotion and amazement gleam in his gaze.

“Tan bonita,” he praises. “You always look stunning when you come for me.” His thrusts have slowed down, gently maintaining a strong buzz of arousal between the two of you.

“Hold me close, mi esposo,” you demand, and Pero knows exactly what you want. “Mold your body to mine.”

Pero gently shushes you. “Si, amor; I shall give you what you want,” he responds and pulls out gently. Evidence of your orgasm soaks his shaft, dripping onto your thighs. 

As Pero gets into position, you roll yourself onto your belly, shifting your silk lingerie around to avoid tangles. You sweep the robe and dress off of your lower half and part your thighs. He crawls over you, caging your body once more while he nudges your legs open further. Back arched, your cunt glints invitingly; it is a potent sight and the only thing to ever break Pero to beg on his knees for it. 

He would worship at your altar for hours if you let him. Drowning between your thighs, eating his favorite meal in the world, sounds incredible to your husband. His insatiability for your carnal pleasures knows no bounds. You’ve never met a man who loved eating you out nearly as much as he does. If he could bathe in your essence, he would.

Pero is ruled by only two things: coin, and your pussy.

Before your mind drifts back from reflection on its own, it is yanked back to the current moment by a hot stripe licked up the seam of you. Gasping, you reach back, tangling your fingers in Pero’s hair as he spreads your folds open for him to devour. He pulls your hips up in the air to better reach your swollen pearl. His insistent tongue swirls around the nub, building you up to get another orgasm.

“Come again for me and I will give you my cock for as long as you can take it,” he barters, rocketing you rapidly towards another crest. The intense pressure tells you it will be messy. That only encourages your husband.

“There you are,” he says as your body pulls tight. Your limbs quake, everything hanging in precarious balance.

“Pero,” you wail, the intense pleasure at a knife’s edge. He says nothing, but takes that as his sign to suck your clit in between his lips and make you break.

And you do, stunningly hard. Pero seals his lips around your pussy as you scream with your wet release, his throat bobbing with every swallow of your hallowed cum. A long, low moan rumbles in his broad chest from your sweet, deep flavor coating his tongue. Resting your head on the bed sheets, you pant softly, trying to recover. 

Soon after, you feel the bed shift as Pero hovers over your prone body. His mushroom tip swipes through your folds once more, and he kisses your bare shoulders while he notches at your entrance.

“Tell me how much you want me, preciosa,” he rumbles. “I need to hear it from your lips.”

“With everything in me, Pero,” you whimper, pressing up against his hardness. You feel him throb against your folds. “Please, please make love to me again.”

Pero obeys, sliding himself to the hilt swiftly. Your broken cry echoes around the bedroom. His forearms bracket either side of your body, his entire front pressed against your back as he thrusts deeply and slowly into you. The masculine, musky, undeniably Pero scent wraps around you. You’ve never felt more protected and safe with your strong, brave husband completely surrounding you.

Delirious whimpers and gasps swirl in the air, intermixed with the wet shlick of Pero’s length filling you up again and again. Accenting the symphony of explicit sounds is the constant caress of your silk lingerie on your skin; a cooling touch to bring your heated body back to Earth. It’s a heady concoction, a sensorial delight unlike anything you’ve experienced. You’re rendered almost speechless, only expressions of pleasure and your husband’s name escaping your lips. 

“I will never get enough of you,” Pero moans, slipping his hand under your hips to let you grind on his fingers. 

You keen sharply. “Oh god, so good,” you mewl, rolling your hips against his big paw. Slick rolls down from your dripping pussy and soaks his hand and the bed, slippery and hot. Pero runs his tongue up the length of your neck, sucking love bites into your flesh as his thrusts come harder and faster. 

“You are everything to me,” he hoarsely whispers, his voice breaking slightly at the end. “Gods above, I do not need anything but you. You beautiful, precious angel. Light of my life.” You sob in pure love and pleasure at his words as your orgasm rises higher in every cell in your body.

“Pero,” you cry out. “Fuck, I’m going to come.” Tremors begin to wrack your body as your cunt tightens around Pero’s cock like a vice, so close to your rapture. 

He chokes out a loud moan, now pounding into you with abandon. “Come for me, mi vida,” he begs, breaths exhaled harshly. Sweat drips from his broad frame onto your back and the lingerie, his muscled thighs tense with exertion. “Give it to me. Let go for me, and let me fill you with my seed.”

Pero hitches his hips just slightly, and the new angle hits that magical spot deep in you, flinging you right into your orgasm. A throttled, grunting squeal erupts from your throat, and you clamp down on his thick cock, your juices squirting onto his hand. Pero bellows, then shoves himself as deeply as he can, shooting his searing cum into you. He bites down on your shoulder, whimpering loudly with every spurt of his seed released.

It feels like the world explodes and caves in on itself, with nothing left but shivering desire and love in its place.

Tears stream down your heated cheeks, falling wetly onto the linens. You’re gasping for air, your husband collapsed on top of your back, your bodies melded as one while you catch your breath. Sniffling, then laughing wetly, you turn to kiss the forearm that you can reach.

“God, I love you so much, mi amor,” you profess with a watery hiccup, completely overwhelmed. Pero grunts and presses his lips against your shoulder, his chest pressed to your back.

“I love you more than you will ever understand,” he rumbles, trailing kisses across your salty, dewy skin, then tips your chin gently to the side as far as it will go so he can sweetly capture his lips with yours. Pero carefully lifts himself up, and then slides his softening cock gently from the hold of your cunt, a stream of his cum spilling out in its wake. You murmur happily when you feel the warm liquid roll down your clit, twitching and spent. He kisses each of your buttocks, slurping the escaped cum, and then rises to his feet to pad to your wash basin. Dampening a cloth, he returns to the bed and gently cleans your skin, eliciting a giggle from you.

Pero huffs a laugh. “What are you giggling about, little loon?” he teases, gently smacking your ass.

You muffle another giggle, then turn to him, smiling. “If only your enemies could see big, bad Pero Tovar, the feared warrior, cleaning up his wife’s pussy so gently.”

You didn’t even need to see Pero’s face; you could practically feel the eyeroll. He slaps your ass harder this time, ripping a gasp from you.

“Careful, preciosa,” Pero warns, but the threat is hollow. A smirk threatens to break out across his face. “Or next time I’ll be rougher.” 

He lays one more hard slap to your backside, and you moan quietly, another dribble of his cum pushed out from your cunt. He growls at the sight, then gently kisses the red handprint beginning to show on your soft skin - a veritable masterclass in contrasts.

Finishing his cleaning, he throws the cloth to the side, then rejoins you in bed, rolling you both to your side so you can face each other. Your eyes roam his face, smiling serenely at him.

Suddenly your face lights up. “Oh, I almost forgot! I made you something too!” You leap off of the bed, quickly pressing your fingers to your core to stem the flow of him from inside you. Rummaging through your chest, you exclaim, “Ah-HAH! Found it!” You toss it onto the bed.

A pile of that same silk fabric lands by Pero’s hands. He picks it up gingerly, unfolding it as his brows knit together quizzically.

“Is this…?” he starts, confused, while the shape of the item is slowly revealed to him.

“I made you something too,” you titter, as it dawns on him that what you’ve made is a small pair of flowy shorts, just big enough to contain his manhood and pert ass. 

He raises his scarred eyebrow at you. “This is… for me?” he asks incredulously. You erupt into giggles, slapping your hand over your mouth. Pero’s signature scowl etches over his face.

“Yes,” you laugh. “I thought it would be nice for both of us to have something made from the silk. Do you like it?” More giggles erupt from you as you imagine your gruff, tough husband sporting the tiny, sheer shorts. Pero’s frown continues to deepen.

“Oh, you are in so much trouble,” he grouses, a playful lilt to his tone, and he lunges for you, pulling you down to tickle and kiss you.

LOTUSBXTCH MASTERLIST

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[milkcanned]

night in with the one piece girls

ft. nami, nico robin, boa hancock, nefertari vivi, tashigi

a.n: lol this is my debut. enjoy.

cat burglar nami

• first of all, you had to beg nami for a night in rather than a night out in the first place

• she loves to go out shopping with you

• but, on this night in, best believe you are being pampered.

• she makes the two of you various tangerine snacks for the night. tarts, dipping sauce, a cocktail, you name it.

• laying your head on her lap as she doodles away at a new map she's making

• or, resting your head on her shoulder to watch the delicate ink lines indicating the landscape of the island she's mapping.

• settling on the floor for a massage, which she is an absolute top tier masseuse.

• feeling her hands glide across your back, working into your tense muscles and easing away that low pain.

• her complaining that you're "doing it wrong" when it's your turn to massage her, when really she's just trying to hide that she's ticklish.

• setting up a bath together with her homemade tangerine body wash and soaps, it smells just like her

• her accidentally getting soap in your eyes and giggling while washing it out

• "whoops, sorry." she sticks out her tongue and gives you a wink

• cuddling with her in bed, tangled in each other's arms. her breath against your neck and that warm smell of tangerine

nico robin

• a cozy night in with robin is not a rarity in your relationship

• in fact, it's quite often the two of you relax in the comfort of home

• firstly, book marathon.

• just reading beside each other, enjoying one another's presence. maybe her head's in your lap, maybe you're squished close in an arm chair together

• a debrief on the books you've both read is a must.

• deep, meaningful talks about life, the universe, stupid things. the two of you could go on to each other about the terrors of life and not even lose sleep over it. and don't even think about doing this while high.

• "if a dog and a cat's upper body were sewn to together, how do you think it would expel waste?" ... "good question, robin. well,"

• sometimes you both flip through those "who would win" nature magazines and place your bets

• "the hippopotamus would definitely beat the rhino! they're quite vicious, you know."

• scaring your fellow crewmates by hiding under the hammock (you) and grabbing usopp's arms

• robin, of course, made hands to grab the remaining legs

• giggling and running back to robin as usopp screams in horror

• settling into bed as she makes arms to rub comforting circles into your back, arms, and legs.

• drifting off to sleep as the smell of book pages and lavender lull you

boa hancock

• a night in with hancock is actually much more common than expected.

• rarely does she ever leave the palace with you to favor a night on amazon lily's markets

• her pampering may be on par with nami's. she's an empress after all, and you're her consort.

• the two of you first take a luxurious bath with all kinds of bath salts, creams, scrubs, and shampoos.

• her products are strictly lily scented, it smells so much like her

• her long fingers gently working into your hair to fully cleanse and nourish it, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

• getting out of the bath to be dressed in a beautiful draping bathrobe, and being escorted to her room.

• trays of all of your favorite foods laid across the table in front of a loveseat

• the both of you taking turns feeding each other fruits, giggling like schoolgirls when juice runs down the other's lip

• "my! i think you have something on your face!" she chuckles and blushes, reaching out a hand to swipe at your lip

• having a couple's massage in the palace, hands entwined as you both relax parallel to each other

• climbing onto her lap as she lounges on her snake, salome. she's so warm and smells so sickly sweet of lilies and honey.

• drifting off to sleep in each other's arms, with salome loosely coiled around the two of you like a weighted blanket

nefertari vivi

• as much as vivi loves having a night out in alabasta's markets, a palace date suffices

• you better believe you're getting the princess treatment by the princess herself!!

• doing each other's hair in her room with karoo softly snoring on the bed

• feeling her silky smooth blue locks between your fingers as you style her hair

• being caught giggling and gossiping by igaram when he enters the room to drop off a tray of assorted fruits and snacks

• going out to the palace garden to watch the pigeons and doves as vivi tells you about her journeys with the strawhats

• a beautiful dove landing on your lap as she finished up her story, cooing as you scratch behind it's head

• "hey, this one looks like you."

• trying on her beautiful gowns, and her spinning you in the mirror to look

• heading out to the palace's pool to swim with the spot-billed duck troops

• splashing vivi, which results in you getting splashed tenfold

• drying off in robes as the two of you get ready for bed

• drifting off to sleep with her arms around you, karoo snoring softly at the foot of the bed

tashigi

• a night in is usually what the two of you get up to, considering there isn't much to do on marine bases

• smoker has no problem letting her take the night off

• heading to the marine mess hall to grab some coffees and pastries

• her letting you grab a sip of her hot coffee, and getting concerned when you flinch back

• "s'way too hot, tashigi!" ... "oh, oops!"

• letting her rant to you about swords and katanas, her flipping through a sword magazine and showing the ones she has circled in red marker

• sparring each other with wooden sticks, which she beats you at, landing you on your back

• tashigi then promptly falling clumsily right on top of you, glasses slipping off of her nose

• you pushing her glasses back up and giggling, which earns you a pouty and completely red in the face tashigi

• helping her clean her collection of blades, some of which were confiscated from pirates deemed unworthy of holding a sword

• "wow so this one belonged to someone from baroque works?" .. "yup!" she beams, blushing

• settling into bed with her as she takes off her glasses to sleep

•cradling her head against your chest as you both drift off to slumber

[jube-art]

Oooh, Double Kryptonian AU is super interesting! Does Clark get them all somewhere safe? Maybe the Kent farm so Ma and Pa can look after them?

Dyam is already asleep, breathing softly where he's curled up in a hay bale and a sleeping bag. He's still easily swayed to sleep most of the time, his energy wanes much faster than his brothers and father, his body is trying to catch up to itself while it heals. Jon sleeps next to him, simply always eager for a nap.

Dic sits close to the fire, watching the flames and the sky all at once, his long hair pulled up and back and out of his face, the once greasy strands now cleaned with Martha's simple soaps, there's a kind of peace to him, listening to the way Kara talks his ear off about the teenage hero's their own age.

Jae is the quietest, he normally is, reading a book with his back to the fire so he can see the words on the page, his hair is curling around his mask, nobody on earth had seen the boy without it yet. There's a barn cat that's curled around the old camping chair that Jae occupies, purring up a storm and occasionally moving when one side of it's black fur gets too hot.

Te however, is pulled up on an old log that never got cut, holding a stick and asking Kon to explain himself one more time.

"It's not hard." Kon explains, patient and smiling. "It's just a kind of food. You like sweet things." Te scrunches his nose up, his own long hair is not nearly as neat as his brothers so it falls down around his hears and chin. His pale eyes watch the chocolate bar like it will bite him.

"I'll go first." Kon stabs a jumbo marshmallow through the stick he's holding, grabbed perfectly out of a tree this morning in preparation of tonight's main event. "It's easy to do, there's no wrong way to do it. You burn the sugar, you put it on the chocolate. You sandwich it in between graham crackers."

"The Google says that it has to be gold." Te's English words aren't as smooth as when he speaks his native language, but he's been much better at learning English than Kon has been at learning Kryptonian. "You say it needs to be burn. What is correct?"

"There's no wrong way to do it, buddy." Kon laughs, "Try it how you saw it on google first though, okay?"

Te nods, once, and copies Kon motion, spearing his own puffy marshmallow and sticking it much farther than Kon's reckless sort of arsonist approach.

They roast their food, smelling the sweetness burn over the fire, hearing the sounds of family, the night air, and they concentrate.

Kon goes through three s'mores by the time Te is finished with his first, the golden crust cracks when Kon helps Te place it down in between dutch chocolate and thickly covered homemade crackers.

Te's first bite is like a revelation.