#I love her little bow and the drawings on her wraps

[borisnightingale]

I made some finished pieces of the Dona AU by @imagionationstation check it out, it’s basically and AU where Donnie is a girl and it is really cool and freaking awesome and I. Love. It.

Here are some sketches I made that might be made into pieces

I love female Donnie so much you wouldn’t believe. She has invaded my brain and is providing much needed dopamine.

I gave her lashes because how could I not I mean, I think Donnie deserves lashes even if she can’t grow them . Most of these are redraws of screenshots from certain episodes, tho the last one is from a fan art I found on Pinterest and sadly I couldn’t find the artist. It was mostly a sketch to get to know Donnie as a character so yeah.

If I do make that sketch a drawing I would change some things about it but it was just a draft.

Please check out the creator of the AU they are so freaking cool.

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

Join my taglist HERE

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[esouliie]

… you should stay in my good graces⋆𐙚₊

(actress!wanda x fem!reader)

tags | romantic asf, a little hurt/comfort, wanda maximoff needs a hug, reader is a reassuring simp, together? they’re both gross horny freaks :3 (18+)

It’s late, around 9 PM, and the room is dimly lit, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. You’re lounging on the couch of the hotel suite, feeling the gentle buzz of the wine you’ve been sipping. She’s there with you, still dressed in her suit for her upcoming movie’s press junket. Her hair, now a shade of molten chocolate, falls loosely around her face, with random pieces tucked behind her ears. She’s wearing minimal makeup, despite her lips being coated in a subtle reddish oil, and her eyes shimmer gold with every bat of her lashes.

The evening has been easygoing since arriving back, a perfect blend of quiet conversation and shared silences as your girlfriend winds down from being social. You watch her as she took another sip of her wine, her eyes glinting in the soft light. Suddenly, she sets her glass down and rises from the couch with a playful glint in her eye. "I want to play a song for you," she announces with a smile.

You watch as she heads for the old record player tucked in the corner, a vintage piece that had caught her eye the moment you checked in last night. The suite modern charm was evident in every detail, from the heated floors to the spacious kitchen, but the record player, with its polished wood and brass accents, seemed to be the centerpiece of the room. Wanda had been drawn to it immediately, her fingers tracing the smooth surface, a look of nostalgia softening her features.

She flips through the small collection of vinyl records stacked beside it, her brow furrowing in concentration as she searches for the perfect track. After a moment, she lets out a triumphant little sound, pulling out a record with an old, faded cover. The worn label reveals the artist: Sam Cooke. She handles it with reverence, lowering it onto the turntable with a practiced hand. There's a small, satisfied hum as she brings the needle down, and the soft crackle that follows fills the room like the first breath of life. For a moment, everything is still, suspended in the quiet, until the first sweet, soulful notes of "Cupid" drift into the air.

The melody is timeless, a rich cascade of sound that wraps around you like an old, familiar blanket. You recognise the tune, though it's been years since you last heard it. The notes are tender and full of emotion, evoking memories of a time long past yet strangely present in this moment. The room, bathed in the warm glow of the lamps adorned around the space, seems to swell with the sound, the music curling around the furniture, the walls, and finally, the two of you, as if drawing you closer together.

Wanda turns back to you, her eyes bright with anticipation, waiting for your reaction. She knows you love this song, and she loves it too, perhaps even more.

“I love this song.” She reaches out a hand, gesturing for you to join her. You stand, taking it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of her fingers intertwining with yours. The music flows between you like a current, and Wanda begins to sway, drawing you into the rhythm. Her voice, soft and unguarded, rises to meet the melody as she sings along with Cooke:

“Cupid, draw back your bow...”

With her eyes locked on yours, the world around you fades into the background. The record spins, the music lilting through the room as you both begin to dance, a slow, easy movement that feels as natural as breathing.

You follow her lead, letting the song guide your steps. Wanda’s voice, sweet and slightly off-key, weaves through the music, adding her own touch to the tune. There's something so intimate, so pure in the way she sings to you, for you, her voice a quiet confession wrapped in melody.

“You know," she murmurs, her voice a soft whisper against the instruments, "I've never felt like this with anyone before."

"I feel the same, Wands. Every time I'm with you, it's like the world finally makes sense."

She tilts her head down slightly, her eyes searching yours. "Do you ever wonder if this is too good to be true? Like, maybe we're dreaming, and one day we'll wake up, and it’ll all be gone?"

You stop swaying for a moment, cupping her face gently in your hands. "No, Wanda. This is real. We’re real." You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, feeling her relax into your touch, “You’re never getting rid of me, baby.”

Her hands move to your back, pulling you closer, as if she needs to feel you, to confirm that you’re really here. "Promise me," she whispers, her voice trembling just slightly.

You press your lips to hers again, a gentle, lingering kiss that holds all the promises you can’t yet put into words. “I promise,” you whisper against her, “let me show you.”

Her worries melt away, replaced by a deepening trust as your hands run through her hair, pulling her impossibly closer. The pressure of your lips increases, growing bolder as you feel her responding to you, her own lips parting slightly, inviting you to explore further. A soft sigh escapes her, and it echoes in the stillness around you, a sound that sends a shiver of warmth through your entire body.

The kiss grows, building from that initial, tender connection into something more passionate, more urgent. You can feel the tension in your chest, a yearning that rises and swells with every heartbeat, driving you to close any remaining distance between you. Your other hand slides to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Unable to feel the heat of her body through the thick suit jacket, your hands trail inside the material, mapping the thin waist of the taller woman.

She’s wearing nothing underneath.

You deepen the kiss further, your tongue brushing against her lower lip, seeking entrance, a silent request that she grants as her lips part further, allowing you in. Her hands find their way to your shoulders, gripping lightly as she leans in. The kiss is no longer just gentle; it’s filled with a fervent need, an unspoken desire that’s been building between you since the beginning of the night. Since you first saw her in this outfit. She’s kissing you back with equal intensity, every movements matching yours, the both of you lost in this moment, hands groping all and everything you can.

“I want these off,” Wanda husks, pupils blown entirely, as she hurriedly pulls at the zip of your jeans, “… now.”

You don’t bother helping the older woman, as you fling your arms around her to pull the jacket off her toned shoulders, a swift competition to see who can undress who first. You managed to discard the jacket before she can shove her hand down your pants, your fingers already groping at her chest. Your lips making their way down from her neck down to her breasts, lapping at the pebbled nipples before you.

With her hand finally between your legs, stroking ever so languidly, she guides you back towards the couch. You’re too distracted to notice the change until you’re on your back and she’s on top of you. Her tongue forces its way into your mouth before you could protest, hips doing most of the work appeasing you, as she thrusts ever so slowly. Giving up, your legs fall open, calves wrapping around the brunette as if to keep her flush against you.

The kiss comes to an end, much to your dismay, with a singular strand of saliva hanging between you both.

“You’re such a brat. You joke, hands smoothing over her ass, pulling forward.

“Says the one who was racing to undress me first.” She immediately retorts, and you push your luck, retaliating by smacking her ass. She gasps before cutting you a sharp look. Grinding harder against you, her head bends to kiss along your pulse. Her canines sink into the soft skin, a sharp sting following closely before her warm tongue laps along the bruised skin.

“Do that again and I won’t fuck you.”

Your mouth opens a few times, but you weren't sure what to say. You only managed a please, which felt pathetic even to your own ears. The laughing quirk of her lips revealed how little Wanda takes you seriously, and why would she? You were already trembling, unable to form a single thought.

So easy.

Turning your head so she could press her lips against yours, she was licking into your mouth, just separating enough so you didn't suffocate, and even then, it did nothing to help the threads of spit remaining between you both.

But it didn't appear that she was going to stop anytime soon, as her fingers trail up your thigh until she reaches your underwear. Her lips twist into a smile at the feeling of the damp fabric, molding to you. Lithe digits sneak inside, spreading your lips, grazing just under your clit and then down low. “This all for me, baby?”

The feeling so overwhelming, you’re unable to reply. Wanda merely laughs before pressing into you, revelling in how easily you swallowed her fingers, hips moving in time with her. The rooms fills with sounds of breathless moans and her fingers fucking you, her other hand snaked under your top to pinch at your nipples.

“Feels so good.” You manage to stutter out, and bring her down to your lips. Once again, locked in another fervent kiss, moans spilling into her mouth.

A knock on the door jolts you out of your reverie, lips smacking as you pull away, eyes drawn towards the source. Panic surges in your chest as you remember earlier Wanda had invited some of her cast mates to your suite for a games night. Helplessly, you attempt to get your girlfriend to stop, your hand curling around her wrist pumping into you, but she didn’t. Instead, she speeds up, fingers now sliding in at a bruising pace in comparison to her earlier slower one. Your knees were trembling, cunt pulsing around her rigid knuckles, as her thumb circles your clit desperately.

“Gotta be quick, baby,” She huffs, energy depleting with each thrust, whispering terms of endearment as you convulsed, muffling your sounds of pleasure into her neck. Her chest heaves, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her skin as she hovers over you.

You couldn't help the way your body shudders, so sensitive, every nerve ending screaming for her to stop and yet for her to continue. Trembling a little less now, her fingers slip out of you cautiously, soothing along your flushed skin despite being coated in you. She studies the room accessing the damage before turning back towards you, noticing you’re already looking up at her, the buzz of your orgasm fading away slightly.

To be honest, you didn’t want games night to happen.

You wanted to spend the rest of your night wrapped up in your girlfriend’s arms, listening to her steady heartbeat as she held you close. But you knew Wanda was shy, and in this industry, she struggled to make friends. It was a hard world to navigate, full of people who wanted something from her or who couldn’t look past her fame to see the wonderful person she was beneath it all. You didn’t want to get in the way of that, all because you were feeling needy and wanting her sole attention. It was her night. Wanda deserved to have friends, people she could laugh with, people who would remind her that not everyone wanted something from her. So, despite the ache in your chest, you pushed your feelings aside, biting down on your lip, trying to suppress the soft whimper that threatens to escape, but she notices.

She always notices.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, and then your cheek, and then your nose. Her lips were warm, comforting, grounding you back to the present. “You did so well, sweetheart.” She leans down placing one last kiss – this time upon your lips, “You know I love you, right?”

You nod, a shy smile curling at the corner of your mouth. “I love you too.”

“Good,” she hums softly, her voice carrying a note of finality. “Now, come on,” her hand behind your back guiding you to your feet, “help me tidy up?”

You groan playfully, your muscles protesting as you try to follow her lead. You wobble when you stand, a reminder of just how thoroughly she’d loved you, and she chuckles, steadying you with a hand on your waist

“Easy there.” She teases, holding tight to your waist. You feel her breath tickle the top of your head, and then, with a gentleness that contrasts the intensity of earlier, she places a chaste kiss upon your tousled hair, before collecting her jacket and buttoning it up around herself like before.

"Oh, Tony’s gonna have a field day when he sees you," she murmurs, the amusement in her voice impossible to miss. You can almost picture it now—Tony’s raised eyebrows, the sly grin that would stretch across his face when he spots the two of you looking disheveled as ever, and the sex joke already bursting free from his smart ass mouth.

“Whatever, Maximoff.” You push her away and in the direction of the door, “go let them in.”

[allfearstofallto]

PLS CAN YOU FEED US MORE hero of the nation knight!childe ON MY KNEES I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH AND I SEARCHED EVERYWHERE FOR A FIC LIKE THIS

This took FOREVER to write, but here you go!!

Blessings Be to The Hero of the Nation

Historical AU

Yandere Hero of the Nation! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: yandere themes, stalking, minor character death, blood, threatening, forced marriage/engagement

He kept one of your hair ribbons wrapped around the hilt of his sword. It billowed in the wind constantly and would draw watchful eyes to it. That pastel pink fabric didn't match a single thing on his brutish, usually bloody exterior, but he still kept it regardless. You tragically didn't give it to him in a blatant display of affection and well wishes for him on his journey, instead, he found the little ribbon after it'd blown off your head and up to the wind. A little pout formed on your lips realizing you'd lost it, but you decided against retrieving it. He didn't though. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket, taking it home to clean off the dirt and grime.

That same ribbon was clenched in his hands when he arrived at the gate of your manor, along with a few other gifts that he would give to you. He'd just slayed the dragon, the wretched menace that was terrorizing the nation, now and only now did he feel worthy to ask for your hand. Cleaning off all the blood and gore that was on his armor, polishing it into light metal that could blind anyone who looked directly at it, he was certain that this would charm you off of your feet.

When he was invited into your home by your parents who were surprised to see the hero himself at their door, he didn't care about the tea or the cakes. The praise meant nothing coming from them. He skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point. He wanted your hand in marriage and he wanted the wedding to be soon.

A skittish expression crossed your father's face as he gritted his teeth, “We've decided to leave that decision up to her.” Childe smirked, that was even better. He'd never met a woman who wouldn't fall for his charms.

You were called down from your room, eyelids heavy and half open, still in your thin sleeping gown with a robe over it. You were rubbing the tiredness from your eyes as you walked down the stairs, your other delicate hand gripping the banister. And when you saw him, you bowed. A deep traditional bow, given to those of a respectable higher status.

He kneeled down on one knee before you. The male kneeled for only one person, the queen herself. His sword pulled from its sheath, he laid it flat against his palms, offering it up to you. That knocked the sleepiness from his body and suddenly your eyes were wide open. Genuine shock was making your body stiff as a board and you looked back and forth to your parents who didn't say a word.

“Your visage has danced around my heart non stop since the first time I laid eyes on you. I wish to use this sword only to fight for you. Won't you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Words spoken in honor, with him meaning every bit of it. You were meant to take the sword from his hands, tapping it gently upon each of his shoulders, but you didn't. You just stood there, lips trembling, but not saying anything.

A marriage proposal via a letter was easy to ignore or reject, you didn't have to see their reaction. But never had you had someone be so bold as to propose to you in person. And not only that, the very hero that saved the Kingdom. Rumors told you he'd be marrying the first princess, she obsessed over him before he became the hero and those feelings seemed to only grow stronger after he waltzed into the city with the bloody head of the beast. Yet here he was at your feet, patiently anticipating your answer which he was positive was going to be a yes.

“I-'' you began, trying to think of the easiest way to let him down gently, “I fear that I'm not ready for marriage yet.” You said hurriedly. That wasn’t entirely a lie. You spent countless hours looking at the list of marriage candidates and scoping them out at balls and parties, but quickly realizing that none of them suited your tastes in that way. The entire idea of being wed barely satisfied you. You wanted to push it off for as long as possible.

“I'm willing to wait for you until the world crumbles. I'd even accept being your fiance until the day we die, as long as I can say you're mine,” he was persistent, you'd give him that.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously. Time felt as if it had stopped and this moment would never end. No matter what you did, he was still going to be there, “I thought you were to be wed to her highness, the princess?” You questioned him.

A scoff fell from his cherry pink lips, eyes looking you up and down, drinking in every inch of your body in that thin nightgown, “She does not interest me. Not the way you do.”

“There is really nothing interesting about me,”

“Won't you let me be the judge of that?”

Your shoulders slumped as you looked to your parents. They seemed as surprised by his persistence as you did, but weren't going to step in to help you, they always affirmed that it was your decision, they wanted you to be independent.

“Forgive me, hero, but I can not accept your offer,”

For just a split second you saw that princely expression slip. His eyes grew dark, lips in a deep frown, a rage you'd never seen before. But he was back to his usual expression in less than a second, that charming smile forming on his lips again as he stood from his knees and sheathed his sword a little too slowly.

“You wound me, my lady,” he'd mutter softly, hands still conveniently tight around the hilt of this sword, “Won't you please accept my gifts? And if you are to begin considering marriage, I hope that my proposal will be remembered fondly.”

Childe showed himself out, a little too quickly, but you didn't dare tell him to slow down. It was only once he was out those large double doors, did the air in your home feel breathable, you finally felt safe again. You watched his carriage leave from a window, watching as his eyes went dull again, losing all shimmers and feeling like a hollow mimicry of what humans were supposed to look like.

You were quite embarrassed to say you fell in love after that. Not with Childe, of course. You mentally tried to push the man from your mind after the way he startled both you and your family. Instead, your feelings developed for a commoner boy. You found yourself eyeing him when he'd deliver produce to your home, his face being one of pure beauty despite his messy exterior. As months went by, you'd catch yourself stealing bashful glances at him, locking eyes only for both of you to look away shyly. When the engagement was announced, Childe was one of the first to hear about it.

You twirled around the house in your wedding dress. Something plain and basic, but it was what your family could afford, and quite honestly, you loved it. You didn't want to take it off. Your fear of getting it dirty lessened as the days went by, until the wedding was only a week away.

“A guest for you, my lady,” one of your maids had said. Typically, when the employees of the house saw you dressed in your white gown, they'd smile at you, overjoyed as well. But she didn't. She looked worried, even a bit tense as she made the announcement to you.

“I hadn't arranged to meet anyone today,” you said a bit quietly, going to you closer to pick out something to change into, “Please tell them to wait in the day room.”

She stood stiffly for a second, then opened her trembling mouth to speak again, “I tried to, my lady. But he insisted on seeing you right now. He's just outside the door,”

A part of you wanted to ask who it was, who would be so disrespectful as to barge right up to a lady's room without her permission. But you already knew. There was a sense of unease sinking into your stomach. Unease and recognition. All the gifts and letters he'd sent weren't enough, were they? The man you were ignoring just had to come see you in person.

“Let him in,” you told the maid. She seemed confused at the ease at which you allowed such a thing, but still opened the door, revealing Childe who stood still in the hallway. He stepped past her, eyes only trained on you, “You're dismissed,” you said quietly, with a reassuring smile to the maid. Hesitance danced across her face, looking back and forth between you Childe, but she still did as told, bowing before leaving.

“You look lovely,” he said breathlessly, taking in the sight of you in that pure white dress.

“Thank you,” was all you could think to say back. Now that he was here before you, your mind was growing blank, all the things you wanted to say suddenly getting lost in fear. You tried not to notice the tension in the room, the way he was eyeing you like a predator about to pounce on a rabbit, but even your tough exterior was easy to see through.

“My heart aches for you, my lady,” he speaks softly while taking slow steps towards you. The terror of this situation made you move backwards, until your feet had made you press your back against the wall, “I fear that my haste might've made me do something…irrational.”

His dominant hand seems focused on the sword at his hip, making you look at it. It was only when you saw the red speckles all over his hand, hilt of the sword, and the oddly familiar pink ribbon he kept tied around it, did that coppery smell fill your nostrils.

With a trembling voice and a fake smile, you tried to assure him, “Any mistake is fixable, Sir Childe.”

“Not this one,” his hand continued to hold the hilt of his sword, squeezing it a few times as of testing the weight of his blade, “Do you know the best part of being the hero? The dragon slayer?” He asked, waiting for your response which was just a slow, forced shake of your head, prompting him to continue, “It's not the riches or the praise. It's not even the women.” As he speaks, one of his hands slides down from your cheek, to your neck, to the bodice of your dress. Tearful eyes look down to see him smearing that red liquid, that blood onto you white dress, staining it.

“I don't understand,” you mumbled, but your words fall on deaf ears.

“The best part of being the hero, is the freedom to do what I want. With no prosecution. Who in their right mind would stand up to the man who saved our failing nation? The answer is no one. Not the king, nor his workers, and especially not your weak little fiance,”

The sight and smell of blood, Childe's deep, hollow blue eyes, the way your heart felt as if it wanted to lurch out of your mouth. All things you tried to focus on as his words pounded their way into your skull, understanding washing over you like a wave that was trying to drown you where you stood.

“Wh-what did you do?” Your voice, so high pitched and breaking as the weight of the words forced through your body.

His hand, cold, soft, wet with blood rubbed your cheek, while his face never faltered, those dead eyes never changing, he had no remorse. It made you sick to your stomach, images of your fiance flashing through your head as you tried to imagine what he looked like, the hopeful ones saying that he was at least still alive.

“I'm going to ask again, nicely this time,” he began while pulling a ring from his pocket. Much more intricate than the one your fiance had given you, seeing as he had the hero's budget. But that didn't make you feel any less light headed when it was slipped onto your ring finger, freezing cold against your warm skin, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

[littl3sp4rkly4ngel]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ ── 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭… 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲’𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬

summary ; abby, her pretty arms and you…

content warning ; fem!reader x abby anderson, SFW part: lots of fluff, petnames, established relationship. NSFW part, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT: strap usage (r receiving), cunnilingus (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), pet names, kinda choking, kinda size kink (reader’s size not specified!), strenght kink (?,

author’s note ; totally got inspired by this post from @cssiel, go show some love!! <3

palestine & tlou click to support palestine

𝐒𝐅𝐖

★ we can all agree abby has the juiciest arms… i mean, just look at those pics!!

★ so i really picture her feeling so so confident when your eyes stay fixed on those bulky veiny sexy arms for just a little too long…….

★ she absolutely loves it when you kiss her, but when you kiss her arms??? she feels like she’s about to melt.

★ when the two of you go out, she always makes sure you’re by her side. she either has her arm around your shoulders or your arms are intertwined.

★ whenever your arms are hooked with hers you feel like she’s about to crush your hand if she clenches her bycep… and you both love it!!!

★ your favourite activities with her arms include tying bows, doodling on them or trying to kiss all her freckles!!

★ “what are you doing, pretty girl?” abby laughed when she saw you cutting a piece of pink ribbon. “i want to try something, pleeease…” you beg clasping your hands together.

★ when you finished tying the bow she just giggled and patted your head, “you’re adorable.” she muttered, playing it cool (she was internally screaming how much she loved you).

★ the doodling became a thing when you two were hanging out in your room, abby was reading a book and you were sketching some stuff. your girlfriend started missing your touch (even tho you were lying by her side), so she threw her arm over your shoulders and kissed the side of your head.

★ that’s when you looked down at her arm and an amazing idea came to you, “stay still, abs!” you grinned as you grabbed your pen and started drawing little hearts and starts on her forearm.

★ since that day, whenever you’re bored you draw some doodles on abby’s arms and she ADORES IT.

★ and well, another thing abby loves is when you bite her arm… she thinks it’s so cute and reminds her of an animal marking their territory!!

★ so yeah…. abby’s arms !!!! ♡

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 (+𝟏𝟖)

★ she loves wrapping her arm around your neck as she hits it from the back with her strap. had to say it.

★ tbh, we all know she’s a big teddy bear, but i truly believe that changes when she remembers that she could easily crush you…. her pussy gets so wet thinking about it…

★ when you guys need to be quiet, she tells you to bite her arms so you can keep your noises down and she lives for it. “you need to keep your voice down, baby…” she starts, “open your mouth, pretty girl, and bite down.” as she puts her forearm in front of your mouth.

★ let’s not forget about the way she separates your legs with her big hands and how she holds them still with her arms when she eats you out like a starved woman…

★ “stop trying to close your legs, baby, you already know it’s not happening.” she mutters while kissing your thighs.

★ abby loves to finger you while she spoons you and wraps her arms around your waist, she feels so good being so close to you, the intimacy makes her heart beat faster and her fingers go deeper…

★ ugh… i need her so bad…

[writingoddess1125]

Morticia and Gomez Effect

Mihawk X FemReader

Since Mihawk is based off of Dracula (Duh) and his whole goth dilf attitude it would make sense he's Romanian 🇷🇴

Also I drank some wine 🍷 before this so enjoy!!

>>> Part 2

• Giving Mihawk's personality I don't think he is the type that finds his opposite attractive. No this man likes those dark mysterious women-

• Def has a More Gothic wife.

• Mihawk is not one to openly talk about his fine but doesn't hide it either. If someone points out the gold ring hanging by his cross he will say it's his wedding band-

• However when his wife is around, he is quite flirty. A smirk on his lips as he will wrap his hand around your waist, lay kisses on your hand or pepper a kiss to the side of your neck. Uncaring if the world sees

• You also can defend yourself perfectly fine so he doesn't have to worry too much about you getting attacked- Truthfully he would pity someone so foolish to do so. Cause if you didn't kill them he would.

• But what was most known was- Mihawk was so whipped for you. Figuratively and Literally-

• The way you were formally introduced to the whole entirety of the Strawhat pirates was a necessary evil.

• "Zoro we need this- It says a red ruby is needed in order for this and we have non thays big enough!" Nami yelled pointing to the treasure map, Zoro sighed. He had accidently admitted he knew someone with a ruby big enough-

• After enough pestering he agreed and they set sail to Kuraigana Island

• It didn't take long to arrive at the gloomy island, A quick journey to the large castle and the spare key hidden under the mat lead the group inside.

• It looked like a cleaned haunted house- Which frightened the group more till the sound of your voice shook them from their thoughts

• "Is someone here?" You call from the large lounging area. Drawing them all in to the well lit room with a crackling fireplace.

• Sanji covered his nose quickly to stop a nosebleed as he stared at you, So elegantly seated with a cup of tea and a amused look on your face at seeing such a young group or pirates breaking into your home.

• Before Sanji could say a word Zoro slammed his hand over the blondes mouth quickly.

• "Madam Dracule" He said formally and bowed respectfully

• His whole crew stiffening at hearing the formal use of your name.

• DRACULE MIHAWKS WIFE!?

• Sipping your tea you raised a brow at Zoro as he bowed deeply to you. You knew he respected you just as much as Mihawk- the wife of his teacher as well as one of his teachers as well since you did assist in training.

• "Zoro, My dear child what brings you and your friends here?" You ask calmly, setting your tea aside as you felt the shift of the room.. they were nervous.

• "We came here to ask you-" The sound of the door slamming open shook them as they heard heavy footsteps walk to them. Revealing the man of the home, Mihawk. Wet from rain and pulling his hat from his head with a stoic frown

• "Dragă (Darling), What is this?" Mihawk questioned as he returned to his island home to see a familiar pirate ship docked and his Pupil on their knees before his wife. Paired with the group of familiar pirated standing in his livingroom.

• "I am not sure yet love, We were just about to discuss it" You say softly, standing up to gelp him take off his sword and coat. Already feeling his eyes following you as you did this-

• Both of you knowing it was an excuse to touch him.

• "We wished to temporarily barrow your ruby necklace Madame." Zoro said still bowing formally

• Mihawk's eyebrow twitching at hearing this-

• "You wish for my wife to give you her necklace?" He said as his eyes narrowed down at them.

• "J-Just for a little bit Sir!" Nami said, feeling anxiety wash through her system.

• "My Love" You cooed, reaching a hand over and touching the side of his face. Immediately it was like dealing with a feline, Leaning into your touch as he gave you a warning glare.

• "Barrowing a necklace is so minor compared to us at that age. Remember Cohi Island?" You purred, Mihawk giving a subtle growl in the back of his throat. "Ah Cohi Island, How can I forget?" He all but purred out.

• The two of you reminiscing as Mihawk began to place kisses up your arms as you pulled him close and whispered sweet sensual words and memories to him.

• "A little necklace won't be much trouble, Especially since it will be returned~" You whispered in his ear

• The poor strawhats subjected to the very outward affection of the Warlord. It was quite a unpleasant experience for them all-

• Mihawk unclasping the necklace with his teeth before tossing it at Zoro who quickly caught it. The Warlord glaring at his Pupil lazily

• "It will be returned' He said stoically, before returning to his task at hand.

• You wave them off, Smiling softly as Mihawk leaned into your neck to lay kisses and love bites.

• Zoro bowing again quickly as he held the necklace and the youthful pirates quickly filed out of the castle as fast as possible. Zoro still clutching the gemstone

• "Holy fuck! She literally got Hawkeye of all people to give you the necklace!" Usopp said in shock as Zoro nodded. Nami's eyeing that diamond necklace

• "Yes but it must be returned-" He stressed. Not being stupid enough to let anyone steal from his mentor or his wife-

• The group nodded and looked out at the raging storm that beat against them.

• "Well it's raining maybe we can ask for a room-" Usopp started but Zoro quickly shook his head, His face pale and eyes like he was living through War Flashbacks.

• "No- The unholy noises that are about to invade that castle no one will sleep" He said in a deadpan voice- and from the look in his eyes everyone believed him.

• That was a couple too in love

[cameronspecial]

My Particular Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Y/N needs things to be done a certain way and Rafe understands that.

Masterlist

Y/N likes things done in a particular. It’s the way her brain works. People often look at her and call her childish for the things she does to cater to these needs. Because of those people, she started to believe that she had no chance of finding love. Who would want to date someone who was so picky with the things are? Then Rafe came along to show her she doesn’t need to change; instead, it is the partner who should try to be open-minded and help her out. And Rafe really does try to do everything he can to help Y/N out. 

———

Y/N sits with her little cousins in the living room, listening to them recount the story behind the drawings they are currently working on. She doesn’t know where Rafe went off too, but if she knows anything about him, he is probably off trying to win brownie points with her relatives. “And this is going to be us when you and Rafe take us to the beach,” Sophie recounts, holding up the picture. Y/N’s mouth drops open, “Wow, that looks amazing.” “We look like we are having so much fun,” Rafe adds, kissing Y/N’s temple from behind the couch. She stretches her head back to see Rafe. He is holding two plates in his hands and he rounds the couch to sit beside his girlfriend. He holds out a plate for her. She notices that her plate is different from his. It is one of the special sectioned plates from their home. He catches her examining eyes and worries he got something wrong. “Did I do something wrong? Each component is in its place. I separated the mashed potatoes, the steak and the vegetables,” he starts to tangent. “Should I have separated the mixed veggies too? I knew I should’ve separated them. I know you like to be able to identify the different textures easily.” 

Her hands stop him from rising to fix what he thinks is a mistake. “No, it’s okay. You got everything right. I was just surprised you brought one of my plates. Thank you,” she reassures him, giving him a kiss. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and starts eating, “You’re welcome. I’m glad I got it right.” 

———

They knock on the door but don’t wait for it to be opened by someone inside before entering the unlocked house. “Yo, Top. We’re here,” Rafe announces with a booming voice. It’s just a little get-together so the couple takes their shoes off. Right as they are about to step deeper into the house, Y/N sees the carpeted floor of the house. She can already feel the uncomfortableness of the rug tickling the bottom of her feet and she flinches at the thought. Rafe gently holds her back by her shoulder, “Wait here, I have to get something from the car.” She waits for him at the entrance, preparing herself to walk barefoot on the rug. He jogs back inside and places something on the ground. Her eyes dart down to see slippers. “Where did you get these?” she questions while putting them on. He kisses her on the cheek, “I bought new slippers to keep in the back of my trunk for this exact reason.” Warmth fills Y/N and she wraps her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

———

Y/N rests on the couch and watches as Rafe folds the laundry. Each article of clothing is folded exactly how she likes it with crisp edges. While she appreciates how attentive he is, worry starts to creep inside of her. What if he starts to realize that all the things he does to keep things to her taste are a waste of time? What if he starts to think she is too high-maintenance? He can see the gears turning in her head. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” he asks, leaning over to kiss her. She bows her head, “What if you break up with me because you get tired of having to do things a certain way for me like I am a child?” Rafe places what he is folding down and moves to the same couch as her. He brings her into a hug, attacking her face with kisses. “That would never happen because I love taking care of you. You are my particular girl and I would not trade you for anything in the world,” he promises. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @victory-in-the-llama @starkowswife @drewsmusee @maybankslover

[vivwritesfics]

Christmas Sweater

Y/N learns to Knit. Daniel loves it (so fucking much)

Masterlist

"Happy November first!" Daniel Ricciardo cheered as he came down to his living room on the morning of November first.

It had been a weird morning already. Danny had woken up alone, something he wasn't used to. And, if he did wake up alone, Y/N was usually in the bathroom. Not this time. His girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.

So, he made his way downstairs. When he heard the television on, things in his head clicked into place. She'd gotten up early and gone downstairs to watch television, of course.

But then Daniel walked into the room and properly looked at what Y/N was doing. She sat on the couch with two thick knitting needles in her hands and yarn on the floor in from of her. Some of the yarn was a lovely dark red, some was white and some was dark green. "What are you doing?"

As far as Daniel was aware, his girlfriend had no idea how to knit. He didn't even know she had knitting needles. But she sat on the couch, knitting away, the two needles clacking together as she went. Her brow was furrowed and her tongue was poking out as she worked. No, Y/N didn't know how to knit.

When she got to a good place to stop, Y/N held up her needles, calling Daniel what she had been working on. "Grandma sent me some supplies so I could make you a Christmas sweater," she answered.

Daniel had a bit of a reputation in the F1 community. A reputation for his Christmas sweaters. The most notorious of the Christmas sweaters? Why, the jingle my bells sweater, of course.

"Baby," he said, drawing out the word as he sat beside her on the sofa. "You don't know how to knit."

She waved him off, dropping one of her needles. It slid out of the yarn, dropping to the floor. "I'm watching Youtube to learn, Danny," she said as she reached down to pick up the needle.

Instead of threading it back through the yarn, Y/N pulled out her other needle, pulled apart her work and started again.

Danny watched her. It was slow work at first, and he soon realised why she started so early on in the year. His eyes focused on her hands as she cast back on and began knitting once again.

Y/N had to stop and start several times before she finally got it right. Daniel sat on the couch with her, arm around her as she worked. Several times she held her knit work against his stomach (taking a moment to touch his abs. But, come on, who could resist?)

It took weeks, near to a month of constant work before Y/N finally finished with Daniel's Christmas jumper. She worked as they travelled, while she was supposed to be watching Daniel race.

It was perfect timing, really. She got it finished just before December began. Wrapping it up, Y/N placed it in a box, wrapped the box and finished it with a bow.

She gave it to Daniel on the first of December, exactly a month after he'd seen her start to make it. It was red with little green stripes and white reindeers that was clearly having sex.

"I love it," he said as soon as he unwrapped it. "You couldn't have done anything more perfect for me."

"Try it on then!" Y/N urged.

So, Daniel did exactly as she asked and tried on the jumper. He didn't take it off for the entire month of December. No matter what country he was in, he stayed in his Christmas jumper. No matter how hot and sweaty he got, he stayed in his Christmas jumper.

The best part of it? Y/N learnt how to knit. She began knitting everything. So, so many hats for winter. Gloves and scarves and blankets and sweaters and tops and bags. Anything Y/N could make, she did.

Daniel wore it all proudly. Where he used to wear his Red Bull and AlphaTauri shirts, he now wore whatever Y/N knitted for him.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Riding A Dragon // aemond x wife!reader

; This was based off this post by @ophelialaufey !! sorry this is a bit short.

NSFW:MDNI! fingering, clit stimulation, doing the deed on top of vhagar bro, public sex(?) it's literally in the skies, riding, slightly breast play, not proofread, ONE SHOT.

“Come.” Aemond commands, dragging you by your hand to the open space of dragonpit, before he calls for Vhagar.

“Aemond! You can't be serious right now!” you hiss, trying to pry your hand away from his grip but he remains firm, “Oh I am, Dear wife. When we had just married, you expressed your excitement to ride Vhagar, I thought today would be the perfect day.” he says smugly.

“I am really grateful for your thoughtfulness husband, but I fear I'm incapable, what if she doesn't like me? Or worse she eats me—” you voice your concerns but aemond hushes.

“She won't, she knows how much I love you, she can feel it through the dragon bond.” he confesses and you blush, bowing your head down in shyness.

A large shadow falls over the both of you before vhagar lands, bare fitting in the open space, you watch as she growls as you, and you stand there frozen in fear.

“Come.” he let goes of your hand before going near her head, giving her pats and rubbing her scales in a soothing way, she relaxes into his touch and you slowly stalk towards her, her eye looks at you in question.

Aemond takes your hand in his before he presses it against her scales, you tense up not knowing what to do but aemond guides you, directing in a motion that it seems like your petting her, you soon do it on your own and you notice her letting her guard down from you.

She purrs in content which makes you chuckle, Aemond smiles looking at the both of you

“Let's go, wife.” he says going off her to her and you stop petting her to follow him, he helps you climb her, it wasn't an easy task considering you were still in your dress which is very much unfit for dragon riding but aemond helps you through it, staying right behind and making sure you don't fall.

You sit in the front on the saddle while Aemond sits behind you, adjusting you so it's comfortable for you and him, his hands on your waist pulling you close to him before they leave and grip on the reins from either side of you.

“Soves Vhagar!” he says and Vhagar is quick to take off into the skies, you close your eyes in fear, feeling the wind hit your face at such speed when she takes off into the sky.

You open your eyes when you feel the wind become more gentle as Vhagar stations above the sky, you gasp when you see that you're above the clouds, surrounded by even more clouds, you smile brightly and turn a little to look at aemond who was already looking at you, he presses a kiss to the side of your head before you both fly on Vhagar.

Some time passes and you enjoy the breeze that is hitting against your hair until you feel Aemond wrap one his hands around your waist tightly than before, pulling you against him, and that's when you felt it, something poking against your backside, you look at him and he gives a smirk, making you blush.

You thought he would tell vhagar to land to take care of the business but what he does shocks you.

He hikes your skirt up, hand grazing from your leg to your thighs as he lifts your skirts further and further, you try to swat his hands away but his grip remains firm and he shoots you a warning glare, his hand trails under your bunched up skirt and rests on your inner thigh before he draws small circles there, causing you to gasp.

His hand trails further up and he feels how wet you are through your small clothes, “Oh you're dripping.” he says which makes you flustered, he pushes your small clothes aside, ripping it a little in hurry.

He fingers dip in your wet folds, making you lean against his chest as you let out a contented sigh, to which he smirks at, his middle finger travels to your opening before gathering the slick from there and bring it up to your clit, rubbing small circles cause you to twitch in his grip.

His pace is painfully slow, almost as if he is making it slow on purpose, which he was, he rubs gentle circles on your clit before his hand dips down further and once again pokes at your entrance.

He shifts, making you space to lean back further against him to give him more access, just then vhagar let's out a loud growl because she felt how agitated aemond was, causing you to panic but aemond holds you still, “Lykiri vhagar, lykiri.” he says calmly and the beast calms down.

His pushes his finger inside causing you whimper before he slowly moves it, “Look at you enjoying this, aren't you indecent?” he whispers in your earaking you whine, his fingers rub against a rough patch causing you to moan loudly, his other hand which was holding your waist leaves and travels to your clit, stimulating both at the same time.

You wriggle in his grip at the sensation, “Be still, you'll fall.” he growls lowly into your ear causing you to halt your movements, he let's go of your clit and his hand travels up to grope your breasts, giving them a squeeze as his fastens the pace of his fingers buried in your cunt.

“F-fuck a-aemond!” he pinches your breast meanly, you can feel yourself rapidly reaching your peak, the coil in your core tightening at an immense rate before finally snapping.

You let out a loud moan into the skies, falling limp against Aemond to which he chuckles meanly at, he draws his fingers out before bring it up to his lips and licking them clean, causing you to blush at the sight.

He let's out a contented hum at the taste while you breathe heavily, tired and recovering from the bliss of your peak.

“Oh don't tell me you're tired now, you have another dragon to ride.” he whispers in your ear, you were confused at first, not understanding what he meant.

It was only when he landed vhagar and dragged you to the keep to your shared chambers had you realised what he meant.

He wanted you to ride him.

And ride him you did, for hours, overstimulating both him and yourself.

You fell limply on the bed, exhausted from the events of the day, aemond propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you before kissing your forehead.

Riding two dragons in a day is exhausting, you figured.

——————

[thefemmeeros]

gift-wrapped for them

MEN AND MINORS DNI

summary: it’s your butch’s best friend’s birthday… and you’re their present. or— you get shared and fucked by two butch cocks and really, really enjoy it.

cw throat fucking, t1t fucking, some spanking, some demeaning-ing. calling butch daddy. calling butch sir.

hope you pervs love it and let me know what else you want me to write, missed u all a lot

///—//—//—//—///

the laundry fresh smell of these sheets is familiar. you nestle into them, wanting to reach out and grab your bolster — but you quickly feel the resistance of some silky fabric. your hands are bound in front of you.

“look at that. the princess is awake.”

your head hurts. the last thing you remember is saying goodbye at your butch, charlie’s best friend’s blowout birthday party last night. you’d given the birthday butch, jack, a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek. she’d responded with a wink, just as charlie elatedly exclaimed a promise that she’d just love her gift, which jack would receive soon. you knocked out pretty quickly once you got home— you were a notorious lightweight.

which explains the trouble you have now opening your eyes, your hazy mind characteristic of one of your hangovers.

“charlie honey?” you slur, forcing your eyelids apart. you’re sure this is one of their kinky little games, something they’re wont to do and something you often gladly partake in. “i’m stuck,” you whine, sleepy but willing to play along.

the lights in your bedroom are dim. it’s still dark out. and the sight before you leaves breathless and afraid.

two figures stand before you, shirtless, hard packing in their boxers.

“happy birthday, jackie-boy,” says your butch, folding their arms over their chest.

“charlie?” you say with more urgency now, straining against your restraints—you see now that it’s a red, silk ribbon, tied into a bow. “charlie, what’s happening?”

you ignore the heat pooling between your legs at the duo’s ravenous stares as you wiggle on the bed, raising yourself to a kneel on the mattress.

flashing through your mind like a twisted, horny supercut are all the conversations you’ve had with charlie about your desire to be passed around, their enthusiastic reciprocity, your affection for their best friend—the pieces are all there, but is what you think is about to be done to you actually going to be done?

charlie casts you a meaningful look, their gaze softening, but in the subtlest of ways only you can see. they’re so handsome, baring their top surgery scars as they bend down to get on your level, eyes brown pools of ruthless power that, in an instant, tell you how badly they want to hurt you, break you. and it makes you so fucking wet.

“you remember your safe word, princess?” they whisper low, stroking your hair out of your face. your bit lip and sparking eyes and shaky breath give away the game—you’re not afraid, you’re dying for this. charlie sees that. charlie sees your deviance, sees past the white lace and bashful smiles, and draws out the wild woman. charlie asks you to take because they give you faith they’ll keep giving.

being shared, it’s one of your most dirty, secret fantasies—one you’ve never gotten to live out. in taking the control from you, in tying you up like a gift-wrapped femme for their buddy in your unconscious state, they’re telling you, with so much tenderness, there’s no amount of shame too great, no wall you could build too robust to keep them from making you feel good.

you nod, whisper, “i remember.”

you wonder if there’s still traces of alcohol in your breath, if your eye makeup is still intact or smeared already, if your defenceless, disheveled state is turning them on even more.

charlie kisses you, soft and sweet, and you sigh. “this is the last nice thing i’ll say to you tonight, princess. i know you’re gonna be wonderful. i won’t push you past what you can take, and we’ll stop whenever you need to. if you need to safe out and your mouth is stuffed—“

you clench around nothing. oh god.

“—you tap either of us three times. got it?”

you murmur your okay, baby and quickly regret it when they grab your chin, pinch your cheeks with a warning glare. “that’s not what you call me, is it babygirl?”

“no, Daddy. i got it, Daddy. three taps, Daddy,” you make out through their unyielding grasp. they nod, satisfied.

you want them to use you so bad. you want them to get to it already. you don’t need the song and dance. your eyes flick to jack, who’s staring blatantly at your breasts, palming what appears to be an 8-incher straining in her grey boxers.

charlie and jack have always have been the best of friends long before your relationship with charlie began. you knew they had a fling way back in the day, a b-girl for b-girl test that led to them both realising they were stone—but you’d never guess they’d want to share a girl. you’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about it though. they were both big, immense hunks of butches, your type to a tee— charlie with their broad shoulders, jack with those soft thighs and wide midsection, a wall blotting out the light.

“i’m still your Daddy, but tonight, jackie is your Sir. nod if you understand.”

you nod, your gut burning, your skin tingling.

“we’re going to use your holes to get ourselves off, how we want. however we want.” the emphasis makes you shudder. “you come when i say you can. you speak only when spoken to. and your tears won’t make us stop.”

are you doing a good enough job looking scared? you don’t think you are. you’re having to fight a tawdry smile and a drawled out “promise?” that’s dancing on the tip of your tongue.

then charlie says the words you didn’t even know you needed to hear, but the moment they say them, you feel the last cog click into place, a tether that grounds you to the certainty that you’re going to be okay. they grip your chin, and they say to you, “i’m sharing you. i’m in charge here. jack is fucking you because i said she can. because i own your pussy. i own this pussy.” they grab your warm, wet sex through your barely-there sleep shorts for good measure.

you knew, but the solid reminder that your Daddy is in control; now you’re safe and ready.

charlie draws back up to their full height. “c’mere jackie. come touch our fuckdoll.”

“say less,” murmurs the brown-skinned butch, a notorious player from whom sensuality emanates in dizzying, irresistible waves. she licks her lips as she caresses your cheek, before placing her thumb into your mouth.

you don’t even realise how eagerly you’re sucking till charlie tweaks your nipple and makes you gasp, releasing jack’s finger with a pop. “jesus,” jack murmurs, “you gonna suck our cocks like that? all desperate like that?”

“yes, Sir,” you moan around her thumb, charlie kneeling to your right and playing with your nipples through your tiny white singlet.

“i wanna see her tits,” jack turns to charlie, removing and replacing her thumb with her index and middle finger, coaxing herself deeper into your mouth. “wanna see them while she blows us.”

that she’s not paying attention to you is driving you mad. it’s so unspeakably disrespectful, and so rude, and so fucking hot you feel like you’re getting driven to the edge of something blissful and dangerous.

charlie pulls the thin cotton singlet down past your tits, ripping one of the straps with little effort so they wouldn’t have to untie you. they slap one, growling low before catching a nipple between their teeth and making you cry out, and jack’s fingers don’t let up, prepping your mouth for what’s to come.

“get on the floor. on your knees.”

“yes Daddy.”

they mercifully help you off the bed, the hangover and horniness and sleepiness making you weak in the knees, and settle you onto a pillow—tits hanging out, inner thighs wet with need.

standing, looming over you, leering at you, they stroke themselves through their boxers.

“you want these cocks?”

“yes, Sir! i want them so bad. Sir.” you cry out pathetically, your resolve weakening. both of them chuckle at you, and it’s mean and it’s sexy and the way charlie looks at you with so much love and so much reverence, all of it is pushing you, pushing you.

“open your slut mouth.”

you open.

you once told charlie how you find it hot when they pull their boxers down all the way until only the tip of their butch cock remains sheathed, before releasing all of it and letting it bounce free. they both do this now, teasing you with the sight of their members— charlie’s skin-coloured and curved just how you like it, jack’s jet black and perpendicular to the floor, imposing and maddening with ridges that make you drool.

and they’re both squirting dildos, you note with great pleasure.

“tongue out, princess,” charlie murmurs.

mouth open, tongue out, on your knees before these two butches as they jerk themselves off, you do not wonder if you are broken or wrong for wanting this. you do not feel shy or ashamed anymore. they take that from you, and you just want.

charlie’s cock brushes your cheek, taps on the tip of your tongue, but you’re smart enough not to close your mouth around it quite yet. jack’s joins, both their cocks prodding at your lips and tongue and cheek as your two tormentors breath deeply.

“jack first,” charlie orders. “suck.”

having drooled all over their cocks already, taking the first few inches of jack’s thickness is manageable. but when she moans and grips your hair, shoving you down deeper onto it, you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. jack is not like charlie—is not your Daddy, does not want to praise you, or be gentle. jack is exacting.

a perfect Sir.

you relax your throat and look up at her and she moves you up and down on her cock, huffing and groaning with each stroke. “i love fucking that cute little mouth,” she grinds out, “that teasing little mouth.”

she pulls you off her cock with a pop and you gasp in your breath, just in time for charlie’s cock to replace it. this familiar silicone, the memories wash over you and tighten your core more. charlie doesn’t grab your hair to start. no, they let you struggle to handle it with no hands to assist you. they watch you swirl your tongue over the tip and spit on it and stretch your lips around it till they feel you’ve done enough.

your reward is them holding your face and fucking your throat. “look at your Daddy,” they command breathlessly, locking eyes with you and trembling. “look at me while I come down that throat. fuck, watch me empty my fucking — load — goddamn—“

they thrust so deep your eyes roll back and you feel their warm cum on the back of your throat and somehow you swallow around their thick length, swallow them down so good.

“fuck, now i wanna blow my load in her whore mouth too.” jack chuckles. she’d been stroking herself as she watched them, fisting her cock. “but nah, i think i’ll cum in that tight pussy.”

“yes, please Sir,” you can’t help but say.

they don’t let you move, still looming over you with their huge cocks right by your lips.

“Sir,” charlie says simply, so you suck jack.

“now me,” charlie says, so you suck them.

back and forth they make you bounce between the cocks, till you’re panting, the sensation of two different cocks in your mouth overwhelming and the exercise so deeply demeaning. they’re chuckling at you, prodding your lips with their cocks, calling you a cockdrunk slut—and you can’t get enough.

when they’re satisfied, Daddy helps you up and lays you on the bed with your head hanging off one edge and your legs wide open.

when you see the thick black cock, you know it’s Sir who’s settled behind you. you figure she’ll use your throat, but as Daddy lines themself up against your pussy, you feel a cold splatter of lube on your chest.

“gonna fuck her tits?” Daddy asks, amused as they slide in. fuck, it’s like you really are a toy. they use your holes so casually. “good choice.”

you’re so wet and ready that with the added lube, Daddy slides in to the hilt easily, buries themself deep with a groan that vibrates through your being. “gotta stretch our doll’s pussy for jackie-boy,” Daddy says, grabbing your hips and slamming in hard and deep.

meanwhile, Sir’s squeezing and plucking at your nipples with one hand, stroking herself with the other. “gonna fuck these pretty tits now.”

you stare at the space between her legs as she squeezes your tits together and slides between them with a holy shit that’s hot, pinching and toying with your nipples as she thrusts. combined with the sensation of Daddy’s thrusts, you are slipping into a space where you really do believe you’re just a toy, you feel limp and helpless and fuzzy and gone, yet deeply present, each brush of Daddy’s cock on your g-spot making you scream, each rough pinch of your nipple and slide against your cleavage heightened.

“my turn, charlie. i wanna cum. i’m close. but i want it inside. i’ll come on her tits the next time.”

the next time, the next time.

“it’s your gift, jack,” Daddy shrugs, “she’s all stretched for you now.”

shuffling and rearranging. your Daddy lifts your head, and kisses your chin. “good girl,” they whisper, “you’re making Daddy look so good because they have such a well-behaved babygirl.”

pride is warm and sweet. Daddy’s shine is like the Sun’s radiance. you’re happy you’re so well-behaved today.

“on her knees,” commands Sir. “i wanna see how that ass shakes when i slap it.”

Daddy unties you and helps you onto all fours. then a thwak! as Sir spanks your right cheek and another when she spanks your left. you cry out, jerk forward but Daddy holds you there, their eyes trained on the arch of your back and the way your needy ass is sticking out, hungry for their buddy’s cock.

then they’re both slamming into you, Sir’s cock stretching you and Daddy’s cock nestled back into your throat. and each of Sir’s thrusts pushes you deeper onto Daddy’s cock. and each time you choke on Daddy, you squeeze around Sir.

“fuck, look at our girl,” jack moans, reaching forward and gripping a fistful of your hair. “so stuffed. the perfect fucking cockslut.”

with Sir’s expert thrusts and her guiding you on and off Daddy’s cock, your only job is to take their cocks, take them as best as you can. so you set yourself free, you fall off the edge, and you let go.

they let go in kind, slamming into you with newfound ferocity. then jack touches your clit and you’re two seconds from coming. you’re so close. you’re so fucking close.

“that’s right, baby,” Daddy says, because they know. they always know. “you can cum. cum around our cocks.”

“fuck, if she cums, i’m gonna—“

your elbows buckle but Daddy holds you and you scream, you scream around them, an orgasm ripping through every molecule in your body, exploding you till there’s nothing left.

then Sir is coming, emptying her warm load deep into your pussy, and Daddy’s coming too, hips jerking and shaking, and all three of you are a writhing, shaking mass of pleasure and electricity.

when they pull out, groaning and breathing hard, you’re empty and full all at once. you collapse onto your tummy, still trembling slightly, nerve-endings still firing uselessly.

“good job, princess,” murmurs your Daddy. “you did good.”

“but we’re not done with you yet.” Sir swats your ass playfully and grabs a handful.

you smile, and whisper, “promise?”

[wandasslut3000]

Welcome home

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, fluff, mommy!kink, semi-clothed sex, pet names, sub!reader, praise, hair tugging, scissoring, cunnilingus, fingering, marking, teasing, choking, long distance relationship?

WC: 2.4k

                 ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Lizzie was coming back home today. She'd been out of state for the past few weeks for her new movie, and although you couldn't be more proud of her, you’d missed your girlfriend painfully.

She'd FaceTime you every night before bed and wake you up with a good morning text.

Sometimes she'll call just to ask how you've been or if you'd eaten yet, always making you smile for how much she cares.

Lizzard🦎💚: Good morning princess, I'm boarding my plane. I can't wait to see you <3

Y/n: Yayy I'm so happy! Text me when you land baby, have a safe flight!

You bring your phone up to your chest, a wave of excitement flowing through you. You head into the kitchen and decide to make yourself breakfast, a simple eggs and toast.

Tapping your feet on the tile floor, you munch happily on your food, humming your own tune and thinking about all the things you'd do once you're back in Lizzie's arms.

Your mind starts to drift off into more explicit train of thought, imagining how her slender fingers would feel around your throat, how sweet she'd taste on your tongue, how fast she'd make you cum after so much time apart.

You blink rapidly, trying to ignore the growing wetness between your legs and regain your focus back to your eggs. You finish them in record speed, popping hints of toast into your mouth with each bite.

Once you finish, you wash your dishes. You then leave the kitchen and grab your keys, making your way outside and down the stairs of your complex. You get inside your car, start it and back out of the parking lot.

You drive yourself over to the nearest flower shop, parking your car in front of it and stepping out.

Heading inside the store, your nostrils are instantly flooded with the smell of all the surrounding plants.

You go straight for the roses, Lizzie's favorite, also making sure to grab some gardenias, mixing them in with the bouquet to help it pop.

You ask the florist to have a custom tag written on the side of the bouquet, a smile on your face as you wait patiently for him to make it and ring you up. 

Once you pay, you drive over to your local grocery store, grabbing a shopping cart and pushing it to the candy section. You grab a large chocolate bunny, and the cliche heart shaped box and put it inside.

You notice a wooden basket in the aisle across from you, grabbing it, you continue shopping till you're left with a stuffed teddy bear, a card, a fluffy blanket with little dogs on it and the chocolates from before.

You check out and drive back home, starting to set up your gift basket. You put the everything inside and start writing in the card you bought.

I'm so proud of you for being the big beautiful star I knew you'd always shine to be. I love you Lizzie.

You sign it, drawing a little heart next to your name, putting it in with everything else.

You grab your flowers, "Welcome home" written on the ribbon wrapping it, and place them next to basket on the table for the moment.

Your next task is getting yourself ready. You rush into your bathroom, stripping yourself of your clothes and going to take a shower.

As you make quick work to shave and keep yourself clean for her, the thoughts from earlier start coming back, a blush tainting your cheeks as you feel your core tingle.

Still, you regain your composure, finishing your shower and drying yourself off. You take a quick glance at your phone, knowing the flight from New York to L.A is only a few hours, and you'd already spent a good chunk of them shopping.

You find yourself a pair of white underwear with a tiny pink bow on it and decide to not to wear a bra, knowing that if anything were to happen, she wouldn't want to waste time on the pesky garment.

You throw on her burgundy NYU sweatshirt, and grey sweatpants, smiling when you realize her shirt still smells like her.

Sitting at your vanity you start to do your makeup, nothing too much, just a natural look.

You couldn't look a mess for the love of your life now could you?

Just as you finish up, you get a text from Lizzie telling you she'd landed and was in an Uber on the way home.

Your heart flutters, that rush of excitement returning to you as you feel butterflies in your stomach.

You sit on the couch, facing the door, the flowers in your hand as you wait for her like an obedient puppy, clutching your phone as you fight the urge to call her and ask how much longer she'd take.

As if right on cue, you hear the front door handle jiggle, Lizzie stepping inside with her luggage, your first instinct is to run up and practically pounce onto her.

"Baby!" You squeal.

She gasps, letting go of her bag and catching you as you wrap your arms around her, the flowers almost falling out of your grasp. She presses a kiss to your cheek, making you blush before you turn to kiss her.

"Well hello to you too." She grins, pecking your lips a few times, closing the door behind you two with her foot and setting you down, noticing the gifts you'd gotten her.

You hand her the bouquet and her smile widens. "Is this for me?" You nod, suddenly feeling shy as you notice the adoration in her eyes. "Got you presents."

Lizzie sniffs the flowers and her smile widens, she steps further inside your shared apartment, she makes her way up to the coffee table, her mouth opening slightly as she notices all the things you put together for her.

"You're so good to me." She turns to you, tears welling up in her eyes as she pulls you into a hug, kissing the crown of your head.

"You work so hard Liz, you deserve it." Gently, she backs away, turning to examine your gift basket.

The first thing she picks up is your card, opening it and a pout forming on her face. You look down at your feet bashfully, waiting for her to see the rest of her treats.

Slowly, she takes each out one by one, the chocolates, the bear and the blanket. She bites her lip in thought. You look up, "I would've gotten more but.. I didn't know if I had enough time."

She shakes her head, turning to you with her arms wide. She pulls you into her and picks you up again, your legs wrapping around your torso as your arms wrap around her neck, foreheads pressed against one another.

"This is more than enough babygirl, you make me feel so special. I only wish I'd gotten you something."

You shake your head, "You bring here is a gift in itself, I'm so happy you're home." You kiss her again, leaving little pecks all over her face, making her giggle.

Lizzie walks the two of you over to your shared bedroom, laying down in bed together with your arms still securely around each other, you straddling her lap.

You start to press kisses onto her neck, sucking at the skin at the column of her throat, little marks forming in their wake.

Lizzie groans, pushing your head closer as she feels your hands slip under her shirt, your cold hands on her hot skin making her shiver.

"I missed you so much." You murmur against her, "Wanted to feel you everyday."

Lizzie backs away for a second to unbutton her blouse, revealing a gray laced bra. You moan at the sight, looking up at her for approval before you reached behind her to unclip it, discarding the fabrics.

You leave your marks on the tops of her breasts, moving downwards and circling your tongue around her areola, Lizzie throbbing at the feeling.

Just as you switch to the other breast, you're flipped onto your back, pinned underneath her as she kisses you, tongue swiping your lip, asking for entrance.

You grant it to her, whimpering into her mouth as she takes over. Your hands go to her hair, tugging the silky brown locks as you wrap your legs around her to keep her close.

She breaks the kiss, slipping off her pants and panties, leaving her bare in front of you. She shifts down between your legs, spreading them and rubbing up and down your thighs.

"So pretty like this, in my shirt all precious, my gorgeous girl." You blush at her praise.

"Lizzie please-"

"That's not my name is it now?" She mockingly pouts at you, tilting her head

"I'm sorry.. mommy."

"Much better." You're practically plead for her to give you anything, begging her and trying to reason that it's been too long without her, you'd missed her touch, her hands on you.

You needed her.

Lizzie finally gives in, bunching the sweater up and pushing it past your breasts, revealing them to her. You try to pull it off but she grabs your hand.

"Don't. Keep it on." You obey and lay back onto the pillows.

She takes a nipple into her mouth, the other getting twisted by her slim fingers. Your body quivers, little moans escaping you at the feeling of her toying with your chest.

Still, you craved more. "Mommy touch me... please I need it so bad."

She chuckles "Am I not touching you right now darling?" She pinches your nipple, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Yes.. j- just need you down there." You tilt your head downward trying to gesture what you wanted.

"Down where princess? C'mon you can tell mommy, use your words." Your face flushes red in embarrassment, taking her hand and bringing it between your legs.

"Need mommy to play with my.. my big girl parts." She lets out a faux gasp, almost taunting you, tugging at the hem of your sweatpants and pulling them down.

She notices your underwear and bites her lip, fiddling with the little bow. "Such a pretty princess." You whine, bucking your hips up towards her as your wetness made the fabric almost transparent.

Lizzie rubs your slit through your panties, teasing you with two fingers and watching as you writhe underneath her, a dark smile drawing itself onto her face at your whimpers.

"P-please don't tease, I need you."

She pushes your panties to the side admiring your glistening cunt. Finally she makes contact with you, making you throw your head back, moaning at the feeling of her fingers on you.

"F-fuck." You groan when she dips two fingers into your entrance, not even giving you a moment to adjust as she pumps them into you.

"God I love this tight little pussy, no matter how many times I fuck it, it still grips mommy so good." You whimper, your hand reaching down to grab onto her forearm as she keeps a steady pace.

"Unh- mommy.. please don't stop." She smirks before bringing her head down, taking your clit into her mouth. "Oh my god."

Her tongue swirls around your bundle of nerves, your hand moving to grip onto her hair as she takes you. Your hips grind against her tongue while your legs tremble, the feeling of your climax approaching quickly.

"Fuck m’gonna cum, gonna cum on mommy's pretty face." Lizzie takes this moment to nibble on your throbbing pearl, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as you let out a guttural moan.

You feel the waves of your orgasm rush through you, your walls clenching around Lizzie's fingers as you slowing come down from your high.

You feel her press her lips to your pussy before trailing back upwards. Leaving quick kisses up your stomach and chest.

She pulls her fingers out of you, bringing them to your lips and watching as you suck the digits clean. Moaning at the taste of yourself.

Her free hand reaches down to wrap itself around your throat, gently squeezing the sides of your neck. Her tongue melds with yours when she kisses you.

Lizzie positions her wet heat onto yours, grinding against yours, making your nails dig into her forearm as you convulse in pleasure.

"M-mommy.. s-still sensitive..." She shushes you, licking a stripe from the column of your neck to your earlobe before taking it into your teeth.

"Take what I give you princess, good girls let their mommies handle them as they please."

You whine, your folds fluttering as you feel yourself getting closer. Lizzie's sloppy wetness brushing against yours in the best way, making you see stars.

"Mmph- ah.. fuck mommy!" You cum, your body trembling. She follows soon after, both of your breathing heavy and ragged as you come back down to earth.

"I love watching you fall apart." She cups your cheek making your heart flutter at her endearment.

"Mommy?" She looks down at you adoringly, raising her brow. "What is it baby?"

"Can I.. Can I taste you?" Her smile returns, nodding her head. She positions herself above you, your mouth watering when you notice the build up of her arousal between her lower lips.

You grab onto her thighs, pulling her down as Lizzie grabs onto the headboard. You start to lap at her cunt, her eyes rolling into her head as she praises you.

One of her hands reaches down and tugs on your hair, pulling you closer to her as feel yourself get drunk off her juices.

"Oh there you go angel, so fucking good." That last bit comes off in a growl, her body rocking against your face as she feels her climax wash through her, a blissed out grin on her face.

Lizzie drops back into bed, kissing your puffy lips, the both of you moaning into eachother's mouths.

She finally takes this time to take off the sweater, pulling your now naked body into her arms and cuddling you.

She traces invisible lines onto your back and the two of you sigh happily at the skin to skin contact. She presses a kiss to your forehead as you slowly start to feel yourself drift off into sleep.

Your eyes start to shut as you lose yourself in the safety of her arms. "I love you." Is the last thing you hear her whisper before you fall in a deep sleep.

[prythianpages]

Wanna Be Yours | Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand x Reader | When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injury

a/n: This can be read as a stand alone imagine :) but there will be a part two. once again, we have another mini series inspired by a song: I wanna be yours by the Arctic Monkeys. I love when the guy falls in love with the girl first and I feel like it suits Rhys. This takes place before the events of ACOTAR.

The world awakens to a gentle warmth–a tender kiss from dawn. The stars are like a fading dream, bidding their silent farewell and the first tendrils of sunlight emerge, painting the sky in hues of soft pinks and purples. The world seems to hold its breath and so do you.

It’s so beautiful. The way night surrenders to day. The way that no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. It makes you miss home but you don’t miss what waits for you there.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and the world tilts beneath your feet. The edge of the terrace offers a daunting view of the Court of Nightmares–a harsh landscape of rocky mountains that seems to promise a swift but unforgiving descent. A hand grasps your arm, pulling you back from the brink, the force spinning you around until you find sanctuary in a pair of strong arms.

As you lift your head, the world regains its focus, but your breath hitches at the sight before you.

 A man, heartbreakingly handsome, captures your gaze. He has sun-kissed skin and short dark hair, reminiscent of a raven’s feather, that frames features that seem almost too perfect to be real. Yet, it’s his eyes that draw you in–a shade of blue so deep it borders on violet. Flecks of silver dance within those celestial irises, mirroring the stars that had bid their farewell earlier. His gaze is intense, sparkling with an allure that feels both familiar and bewitching.

“Breathe, darling.”

His voice, a velvet symphony, wraps around you like the answer to a question you hadn’t even fathomed to think of yet–a revelation that ignites a feeling you can’t quite discern but it stirs the deepest recesses of your heart. 

Suddenly, you’re pushing away from the male with a deep exhale as a delicate pink that reflects the sky above you flushes your cheeks.

“y/n!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your name being called.

“y/n.” The male in front of you repeats to himself and you never thought your name would sound so beautiful as it does in this very moment. His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

Alette, your guide, comes into your view. She bends over slightly as her chest heaves and she catches up with her breath. She turns to the male, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “My High Lord.”

All blood drains from your face and your heart skips a beat. High Lord. You just met the High Lord of the Night Court and embarrassingly so. You contemplate whether it’s too late to bow your head or not but the thought of Alette scolding you for not doing it sooner stops you.

“I see you’ve met one of our new healers.” Alette inclines her head toward your sorry state. “I do apologize for her entering your palace without prior clearance.”

Cauldron boil you. You caught a glimpse of him pressing his lips together, as if suppressing something. Perhaps a scowl, frown or smile–you don’t know– because you're swiftly averting your gaze. You’re too scared to move, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than you already have.

“Forgive me,” you’re saying as you drop to your knees and bow your head. “I didn't mean to trespass. I felt a little suffocated down there and I had no idea this was your home.”

“Where are you from?”

Panic steals your voice and it’s Alette who answers for you.

“She’s one of the few healers that came from Dawn, my High Lord.”

You sense the weight of his gaze upon you, an intensity that envelops you with an almost overwhelming power. Your throat tightens.

“And what of her skill?”

“The best of this year’s cohort.” Alette replies with no hesitation. There’s a subtle fondness in her voice that makes your heart swell with pride. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“You may rise.” It takes a while for you to register that the High Lord is addressing you until Alette is awkwardly clearing her throat. You blink and rise to your feet but keep your gaze low. 

“You’re coming with me.”

You lift your gaze, gaping at his back. Does he—No, there’s no way he can know. The High Lord pauses. 

He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you in an expectant manner. You look at Alette, who nods her head at you, so hesitantly, you follow after him. Your heart races as you hear him tell Alette to pack your things because you won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares anymore.

**

Velaris, the city of Starlight, is a breathtaking haven nestled within the Night Court. It’s often referred to as the Court of Dreams. It’s a place of ethereal beauty and enchantment. The stark contrast it presents in comparison to the haunting Court of Nightmares leaves you in awe. 

But what strikes you the most is the High Lord of the Night Court–the master of duality. In Hewn City, where the air is always thick with tension, he wears a cold, stoic mask and every calculated step he takes echoes the weight of his stern authority and great power. This is the High Lord you’ve heard of. So when he told you, you’d be joining him in the city of his private residence, you were terrified.

It was a short lived fear because the High Lord you’ve heard of is not the High Lord you’ve come to know over the past couple of weeks. In Velaris, he sheds the shroud of shadows and reveals a different side to him. A softer side. A leader built from genuine warmth and kindness. 

You’ve come to understand he has a complex role as High Lord of the Night Court. He is a blend that is both harsh and dangerous, yet undeniably beautiful and remarkable, constantly navigating through the delicate balance of power and compassion. 

There is one unchanging thread that weaves through both cities. A thread of charismatic arrogance. He carries it effortlessly, employing it in a charming grace. One that he directs skillfully, particularly, when he turns the full force of his charm on you. You’d be lying if you said you were immune to it.

Upon your arrival, the High Lord–or Rhysand as he prefers you to call him– introduced you to the city’s healer. Madja. Though you’ve undergone extensive training in your home court, it felt little compared to the years of experience Madja carried with her, leading her to take you under her wing as her apprentice. You were a fast learner and given the nature of Azriel’s–Rhysand’s spymaster– and Cassian’s –Rhysand’s general commander– jobs, you had a lot of practice and challenges to hone your skills.

A tired yawn escapes from you as you navigate the halls of the infirmary to Madja’s study with the intention of wishing her a goodnight before retiring to your room. Your stops falter when your ears pick up on the distinct voices of Cassian and Azriel and suddenly you’re wide awake.

“–was ambushed by dark forces–”

“–never seen so much blood–”

“–I should make haste then–”

“–he only wants y/n–”

Shadows slink out from the corners, momentarily dimming the faelight in your hand in a silent greeting. The voices, once animated, hush and then cease altogether. Madja is the first to emerge from the study, with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind.

"The High Lord requests your presence.”

**

Not much can unsettle you, given your role as a healer. You’ve tended to a variety of injuries, seen tremendous amounts of spilled blood and have had to navigate through the sorrow of heartbreaking losses. But this. This feels different. This isn’t just anyone. It’s Rhysand. The male, who despite his shameless flirting, has consistently shown nothing but kindness to you. Though the nature of your relationship is uncertain, the mere thought of him being harmed sends a sharp pang through your chest, an ache that transcends the usual clinical detachment you maintain in your profession.

There’s an urgency in your steps as you approach Rhysand’s weak form on the infirmary bed. His body is extremely pale and shivering. A thick layer of sweat clings to his skin. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed. It continues to seep out of the wound at his abdomen.

His lids are heavy, laden with exhaustion but he still manages a weary smile when he spots you. “You’re here,” he breathes in surprise, his words carrying a blend of relief and vulnerability.

“I’m here,” you confirm with a reassuring smile as you brush back the dark tendrils of his hair from his face. Though your touch is gentle, the lines on his face seem to deepen.

The air around you begins to shimmer with a soft, golden light. You cast a keen eye over his abdomen, the golden light dancing around you as you assess the full extent of his injury. The wound is deep and not healing as it should and your nose crinkles as the pungent smell of poison drifts up at you.

Rhysand winces as your healing touch meets his wound. Despite his blood staining your hands, you move with practiced grace, drawing upon the healing energies within you. Each movement is deliberate, an intricate crossing between magic and skill as you strive to counteract the effects of the poison.

Rhysand sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like he is dying but he won’t admit that to you. He doesn’t want to scare you. “It hurts.”

“I know,” you respond, your brows furrowing in concentration. The quicker you work, the less pain he’ll have to endure altogether. “It’s the poison.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts with agony as you press further into the wound. A strangled whimper escapes from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, halting your movements. You turn your head toward the double doors, where you know Madja waited in her study despite the late hour, in case you required assistance. “Should I go get Madja instead?”

“No,” his hands weakly grasps yours to keep them from leaving him. “I–I’m okay. I only need you.”

You nod and take a deep breath, urging your powers to continue surging through your bones and veins. Charged with vitality, they embody a tender current, eager to breathe life into every fiber of the recipient’s being. You sense the poison recoiling at your touch, prompting another cry from Rhysand. Though you know the poison will put up a painful fight, there’s a sense of relief as you realize it is one you can win.

“It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,” you say, your eyes darting to your makeshift table. “I don’t have anything for you to bite down onto. I’m sorry.”

 “Tell me a story,” he pleads, his voice desperate and raspy. “Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” You say in contemplation, falling into a thoughtful pause as you search your mind for a story to tell.

“When I was a little girl and my parents were separating, my uncle would take me to the countryside,” you begin to share, your voice softening with the weight of the fond memory and in the intimate space between you and Rhysand, a subtle shift occurs. 

“It was my favorite place in all of Dawn. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was tall and green. We would wake up early to watch the sunrise together. Those were the moments where the world felt so still yet so gentle.”

“One night, as the moon gracefully surrendered its space to the emerging sun, I cried. The realization of the sun and moon being eternal strangers gripped my little heart. The sun, in its golden glory, would never know the tender glow of the moon, and the moon, adorned in silver brilliance, would remain untouched by the sun's warm embrace. It made me sad.”

“My uncle, at first, laughed. He teased me, which made me cry harder. He realized the genuine depth of my sorrow and that’s when he shared something with me,” you continue, a nostalgic smile plays on your lips as you recall the moment. 

Unbeknownst to you, Rhysand’s gaze warms in the gentle embrace of the shared memory. He’s momentarily distracted from the stabbing pain.

"He told me that the moon's glow is but a reflection of the sun's radiance," you explain, the magic of your tale intertwining with the magic of your healing touch. "How beautiful, he said. That the love of the sun for the moon is so pure that he sets down so that people can admire the beauty of her.”

"I was still sad, holding onto that stubborn desire to witness the sun and moon together. That's when my uncle introduced me to the magic of an eclipse—a rare celestial dance where the sun and moon finally come face to face. When the next one arrived, my uncle whisked me back to the countryside to witness it, and for the first time, I felt such overwhelming joy. Tears welled in my eyes but they were tears of happiness. I didn’t know one could cry tears of joy until that moment.”

Still aglow, your hands continue their delicate work. You observe a subtle relaxation manifesting in the features of Rhysand but there’s a weariness that settles over you. You know all traces of the poison are gone because its toxic essence was absorbed by you in your haste to protect him. It takes its toll on you, wearing you down and leaving you feeling slightly unsteady, but all you care about is him.

The gaping wound on his abdomen gradually yields to your skillful touch, and a peaceful serenity settles over his face. His eyes flutter shut, and in the hushed atmosphere, Rhysand's words pierce through, lingering like a delicate whisper in the air.

"I think I might be in love with you." 

The confession tugs at the strings of your heart, urging it to soar, but you swiftly quell the rising emotions. You attribute Rhysand's words to the delirium induced by his pain, knowing he’d forget all about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot your story as well. You swiftly clean him up and use your magic to replace the bloody sheets with clean ones before taking your leave. Exhaustion tears at your bones and you can only muster a meek smile to Azriel and Cassian, who waited anxiously outside the infirmary doors for an update. You head straight to your room after and collapse onto your bed.

The following night, as you retire to your room from another day of endless work and studying, you find a carefully wrapped gift at your door. There’s no name on it but as you read the note attached, you have an intuitive inkling as to who the thoughtful gifter was. 

To the Sun, in your golden glory, may you always feel such overwhelming joy.

A beautiful embellished trinket box lays beneath the wrapping engraved with two cosmic entities–the sun and the moon. As you open the small keepsake, you're greeted by a soft, ethereal glow that radiates from within. It casts a warm and gentle light and you watch as a projection of the moon and sun dance around you before finally converging into a mesmerizing eclipse. 

**

Rhysand's POV

Like clockwork, Rhysand wakes at the break of dawn with the tendrils of a persistent dream lingering in his mind. A dream that has possessed his nights for weeks. As sleep releases its grasp on his eyes, he reluctantly rises from the bed and decides to get ready for the day, knowing that if he tried, he would not be able to fall back asleep.

He navigates through the familiar halls of the Moonstone palace, mindlessly making his way toward one of the terraces. His steps falter.

There, amidst the soft hues of the awakening city below, stands a feminine silhouette–a vision bathed in the tender light of dawn. You. A sense of cautious curiosity courses through him, eclipsing the remnants of his restless dreams. His gaze lingers on you. There's a nuance in your presence, a fine radiance that hints that you are not from here and though he should be concerned over an unannounced visitor in his home, he can’t bring himself to do so.

 A subtle flutter dances in his chest. He’s speaking before he could even properly think.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and lose your footing. You’re about to fall but before gravity claims its toll, he moves with swift determination. He reaches forward and grasps your arm, pulling you from the dangers of the edge of the terrace and into the safety of his arms instead. You lift your head and a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as they look up into his.

“Breathe, darling.”

His mind is searching yours with a quiet desperation but all you are thinking about is how devastatingly handsome he is. He doesn’t perceive you as a threat. Yet, there’s something hauntingly familiar about you.

He hears a name being called. Yours. And then it hits him like a sudden gust of wind. You’re the girl from his dreams. The one he’s dreamt of nearly every day this week and as he repeats the name, his lips curve up into a smirk.

He found you and realization dawns upon him like the morning sun. You don’t belong here but not because you’re from a different court. It’s because you belong with him.

a/n: this part came out a lot softer than I thought it would. The quote I used about the sun loving the moon so much came from something I saw on pinterest. I am a sucker for the sun and moon and stars lol

[cinnamonest]

I do want to also continue my primary momcon storyline at one point, but with the recent delinquent/bully Ajax posts I am now contemplating modern small town au delinquent Ajax but instead of student/classmate it's momcon…

Poor single mom who is already judged and ostracized by the small town community for being a single mom who had her baby way too young, unmarried, and with a deadbeat at that, made so much worse by the fact that your precious baby boy is a notorious problem child, treated as a menace and threat to the entire town. Hearing people mutter about how that's what happens when some girl that can't keep her legs shut has a kid with no father, how the whole household is messed up in the head, how his lack of inhibition must be hereditary.

Everyone knows him, and by extension, everyone knows you. Who you are, what your marital status is, the fact that you’re the mother of the town menace. You were hoping to live quietly, avoiding negative judgement as much as possible, but unfortunately, that proves not doable when your son is constantly drawing attention to himself in the worst of ways.

You’re always profusely apologizing whenever you get called to the school, bowing your head and squeezing your eyes shut as you promise for the umpteenth time that you'll talk with him and that it won't happen again, unable to look the faculty in the eye, knowing from experience how much their disdainful, judgmental glares hurt. Knowing what they're thinking in their heads even if they don't say it out loud, what they probably say to each other once you leave. How it's your fault, how you have no control over your child.

Or that one line that still hurts you to think about, that time you overheard two other moms with kids on the playground mutter about how they do this or that with their children, or how they would never have a kid without a present father — or else they turn out like that kid…

You were told that once before to your face, back when he was little — that you needed to hurry up and find a step father for him, or else he'll become a bad kid — because he's a boy and everyone knows boys don't obey their mothers the way they do fathers, you know? Sure they love them and all, but once he gets older he's going to start seeing you as small and weak, socialized by other boys and culture into feeling superior to you, and everyone knows that turns into blatant disregard for your authority.

But it's because of him that you can't — you tried, but he always drove away every man you dated, always reacted very badly whenever you got a new boyfriend, being mean and hitting and kicking and setting up cruel pranks and making the man miserable until he told you he couldn't do it anymore and left you alone again. Eventually it gets to be too much for you to handle, and you resign yourself to give up for now, maybe try again when he’s older and mature enough to have a serious discussion on the matter.

Or maybe wait until he’s grown and moved out — if that ever happens, seeing as when you bring up the future, he insists that he’ll stay here and take care of you, says I could never go off somewhere and leave you here by yourself, Mama.

Regardless, you do try and work with him, get him to behave better, but you just can’t. It’s incredibly frustrating. Everything you say goes in one ear, out the other (maybe those people had a point when they said he wouldn't respect your authority). You fuss at him as you wrap the little band-aids all over each of his fingers where they’re scraped up from the fight of the day, but he just smiles, seems to not really be paying any attention, just happy to have your attention and see you worrying over him.

He always dismisses you with ease, promising you he’ll do better and won’t beat anyone up again, but you can very easily tell he doesn’t really mean it at all. And his actions follow suit — you often get a phone call from the school the very next day.

He doesn't really have friends anyway, your attempts to get him to socialize with other kids always ended up leading to fights instead. But that's okay, he doesn't need friends, he says, he has his Mama.

You do feel like it's your fault. Why did he become so violent? Surely you did something wrong. But at the same time, you don't feel like you did anything bad to him, because if nothing else, Ajax is ferociously defensive of you.

You lose count of how many times, after being called in about yet another fight, your son proudly tells you he was defending your honor — yes, he may have cracked that boy's skull open against the brick wall of the building, but he only did it because that bastard had the nerve to call his Mama a whore, so he deserved to have his face disfigured like that. Yes, he may have put three kids in the hospital, but only because they were doing the thing teen boys do where they joke about fucking someone's mom, and he couldn't stand for that, he had to teach them a lesson so they think twice before doing that again. And it's true that one time he did stab someone, he'll confess to that, but it was because that guy spread rumors that his Mama was hooking to make money, and he couldn't stand for that.

This becomes a very well-known thing with him, which creates a bit of a conundrum — on one hand, most people learn to shut up about you if there's even a possibility he's within earshot. However, some of the other rowdy, bully-type boys know that talking about Mama is like his berserk-button, a guaranteed way to get a reaction out of him, so they go out of their way to set him off, believing they can just run away before he can get to them. Usually they stop once they get proven wrong about being able to run and get beaten up badly enough, but there's always some kid dumb enough to try, thus the violence is endless.

Not to mention those cases are worse. Normal fights get a visit to the nurse, but if the motive involves you, he's far more violent. The thankfully few, but nonetheless increasing number of times you had to pick him up from jail were almost all related to those fights in particular, that got so out of hand they warranted a teacher or bystander calling for help. Not to mention he's not at all hesitant to hunt offenders down in town to hurt them, away from the school authorities (who are always keeping an eye on him), so he'll get more punches in before a townsperson notices and calls for help.

And much like the school faculty, the law enforcement always gives you these awful, hurtful looks of disdain, a condescending tone in their voices when they ask if you're here to get your kid again and sighing when you nod your head. A few have the nerve to tell you that you really need to do something or else it's only a matter of time before he does something you can't just bail him out of.

And he's always so cheerful when you do come get him. A bit sheepish, apologizes for the inconvenience of you having to drive out here to come get him (not for the act that got him put there in the first place), but otherwise very smiley and touchy and grateful.

Very, very touchy. He's always been like that. He was a cuddly kid, always lifting his arms up in a gesture to be picked up, always clinging to your sleeves. He never went through that phase most boys go through, where they think they're too old to be spending time with their Mom or get embarrassed by affection and push her away or distance themselves from her. You were always grateful for that, it was heartwarming that he always seemed to be proud of you and happy to be seen with you.

But he does get very, very touchy. Always wrapping his arms around you. When you come to school events, visiting distant relatives (who all dislike him, but stopped bringing it up when you got defensive), even when you go grocery shopping (he always comes along, insistent on helping you), he's always coming up behind you, resting his head on your shoulder and keeping his arms looped around you from behind. And sure, he's never stopped kissing you on the mouth and not your forehead or something, but that's normal for some families, right? And it's only for a second, so it's not weird.

People do notice. You see the furrowed eyebrows and wrinkles noses and perplexed expressions, people leaning over to whisper something in another’s ear.

But at the same time, how could you ever bring something like that up? How could you possibly be mad at him for showing you affection? It's not as if you don't like it, it's just somewhat inappropriate in public… but it would surely hurt his feelings if you told him not to, so you say nothing.

You’re so, so grateful for him. He’s always there for you, always so loving, and has never even complained about having to go without a lot of things other people have.

And because he sees you struggling so much financially, by the time he’s a teenager he gets that itch where he feels like he has to prove himself, because how can he just sit back and let his Mama provide for everything, when he’s technically The Man of the household?

So soon enough he’s telling you — rather, insisting, no matter what you say — that he wants to help you pay for expenses.

It’s not consistently timed, but every now and then, he sometimes comes home to pull wads of cash out of his pockets, handed over to you with a sweet smile… and where did he get that money? Don’t worry about it, is all he’ll willingly say.

You know there’s no way anyone in this small little town would willingly hire him, since everyone knows who he is, and he’s coming back around the same time as he normally would… except sometimes he goes out in the evenings every now and then for just a few hours, when he never did that before, and takes his bag with him for some reason, and you know now that you think about it you recall the local news talking about a string of break-in thefts and increase in drug usage and — no, no, you know what? You decide to not think about it. Your mind has had as much as you can handle and you decide to tell yourself your beloved baby boy has some lucrative job he just never talks about for some reason or another. If you can convince yourself of that, well, that’s the first step to blissful ignorance, so you just cup his face in your hands and kiss his sweet face and tell him you’re so thankful and how much you love him and feel your heart melt when he looks so happy and proud of himself for you saying so.

But because he’s at least starting to show some self-awareness, understanding money issues and such, you figure this is a good time to get him invested in his own future.

You’re also a little worried about said future, given that the prospects for partnership in such a rural place are already sparse. Since everyone knows him, people guard their daughters and watch him like a hawk, tell them to stay the hell away from that boy, and they do listen, keep their distance. This troubles you, you bring it up to him — if you get a bad reputation, you’ll scare all the girls away! — and for once, he actually has some reaction.

But you’re not scared of me, are you?

Of course, you coo and fuss and say of course not — he's your baby, even if he hurts others, he's always so soft and sweet to you — and that seems to make him content, and anything you say about future prospects thereafter goes ignored.

Well, he ignores anything about prospects for him, at least. It's a different story when it comes to you.

Because the subject does come up once again. If you can just get a wealthy man, you say one day, you can easily make life so much easier for the both of you. You could get him a good education without debt, really set him up to have a bright future.

But the moment you mention it, his expression contorts with some amalgamation of shock, disgust, outrage, concern. He shakes his head and grabs you so firmly by your shoulders and says you can't be serious.

He'll be fine without college. No other man is going to appreciate you like he does. Love you like he does. No way can he let some guy just come in and invade the space you two have always shared. It would feel wrong, it would feel so foreign to him to have someone else living here when it's always been just you two. Besides, so many men would just use you, hurt you, leave you, he doesn't want to see you get hurt — and he'd never hurt you.

He's insistent, actually, on not going off to study. He wants to stay home, he says. He can't just leave you all alone! You'll be so lonely and you might replace him with another man— ah, you might get a boyfriend, and he couldn't be there to keep the guy in line.

And if some other man hurt you— well, he would do something really really bad, something that would get him locked up for a long time.

You don't want that, do you?

Because then, if some guy dumps you — which would inevitably happen, that's just how guys are, they'd use you and leave once they got bored or decided to replace you.

Like Dad, he says.

And sure enough, you tense up — he knows exactly what to say to make his words sting, he knows how much it hurts you, knows it's digging up pain you've tried to bury. You want to think he wouldn't do that on purpose. He's just distressed and the words came out without thinking.

But that pain is the hook to get you to listen. Because, he says, then if he goes away too, you'll be all alone without him. You'll have no one, and everyone in town already judges you, how would you ever survive without him? You need him, don't you? Could you really deal with the guilt of knowing it's your fault he would be locked up?

You try to reason with him, and his grip on your shoulders grows so tight it hurts.

For the first time, you feel a little scared of him, as he looks down at you — when did your baby boy get so much taller than you? — with a dark look in his eyes.

You find yourself shrinking back. Stammering out a soft little okay, nodding your head, saying you understand. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

And with that, he's immediately back to normal, smiley and happy and relieved you understand. He just doesn't want you to get hurt, is all. Because he loves you. You know that, right?

As long as you stay with him and him alone, he won't have any reason to really hurt someone. So, you know, his future hinges on your decisions, because he just can't help himself when it comes to defending you.

But that’s unlikely to happen on its own (everyone avoids you because of him and all), which is why you'd have to deliberately choose to pursue another man, which would make what happens your fault. He'll chase off any guys that get too close on their own.

Just don't put him in a position where he's forced to kill someone, and everything will be fine. You'll always have him, after all.

[hp-hcs]

carnations — mlm! disaster! simp! enzo berkshire x male! mlm! muggleborn! gryffindor! reader

hooooo boy, alrighty, a few things:

i am in fact alive, hello! i just got really bad imposter syndrome about my writing and didn’t post any fics for like three months <3

i did actual RESEARCH for this fic. using an actual physical BOOK.

one of my lovely little darlings suggested an enzo + male reader + picnic date drabble, and it spiraled into 1.4k words of gay

you will get secondhand embarrassment from enzo in this. just warning you. but it’s in like a cute way so yk

ty all for not getting mad about me not posting i literally adore y’all sm 🤟

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Y/n,” Ron loudly whispered, elbowing you in the side. “Do you have a spare quill I can borrow?”

“Can you last one day without breaking something, Weasley?” You rolled your eyes fondly, giving him the quill in your hand and reaching down to grab another from your bag. Instead, your hand brushed against something else.

You retrieved the mystery object from your bag with furrowed eyebrows. It was a small rectangular object, no bigger than your palm, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a pretty lavender ribbon—with a single green carnation in the center of the bow.

You set aside the carnation, unwrapping the tiny gift and being met with the sight of a small book, bound in leather, which bore the gilded name: FLORIOGRAPHY: A Guide to the Victorian Language of Flowers.

~~~

The first flower you found was pressed between the pages of your Runes textbook. A combination of a rich purple and vibrant yellow color, with a striking dark center that spread out onto three of its five petals.

You carefully tucked the flower back away in between the pages of your textbook, vowing to look it up after class.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the lesson.

~~~

It took a while to flip through every entry of the two-hundred page book, squinting at the tiny illustrations, but you eventually found a match to the mystery flower.

————— PANSY Viola tricolor var. hortensis

Meaning: You occupy my thoughts —————

~~~

“Parkinson!”

Pansy stopped in her tracks, looking back over her shoulder with a look of distaste. “Yes, lion?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“We’re talking right now,” she drawled, but grabbed your sleeve and pulled you into a nearby empty classroom. “What is it?”

You root through your bag, drawing out the Runes textbook.

“Homework?” she scoffed. “I’m not a tutor, little lion.”

“No, not the book.” You rolled your eyes, carefully opening it. “I found this in between the pages this morning.”

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the pressed flower you cradled in your hand. “It’s you?” She looked baffled. “Huh. I never would’ve guessed. Anyways, congratulations on solving the first clue.”

~~~

An odd hot-pink flower, with little shoots sprouting from the center and reminding you a bit of those light-up fiber optic lamps from the Muggle world, sat in the palm of your hand. A second green carnation was tied to the stem of the mystery flower with another lavender ribbon.

Pansy had abandoned you as soon as the flower was in your possession, saying that she hadn’t been paid enough to stick around.

(You knew she was just as invested in this as you were.)

Finally, after flipping through the little leather-bound book for what felt like the hundredth time, you found the strange flower.

————— MYRTLE Myrtus

Meaning: Love —————

Huh. Well. Okay then. A little on the nose, but alright.

~~~

“Um, excuse me? Miss…Myrtle Warren?”

“A boy!” the unsettling ghost girl shrieked. “Twice! In one day!”

“There was another boy in here?” you asked hopefully. “Who was he?”

“Get out! This is the ladies’ room!”

“I’m real sorry, Miss Myrtle,” you said placatingly. “I’m just on a…scavenger hunt of sorts, and I thought a clue led to you. My apologies for bothering you.”

“A scavenger hunt?” Myrtle questioned, suddenly interested. She uncrossed her arms and floated down from the ceiling. “What are you looking for?”

“A flower of some sort? The last one I got was from a myrtle tree.” You held the offensively pink flower up for her to see. “It’s why I thought you might be the next clue.”

She looked flattered. “Well…the other boy who came in here earlier did have something with him. A package.”

“Did he leave it in here?”

“Yes.” Myrtle points to the dusty windowsill on the far wall. “Why is he leaving things for you?”

“I don’t know,” you said vaguely, hoping to bypass the conversation. As much as you’d love to discuss the intricacies of queer relationships with an annoying ghost girl who died in the forties, you’d rather do literally anything else.

So you merely picked up the brown paper-wrapped item, familiarly decorated with a lavender bow and a green carnation, and tucked it safely in your bag to be opened later.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Myrtle.”

The ghost giggled and her cheeks turned a silvery-white; probably the phantasmic equivalent of a blush.

You quickly hurried out of the girls’ bathroom.

~~~

————— CLEMATIS Clematis

Meaning: Cleverness —————

“I’m at a dead end,” you groaned, resting your head on your arms.

Ron patted your shoulder from beside you, only half paying attention to your queer plight. “You’ll figure it out,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pie, spewing crumbs all over the table.

Hermione made a face. “Charming, Ronald.” At his weak protests, she just rolled her eyes and turned back to you. “How do you even know it’s a boy anyways?”

“Carnations,” you mumbled. “Green carnations. Oscar Wilde’s secret symbol of homosexuality in the late nineteenth century.”

“Okay, so your secret admirer is a dork, is what you’re saying,” Ron drawled.

You looked up with a scowl, ready to throw back a witty remark, when you were interrupted by Lightning Boy-howdy-how-has-he-not-died-yet.

“What’s with the whole bouquet you’ve got going on, L/n?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the half-dozen flowers spread out across the table.

“Trying to decode some fuckin’ Victorian bullshit.” You smacked the book down on the table, frustrated.

Harry picked up the large dark purple flower you’d unceremoniously tossed in front of you.

“Oh, this is a clematis flower,” he said offhandedly. “My aunt and uncle have this exact shrub in their garden. The blooms never get this big though.”

You perked up in surprise. “You’re familiar with it?”

Harry nodded. “Yep. Tricky little bugger. Lord Neville’s a pretty aggressive feeder and needs lots of fertilizer, although that’s true of all clematis plants, I suppose. They’re also—”

“What did you just say?” you interrupted.

“It’s an aggressive feeder…?”

“No, no, the other part. Lord Neville?”

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? It’s just the name of the subspecies, Y/n. No big deal.”

“Oh my Godric— I have to go!”

You shove everything into your bag, almost tripping over the table’s bench in your haste to get up.

“What about lunch?” Ron called after you, affronted.

“No time!”

~~~

You hesitantly opened the door to Greenhouse No. 5, peeking inside the warm shed.

“Neville?” you called out cautiously, giving one plant actively trying to wriggle out of its pot nearby a wary look.

You fully stepped inside the greenhouse, your attention immediately caught by the neat trail of green fan-shaped petals on the ground.

You followed the trail through the front room of the greenhouse, crossing through the threshold to the second room and looking up, only to see—

“Berkshire?”

Enzo rocked back and forth on his feet nervously, chewing his bottom lip and fiddling with the cuffs of his uniform shirt. “Surprise?”

You didn’t know the boy too well. You’d been his assigned partner on a few school projects here and there, and he’d always been friendly when you passed him in the halls, but he’d always seemed a bit reserved and shy around you.

You took a moment to draw your gaze away from him to look around the greenhouse. A silver and green Slytherin blanket was spread out neatly across the ground by Enzo’s feet. A proper wicker picnic basket, two crystal glasses, and a bottle of wine sat on the edge of the blanket, waiting.

Enzo himself had a green carnation pinned to the pocket of his shirt, tied with a lavender ribbon. You grinned.

“You did all this?”

He must’ve misinterpreted your tone of surprise, because he immediately panicked. “U-um, yes. Yeah. Yep. Sorry. I should’ve asked before trying to court you, right? Oh— rats, I didn’t I ask— I just thought you were so handsome, and nice, and— and I didn’t really know how to ask you out—” he rambled nervously.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, for his sake. “This is adorable.”

Enzo’s face was bright red, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“Why flowers?”

“Oh! Uh. Big part of pureblood culture. Flowers. Daphne, Astoria, Pansy…all flowers.”

You nodded, still grinning.

Enzo cleared his throat awkwardly and motioned to the blanket. “Please, sit.”

You settled down on the soft blanket across from him, sitting cross legged. At your perpetual grin, he seemed to relax a bit.

“Y’know,” you started, as he uncorked the wine and started pouring the glasses, “I think this is the perfect place for a first date.”

His hands trembled as you said that and he looked up at you hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Perfect place for romance to bloom.”

“That’s a terrible pun.”

“I know. Can you be-leaf it?”

“That’s worse.”

“Be nice. I’m a budding comedian.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you use your tulips to make me?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[please comment if you enjoyed this! this author needs constant positive reinforcement, like a literal toddler!]

[aemonds-sapphire]

Dragons

Summary: Aemond had once doubted his ability to be a good parent, but, as far as you and your daughter are concerned, he excels at it.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Pure fluff. Dad Aemond. Cavity inducing fluff

Word count: 800

The moment you opened the door to your bedchamber, something firm collided against your legs.

Or rather… someone.

You looked down to gaze at your daughter clinging onto you, silver hair all messy and left eye covered.

The black eyepatch resembling the one who belonged to…

“Aemond?”

But your daughter had an unlimited supply of vivacity within her, and had her arms so tightly wrapped around you, you simply couldn’t move.

“Look, muña! I’m just like keppa,” she grinned widely, making use of High Valyrian just as her father intended. “I look ferocious now!”

A genuine chuckle escaped your lips as she started marching in circles on the floor, conjuring a deep frown and and brushing her long hair off her shoulders.

Your heart was bursting at the seems with adoration. He had been the one to give her that. He had once worried he would not be a suitable father, but the happy little girl running in front of you was the living proof that he had overcome his fears.

“Keppa, keppa!” She cheered once Aemond walked in from the other room.

He lowered himself to pick her up into his arms, and she promptly wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, squishing her face against his.

“Please do not say a word,” he said in defeat, but only to get a reaction from her.

You had to clasp one hand to your mouth to muffle a laugh.

His silky long silver hair had strands twisted in all sorts of odd angles from the velvety laces that ranged from a rose pink to a deep red.

“Iksā gevia,” she said, planting a sloppy kiss on his scar.

“Gevie,” he corrected, welcoming her affection. “And you are the one who’s beautiful.”

She pecked his eyepatch, playing with his hair and tying tiny bows into it. “Now I’m beautiful like you,” she beamed, pointing at her covered eye.

You slowly approached them, and placed your head on his shoulder, realising just how fortunate you were to be blessed with a husband who was an exceptional parent.

“The eyepatch?” you inquired, raising an eyebrow.

He looked adoringly at the child sitting on his arm. “She asked me to get her one.”

Aemond had onced expressed how hesitant he was to show her his sapphire eye, fearing she might be scared of him.

But shouldn’t have feared her reaction. She did gaze at him with eyes wide open, and then said her father’s eye reminded her of the deep blue ocean she had seen from Vhagar’s back one day.

Their bond was so strong one could only wonder how such unconditional love was possible.

The first word your daughter had said was keppa. The moment she was old enough to walk, she would stride around the Red Keep behind Aemond. The first time she stubbed her foot on a table, he had Vhagar burn it to the ground (much to Queen Alicent’s horror as it was a very old and esteemed piece of furniture).

Aemond turned his face to you, placing the softest kiss on your lips.

“Please aid me, my lady,” he feigned suffering , drawing out the most adorable chuckles from your daughter. “This baby dragon is attacking my hair.”

She bared her tiny teeth as fangs and growled. “I am dangerous!”

The love he had for her knew no boundaries. She came first. He’d give her the moon should she ask for it.

Yet, she had celebrated her 7th name day not long ago, and her only wish was to always have her father by her side.

She was far too young to know such thing was impossible and to learn of the heartache of losing someone you loved, but you didn’t tell her. Nor did Aemond.

For now, you’d simply cherish your family, and falling deeper in love with them.

[madhatterbri]

Special Interests | Lord Debling

Summary: Lord Debling takes a special interest in Y/N's hobby.

Author's Note: We are going to pretend that paint back then was non-toxic. 🤣

My masterlist for Lord Debling can be found here.

Taglist: @theworldofotps @plentyoffandoms

Lord Debling was hard at work to get his affairs in order for his next trip. Servants rushed the house all day to take care of his every whim. Only his most trusted servants were allowed in his study. Only those that he knew wouldn't go blabbing to the rest of the house.

"My Lord," his servant bowed his head. "I have arranged the study to your liking. Would you like to see it?"

Lord Debling smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, dear James. I'd like to make sure everything is perfect for my wife. Her hobby is a newfound interest of mine,"

"Yes, sir. Right this way," James smiled and led him to the study. The moment Lord Debling walked into the study, he knew he had made the right decision.

A large drop cloth covered the carpet in the study. In the middle of the cloth laid a canvas. One of her favorite artists drew the perfect nature scene on there. All her favorite animals were drawn wonderfully. He could see why that artist was her favorite. On the table next to the couch, her favorite drinks and treats were ready.

"James," Lord Debling called and checked his pocketwatch. "I do believe my wife will be back shortly from her parents. Please see to it she changes into her nightgown and joins me in the study,"

"Yes, sir," James bowed and strode out of the room. Lord Debling took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This was going to be the best going away gift ever.

Y/N wasn't sure if James heard her husband correctly when she came home that night. Change to her nightgown and attend to her husband in the study. She obeyed the commands her husband left for her.

"Come in," Lord Debling called when he heard the soft, familiar knock at the door. He was just lighting the last candle in the study. Y/N walked in and smiled at the romantic atmosphere.

"To what do i owe this pleasure?" She asked and closed the door behind her. Lord Debling smiled and removed his jacket and vest. Now, he was only left in a long sleeve white shirt and black slacks.

"I can not show a special interest in my wife's love for the arts?" He asked innocently. He walked to her and grabbed her hand to lead her more inside. Y/N followed him happily.

"Of course, my lord. I meant no harm," she answered. Y/N's huge smile brightened the room when she saw the canvas on the floor. Several bottles of paint and a paint palette were left on the floor. There was one thing she noticed immediately that was missing.

"I had your favorite artist draw this for you. I can see why he is a favorite of yours, darling. Magnificent," Lord Debling praised. She felt her heart fill with pride when he sang praises about her best friend.

"It is lovely. Thank you. I will have to run to my chambers. The brush seems to have disappeared," she pointed out. Lord Debling sat on the couch. He patted his lap for her to sit.

"Ah, yes, we will have James fetch them for us. Tell me about your day. I don't want to miss a single detail,"

Y/N told him about her day. The room filled with their playful banter and laugh. They sipped the drinks that were left on the table. She enjoyed the treats. All the sadness from them being apart was left at the door. They were in their own little sanctuary.

Lord Debling rested his back against the arm of the couch. Her back rested against his chest. His chin rested on her head. Y/N wished they could stay like this forever. Her eyes drifted to the canvas on the floor.

"I should tell James to fetch my brushes," she sighed and moved to stand up. Lord Debling wrapped his arms around her waist.

"That won't be necessary, my dove. There are other ways to get paint on a canvas," he assured her.

"My Lord?" She questioned yet gasped when his lips made contact with her neck. Heat could be felt between her legs the moment he found her sensitive spot. Her clit throbbed to be played with.

"I do believe you have piqued my interest in the arts, my love. We will be painting the canvas together in a non-conventional way,"

His hand reached underneath her dress. The warmth that came from her inviting him in. He grabbed her face to look at him. Her eyes filled with lust like his. She called out when his fingers rubbed between her folds, paying special attention to her bundle of nerves.

As her juices slicked his fingers, he started to toy with her entrance. He rubbed up and down before slipping the tips of his fingers in her. Lord Debling worked her up. Slowly inching his fingers inside of her before fully sheathing them inside.

He continued to toy with her before he felt the strains in his pants to be too great. The slick from her was cleaned up once he placed his fingers in his mouth.

"Put your favorite colors on the canvas. Do not be shy," he instructed her. She stood up with wobbly legs and squirted some paint on the canvas. Her husband stood up and removed his clothes. Her dress left her body and thrown to on the floor.

His kisses trailed from her neck to her breasts to between her legs. He placed a leg on his shoulder. She called his name the moment his tongue toyed with her. Y/N ran her fingers through his hair. He ate her out like a man starved.

"Come," he told her. "We have much work to do,"

That night was the most fun Lord Debling ever had with the arts. The nature man saw a different side to creativity. He wished he had taken an interest in painting years ago. Y/N was shy about it at first yet quickly warmed up to it.

They were simple at first. Missionary to warm her to the idea that turned him on all day. She wasn't used to the cold paint yet quickly forgot about it as the night went on. He turned her over and allowed her breasts to help paint the canvas. Lastly, he sat on the canvas, and she rode him before they both made it to their grand finale. By the end, they were satisfied with the art and each other.

With all the different positions, they were a thorough mess yet satisfied. They dressed before taking a much needed shower. Afterward, they went back to her chambers to continue where they started in the study.

Lord Debling sighed as he looked at a picture of his wife. He had only been gone for one month into his travels, but it felt like an eternity. Life was certainly lonely without his Y/N.

A series of colors over a variety of animals caught his eye. Unnoticeable by others, he could see where Y/N's breasts and butt laid when he took her. Maybe his wife could have picked another hobby he could show a special interest in. He smiled.