#dip painted stool

[karmamarsh]

San Francisco Bathroom Master Bath An illustration of a large transitional master bathroom with a corner shower made of white ceramic tile and tiles with flat panels, dark wood cabinets, white walls, and marble countertops, as well as a hinged shower door and an undermount sink.

[gaypirate420]

Kitty cuddles // Viktor.

S1!Viktor x gn!Vastaya!reader.

Summary: Viktor's emotional support cat-hybrid person.

Fluff.

Your fingers wrapped around a brush, dipping the tip on a little blob of paint on your palette, your eyes focused on the canvas ahead of you then it shifts to the sight you're trying to recreate, the wide window of your balcony. The day is beautiful, perfect clouds and the way the sun hits your plants is simply divine.

Behind you, a tired inventor was struggling. Viktor sighed and threw his body back into his chair, today is his break day but of course he's still working anyways. Your sensitive ears twitch, he's been whining and huffing and mumbling curse words for at least the last half hour, but he brushes off any concern from your part, as usual.

His golden gaze falls on you sitting on your stool, he smiled faintly as he saw your fluffy tail swinging around lazily, almost brushing the floor.

"I think you should lay down for a minute, love." You speak softly, suggesting the idea for the fourth time. Viktor looks down at his make-shift desk. His neck is starting to hurt, and his back and his leg-

The zaunite reaches for his cane and with a small whimper he stands up, his cane clanks for the next couple of steps until he reaches the couch. Your shiny eyes stared at him, making sure he wasn't feeling more than just tired.

A soft grunt leaves him as his body falls down on the couch, taking one of the cushions on his head and the other on the small of his back, shifting around until he is comfortable.

"I meant in our bed, beloved." You speak softly, he shakes his head, his tired eyes meet yours.

"I like seeing you paint, koťátko." Viktor whispers with a hint of a slur to his words. You smiled softly, continuing to place soft strokes on the canvas but you could feel his gaze on you, you would turn your head occasionally, his eyes getting more and more droopy each time you looked.

After cleaning your brush with a cloth and leaving your palette aside, you stood and walked towards the couch, the soft bean pads on your feet making your steps silent.

Viktor looked up at you, with a little pleading gaze. You smirked faintly, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his lips before laying down next to him.

"I wish I could keep you with me in the lab, koťátko." He whispers, his arms wrapping around your body, holding you close. Your body is naturally warm, it feels so comforting in his aching body.

"It would make the long nights much easier to endure." Viktor continued, your hand cupped his face being mindful of your sharp nails as you caressed his pale skin. His right hand moved, his fingers wandered up your spine to the back of your neck and finally resting on the base of your ears, where they began massaging softly.

You immediately react, your eyes close and you nuzzle your head against his cheek, rubbing softly your face against his, your ears twitching gently, you love when he massages your ears, he's so gentle, so careful, he knows how sensitive they are.

"Such a pretty one." He whispers, placing a kiss on the top of your head which leads to a soft mewl from your part. Viktor enjoys this way too much, the weight of you on top of him, the warmth of your body and how your tail sways against his leg, your nose twitching against his cheek.

The Zaunite relaxes against you, feeling like he has a weighted warm and very fuzzy blanket on top of him.

And of course the cherry on top.

The soft vibration of your chest and purrrrr.

Vitkor smiles softly, his amber eyes stare at you, curled up by his side, purring softly. He envies you a little bit, you can fall asleep in minutes. He finds it adorable also.

"I love you so much, koťátko." He whispers softly, your ears twitch, letting him know you heard him loud and clear. He chuckles softly and closes his eyes, holding you close as he lets your soft noises and warmth lull him to sleep.

A/N:(Divider) I saw Lest and I too wanted to be a cat-person who's also a bad bitch and of course I had to throw Viktor into the mix. Probably a Vastaya will become my favorite reader to write but oh well. Hope you liked it! Send requests!

Viktor when Jayce asked to meet his partner:

[luvyeni]

( drabble ) my beautiful muse ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 황현진 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ you're his beautiful muse and he'd do anything to keep his muse safe ヾ

yandere!hyunjin・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ yandere, smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ unprotected sex‎, breeding kink, dirty talk, talks of killing wc・ ‎0.7k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. can i request a yandere smut with hyunjin please 💕

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 enjoy<3

a collector of art; that's what hyunjin was. he collected many pretty art pieces and other things he deemed as beautiful — that's why when he saw you , he knew he had to have you; you were his new muse.

you weren't allowed to leave; no , hyunjin didn't want the horrors of the world to tarnish his pretty masterpiece — so you stayed at home while he went out and sold his paintings, earning enough money to buy you pretty clothes, that's the only thing that mattered to him , keeping you looking pretty for him; he even took makeup class , and learned how to do hair so he could make you all pretty , so he can spend his free time painting his pretty muse.

“can i move now?” you sat on the stool , hair done to the nines , a new expensive dress. “not yet , im almost finished.” he said , dipping his paintbrush into the paint. “but im tired.” you whined , he sighed. “okay baby , okay just let me take a picture of you , i can use this as a reference for now.” he pulled out his polaroid camera , which he used to capture photos of you , it was quick and easy , but he loved to paint you the most , he believed it to be more beautiful. “there we go baby , we can stop now.”

“i think this one can go into my next exhibit,” he said. “as much as i don't think the world deserves to see you, this can't just stay here , they need to see you , how i have the most prettiest piece at home.” “can i go with you to see it?”

he hated that question , frowning while looking at you. “you know the answer to that.” he said , you nodded. “yeah i know i just thought — that's why we don't that baby you know you aren't the best at that.” he sat the photo down , walking over to you. “you look so pretty baby.” his hands coming up to your bare shoulders. “i dress you up so nicely don't i?” he hummed. “do your makeup so pretty?” he dragged his arm down to the back of the dress where the zipper was. “you don't need to go out , all you have to do is stay here and be pretty.”

the dress falling to your waist; you perfect tits on display. “so pretty , let's take this back to the room okay.” you nodded obediently , following behind him as he guided you to your shared room .

rocking his hips; his cock dragging in and out of you, he had been at this for a few hours now , you never had to work when it comes to fucking hyunjin , much like your everyday life he did everything ; eating out until your yanking at his hair , closing your head around his head. then he'd finger you , preparing you for his cock while also pulling another orgasm out of you.

by time he pulls his cock out , you're already in tears , and he loves this , you're the prettiest when you're teary eyed from his cock. “pretty pretty baby.” he cooed , “such a cry baby for my cock , you like it.” he groaned , stretching you out with his cock. “my muse , all mines.”

“hyu-hyunjin.” you moaned , his fingers toying with your clit , your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “prettier than anything i've ever painted.” he cursed. “got-gotta keep you here , so they won't hurt you.” he began to plow into you much harder. “fuck , fuck i'll kill anyone who looks at you.” he moaned , gripping your wrist pinning them to the bed. “that's why i can't let you outside -fuck- im afraid of what might happen; what i might do if someone who looks at what mines.”

as he pounded into you , you opened your eyes for a split second , and you could see in his eyes, they looked dark , like he actually meant what he was saying. “you’re mine aren't you.” he sped up. “all fucking mines.” you nodded. “all yours hyune , fuck!”

“then you wouldn't mind carrying my baby?” he groaned. “you'd look the most beautiful carrying my child , stuck to me forever.” he moaned. “gonna cum inside you.”

pinning you down; his hips snapped against you. “hyune gonna cum.” you moaned. “good , cum with me , cum for me while i breed your pretty pussy.” he groaned. “cum for me.” you gasped out , cumming , he fucked into a few more times before cumming deep inside you with a loud groan. “fuck!”

“gonna make sure it sticks.” he said. “no one's gonna hurt you.” he said , kissing your forehead. “i won't allow it.”

“my beautiful muse.”

[billysgun]

whiskey

billy the kid x rich-girl!reader|requested!|you're the daughter of billy's boss, you're filthy rich and had eyed billy a while ago. and this night, you decided to follow him to the saloon.

"what's a cowboy like yourself doin' around here?" your soft southern accent rippled to his ears as he turned to see you in your lace gown, perfectly styled curls bouncing as you took another step toward him

"I should say the same to a fine young lady like you" he gave you a crooked smile, dipping his hat as a "hi"

the saloons chatter became muffled when you saw his clear blue eyes and pulled a stool next to him

"now don't you spend all my daddy's money on some liquor, billy"

"so you're the daughter I've heard so much about" he smiled into his whiskey, forgetting your comment as he laid more bills on the bars table

"uhuh. and you're the cowboy that my fathers been cheatin'"

he choked on his whiskey, not expecting you to be so blunt with how your father pays him so little

"cheatin' huh?" he asked, brow raised high as he wondered if your father sent you here

"well, you can't ask for much with that bounty hung high over your head" your painted lips smiled as your nails began to dance on the table

"aren't cha gonna get a girl a drink?" you said and he was once again, wide-eyed at how forward of a lady you were

you sipped on whiskey while he downed his, you shamelessly let your eyes travel on his toned arms and broad figure, he eyed you back with your staring

"you sure are somethin'...not at all what I expected. not sure if I wanna ask, but how did your daddy let you come all the way down here?" he asked, dipping his head back as the whiskey ran down his throat

"he never lets me out at night...sometimes I can't stand that old man. but I thank him for the horse lessons now" you said as you took a slow sip of your drink, confirming that you did indeed follow him here

"I ain't assumin' you came all the way here to drink with the way you sippin' at that whiskey" he said, you slowly shook your head as billy began to think of any other job he could get because what he's about to do will most certainly get him fired

"no sir. I'm not a fan of drinkin'" your eyes seemed to darken and billy felt himself getting closer to you

"then what do you like to do, miss y/n?" his voice was slow, rasping your name as your legs began to close tightly

"how about I show you, mr. bonney"

an: AHHH i love this request!! thank you all so much for reading!! <333

an: here is the link for part 2 <3

[b14augrana]

Portrait

When Alexia decides to give into her curiosity and sit down at one of the street artist stalls stationed on a busy Parisian road, she leaves with something more special than a self portrait.

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: straight fluff and bad translations but dont worry its only short x

A/N: ALE RENEWED WE CAN ALL REJOICE!! 🙏

The strong Parisian sun beat down on the heads of locals and tourists alike as they walked down the crowded streets. You were perched on a stool, staring intently at your canvas as you gently painted the smile lines of a lovely old lady that stopped by your stall.

You loved your job for this very reason. You knew how hard it was to love yourself from your own perspective; you hoped to do every individual person’s beauty justice with your paintings.

Of course that wasn’t enough income on its own so every morning you found yourself in one of the local bakeries either working behind the scenes or at the front counter. Baking and painting were jobs you loved and found so similar because they both resonated with your desire to indulge in art wherever you could find it, and to you they were the simplest forms of art.

“And… I’m done. Here’s your finished portrait, madame,” you said with a smile, lifting the canvas off the easel and gently setting it into the woman’s arms.

“Je ne peux pas te remercier assez, ma chérie ! C'est beau, merci,” she replied, admiring it with tear-brimmed eyes hidden behind her glasses. You said your goodbyes and watched her walk off with a grin on her face, and then you picked up a fresh canvas and placed it on your easel.

You didn’t have time to shake your head at the many smudges of paint on your clothes as another person approached you.

“Hola!” a woman’s voice spoke, making you look up curiously. Standing before you was a blonde woman smiling slightly, gesturing to the stool behind the easel. “May I sit?”

“Of course,” you nodded, returning her smile and swirling your paintbrush in some fresh water as you prepared to paint her. “You’d like a painting, no?”

“Yes please. Also, forgive me for saying hola — I forget that I’m not in Spain,” she laughed, inciting a giggle from you.

“It’s okay. I do the same when I’m outside of France,” you added, dipping the paintbrush into some fresh paint before grazing the canvas. “So, you’re Spanish.. what’s your name?”

“Alexia. I’m here for a holiday, because I’ve finally got some time off work,” she explained with a huff. You smiled behind your easel, painting the woman’s chiseled bone structure with intricacy as you added to her face.

You liked her already. You had barely said anything to her, but something about her was genuine.

“Are you with anybody?” you asked, curious to know more about her. She nodded her head, “Only two other people, my friends Lucy and Ona. They’ve gone on a wine tasting date, which is why I’m here.”

You laughed softly as you rinsed your paintbrush. “And you? Do you have anyone to go wine tasting with?”

“Next question,” Alexia responded, smiling through laughter. You began to paint her eyes and faintly outline her nose.

The rest of the time you spent painting every detail of her face flew by as you two talked and got to know more about each other. You learned that she was a professional footballer and lived in Barcelona, which you thought was very cool. She asked about your life and you told her that you were a born and raised Parisian who spent the rest of her days at home or in the bakery. You weren’t really concerned about yourself though; you were busy looking at her, and not for the purpose of the painting.

When you had completed the last strand of hair and placed the last freckle on her portrait, the sun had dried most of it already. As she stood up and picked her purse up, you flipped the canvas around and scrawled something on the back with a slight smile.

“There you go. Thank you, Alexia,” you said, handing her the painting. She gasped quietly as she admired it, and she looked at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. “Thank you, chica!”

Even after she pulled away, her perfume clung to your skin like glue. It smelled sweet but not overwhelming… like coconut and caramel with an undertone of musk and vanilla hints. It smelled exactly how you imagined it to smell.

As you said goodbye, you didn’t reach for a fresh canvas. Alexia turned away, holding the newly painted canvas in her hands with her head down, her eyes fixed on it. She stood stagnant for a moment, scoping out every detail, and then she turned it over.

“Llámame, hermosa :)” was written on the back, followed with your phone number and a quick sketch of a flower bouquet. She immediately turned her head to glance at you over her shoulder, but you were occupied with someone else.

When she turned back around, a smitten smile was plastered across her face and she couldn’t help but feel giddy to get back to her hotel.

After another second, you looked up from your canvas, your eyes completely skipping the person sat in front of you and wandering over to the direction that she had walked in, watching the blonde woman disappear down the street.

“Est-ce que tu vas peindre ou quoi?” an irritated voice snapped from behind your easel.

“Désolé!”

[redroomreflections]

Something With Sea Turtles

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

A Family Of Her Own AU

(Natasha has a secret family)

Summary: Pregnant R and Natasha loves on her.

Natasha is good at many things. Intimidating bad guys, disappearing without a trace, dismantling a firearm in seconds. Painting walls? Well, that’s a skill she’s still figuring out.

She had insisted on painting the nursery walls for the arrival of your little one in a few months. It was supposed to be a nice bonding experience. But, as with most things involving the two of you, it had quickly turned into a bit of a disaster.

"You said this would be easy," You teased from your spot on the floor, perched on a pile of cushions Natasha had painstakingly arranged for your comfort. Your hand rested on your growing belly as you watched her, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Natasha stood on a step stool, paint roller in hand, squinting at the wall. She was trying her best to create a soft, underwater gradient—blues and greens swirling together like an aquarium, the perfect theme for your baby’s nursery. But the brush strokes were uneven, and there was a smudge where she got a little overzealous with the darker blue.

"It is easy," she replied, her tone stubborn. "I’m just… experimenting with technique."

"Right," You muttered to yourself. "We could just hire someone."

"No!" She exclaimed, then, more gently: "No. I want to do this."

And, honestly, she did. The baby wasn't a shock by any means. Natasha had been dreaming about this day since the first time she fell in love with you. She had planned every detail down to the color of the paint, but when it came time to do the actual painting, she wanted nothing more than to do it herself.

"I know, but we don't even know if our baby will like water or animals..." You reached into your lap to open a bag of chips. "What if they hate all this ocean stuff?"

"If our baby hates all of this ocean stuff, then we'll just paint over it," Natasha lowered her paintbrush to glance back at you. "When did you become such a pessimist?"

"It's called being realistic."

Natasha huffed and dipped the roller in the pan, then continued her work.

"You're supposed to be relaxing."

"I can't relax when I have paint splattered all over my clothes," You gestured to the splotches of green and blue across your sweatshirt. "I'll never get these stains out."

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at you and smiled softly.

"Well, if you remove your clothes, I promise I'll be gentle."

"You're a dork," You chuckled. "And I'm not stripping in front of the baby."

"The baby's not even born yet."

"Still."

"Fine, then how about I strip for you," Natasha wiggled her hips and hummed playfully. "How's that for relaxation?"

"Tempting, but maybe you should finish the wall before we do anything else," You said. You looked down at the sweater to tug it over your belly. It seemed a bit tight these days. "Do you think I'm getting too big for this?"

"Your shirt?"

"Yeah, I mean... I feel like my stomach is stretching the fabric."

"Hmmm," Natasha mused. "Well, I'd say it looks pretty good."

"Good?"

"Perfect," She smiled to herself. "Absolutely perfect."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Of course."

"You're not lying to me right?" You tilted your head.

"When have I ever lied to you, Y/n?"

"A bunch of times actually," You raised a brow. "I was your superior."

"That doesn't count. Besides, it's my job."

"Your job is to tell me the truth," You sighed. "Do my boobs look too huge?"

"What? No!" She turned on the stool, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"But I've grown a size," You frowned, running a hand over your breasts. "You should be telling me to cover up."

"Are you crazy?" She asked, her eyes wide. "Y/n, you're carrying our child; I think you're allowed to dress comfortably. Also, I'm not complaining about your breast size."

"Yeah, but—"

"Listen," She set the paint roller down and stepped off the stool, "You're beautiful. Okay? And your tits are a part of that. You know, they're like an extra gift from the universe."

"Extra gift?"

"Like I'm already grateful for our baby," She said. "But then, your boobs get bigger, and, you know, I'm a very appreciative person."

"You won't be able to touch them for a while," You reminded her.

"I'm willing to wait."

"And I'm going to have stretch marks."

"So?"

"And my stomach will look weird and puffy," You sighed. "I mean, it's not going to go away."

"I don't care," she said. "Y/n, none of that matters. You're giving us a baby."

You were about to make a joke about how much it would probably hurt to push something the size of a melon out of your vagina, but when you saw the look in her eyes, your smile faded. She was so earnest, and suddenly, you felt guilty for not appreciating everything she was saying.

"Sorry," You said.

"For what?"

"Not listening to you," You shrugged.

"Don't apologize," Natasha walked toward you, then knelt beside your spot on the pillows. "I get it. There are days when I feel like I'm losing my mind. But, no matter what, you'll always be my favorite thing to look at."

"Nat," You grinned.

"Seriously," She smiled back. "And I'm gonna tell you that every single day until the end of time."

"Well, you'll be busy painting."

"Then, I'll paint it on the wall," She winked.

"God, I love you," You murmured, leaning forward to kiss her.

"Love you too," She replied, her breath warm against your lips. "Both of you."

"Now, go back to painting before you ruin it." You gestured. "I can kind of see the vision for the whale."

"See? That's what I'm talking about. I'm making art."

"Do you mind taking a breath to come rub this on my belly?" You gestured to the container of cocoa butter next to you.

"Of course," Natasha grabbed the tube, and unscrewed the cap. Then, she squeezed a generous amount onto her palm and set the bottle aside.

"You know," She began, "what you said earlier. I hope you don't believe that about yourself. That I won't find you attractive."

"No, I don't, not really," You shrugged. "It's just hard sometimes. My brain goes all crazy and my hormones are making me all weepy. But, I have you. And, you're not going anywhere, right?"

"Of course not."

"Good," You murmured. "'Cause I don't think I'd last long without you."

"Don't say that," She said, her voice quiet.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologizing," She scolded. "You'll be fine. I'll be fine. Everything will be fine. Now, can we focus on the positive? Like, for example, the fact that you're pregnant."

"I am pregnant."

"You are." She rested her hands on your belly. She began to rub the cocoa butter in circular motions against your skin. "You look so good like this."

"Really?"

"Yeah," She smiled, looking down at her hands pressing against the curve of your abdomen. She was so gentle with the bump. "This is exactly what I always imagined."

"What did you imagine?"

"A cute wife who was carrying my child," She smirked. "I guess I've always had a fantasy about having a family of my own."

"Well, you're living the dream." You grinned at her. For a second there wasn't much talking until you felt a slight movement inside of you. "She's awake."

"Really?" Natasha looked down.

"Yeah," You said. "Can you feel her?"

"Um, well," Natasha hesitated. "I mean, not really."

"Here," You reached down and took her hand, guiding it a bit further up your belly. "There. Do you feel that?"

"I—" Natasha paused, and then, she felt it, a faint movement against her hand. "Yeah?"

"Whenever you're near she gets to moving," You point out. "I think she recognizes your voice already."

A soft, surprised laugh escaped Natasha’s lips as she watched her hand rest against your belly, her expression melting into something softer than usual. She didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she let it linger, her thumb tracing circles on your skin.

"I think she’s already got me wrapped around her finger," she murmured, her voice full of affection and wonder. "Just like her mother."

"That's how it starts."

"Oh, is that a warning?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." She leaned forward to kiss your belly. Then, she rested her cheek against your skin. "I couldn't be any happier than in this moment."

"That's good," You brushed her hair from her forehead, stroking her scalp gently. "But, just so you know, when I'm back on my feet, I'm kicking your ass for making me paint a sea turtle."

"Hey," she said, her tone playful. "You're the one who agreed to help."

"I regret everything."

[adieutristana]

Helloooo can you do a Jinx x femreader where they were dying Isha’s hair? The reader’s kinda just watching everything unfold and realising how much she loves Jinx when she sees her around Isha

of course! thank you for requesting :) i had a lot of fun writing this, honestly needed this after the events of act 3

summary: scenario of fem! reader watching jinx with isha.

characters included: jinx (romantic), isha (platonic/familial)

tags/warnings: fluff, mother/mother/daughter dynamic, spoilers for arcane s2 (act ii specifically).

men dni.

"hey, stop moving!" jinx playfully scolded isha, earning a giggle from the little girl. she shook her head, giving a wide smile to your girlfriend. "come on, i can't do this if you don't stay still."

jinx already has isha in a makeshift, miniature version of her own outfit which she employed your help to make. despite all of jinx's mechanical expertise, she somehow can't sew to save her life. just a few minutes prior, she used various shades of eyeshadow to draw on her tattoos. all the while, she strategically turned isha away from the mirror. the reveal had to be a surprise.

"pass me the hair dye, toots, would ya?" jinx asked, shooting a glance at you over her shoulder. you grabbed the bottle from a box of (stolen) cosmetics, passing it to her. she quickly snatched it up, and shot you a toothy grin as a silent thanks. she sat isha down in a paint-covered bathtub, jinx settling down directly behind her.

she got to work with isha's hair, running a brush through it quickly, then dipping a frayed paintbrush into the bottle to slather blue dye on isha's hair. isha jumped a bit at the cold sensation at first, but quickly relaxed. "yeah.. feels weird, i bet. i'll be done soon, 'kay?" jinx soothed, her hands moving swiftly in the girl's hair. even with a brush, she managed to get blue dye on her hands while making sure each of the strands were evenly coated.

all the while, you sat cross-legged on the floor besides the box of assorted items, watching the spectacle unfold in front of you. you had never seen jinx be so.. gentle with someone aside from yourself. so playful, so free of inhibitions or anxiety. it was endearing, truly.

you weren’t just seeing jinx, you were seeing powder shining through.

you couldn’t help but smile, jinx seemingly oblivious to you at present. she finished coating isha’s hair with dye, and you chuckled to yourself at the sight of isha’s usually fluffy hair suddenly so flat. it was cute. jinx looked over at you quickly, and beamed. she looked so happy.

god, you loved her. this could be something, right here. you, jinx, and isha. a family of sorts.

“i’ll be done soon, babe, okay?”

“okay, jinx. do you want help?”

“hmm…” jinx replied, her nose crinkling and putting her dye-stained hands on her hips. she wracked her brain for a second, pursing her lips, clearly wanting to involve you in this more than you already were. “you can dry her hair off, and help me with the big reveal!” she smiled.

you nodded, giving a mock-salute, much to jinx’s amusement. “oh, cut that out.” she playfully rolled her eyes. jinx gently guided isha out of the bathtub, and instructed her to tilt her head back, so that she could rinse her hair. the water ran blue, the little girl’s eyes slipping shut and a slow exhale escaping her.

you grabbed a towel from a makeshift shelf, and plopped it onto isha’s head. she squealed, suddenly unable to see, and giggled as you hastily dried her hair off. “all dry soon, kid. you’ve got some thick hair!” you observed. isha either didn’t hear you, or didn’t know what that meant. jinx just stood behind the two of you, trying to hold in her laughter. jinx crouched down beside you to braid the girl’s hair, her fingers still moving while she pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. oh, jinx.

you lead isha to jinx’s mirror by her shoulders, jinx’s slender fingers covering her eyes. when you got to a stool, you lightly grabbed isha by her sides and lifted her, setting her down in front of the mirror. all the while, jinx’s hands were still covering her eyes, giggling.

jinx looked over at you, seemingly waiting for the okay to reveal isha’s makeover. you put your hands atop jinx’s, both obscuring isha’s vision even more. jinx’s hands were cold and calloused, but there wasn’t a feeling you loved more than those hands.

she quirked an eyebrow, those big, pink eyes that you loved so much looking straight at you, and you nodded. “you ready, kid?” you asked, and isha began frantically nodding. she was practically bursting at the seams with excitement.

you and your girlfriend both lifted your hands. “ta-da!” jinx exclaimed, smiling ear-to-ear. the pure surprise and wonder on isha’s face was incredible, examining herself in the shattered glass, toying with the small braids jinx had given her. isha looked back at you, trying to contain her joy.

“you’re lucky. i didn’t get to much of this with my older sis,” jinx began, looking down at the girl imitating her. pretending to shoot her zapper, making little ‘pew’ noises. it was adorable, and your heart swelled in your chest at the sight. “she was always… punching stuff.” her dark lips pursed, and you stepped forward to gently grasp jinx’s hand, before ruffling isha’s now-blue hair.

“no, but you still turned out pretty cool, love.” you remarked, much to jinx’s amusement. she shot you a little smile, lovingly squeezing your hand. “you flatter me.” she said, before closing the gap between the two of you.

pressing a soft, warm kiss to your lips, now intertwining your fingers. it was peaceful. it was sweet. you loved her-

and you heard isha groan in disgust to the side of you, breaking away to see the girl covering her eyes. jinx just giggled, gave your hand a final squeeze, and joked, “kissing, gross! i know, right?”

[surielstea]

“Hey, Stranger.”

Based on a request.

Pairing: Rhysand x Fem!Reader

Summary: In attempt to get away from the ball, Rhysand encounters a generous stranger and seems to find exactly what he’s looking for when she invites him in.

Warnings: Mention of sickness | all fluff | teensy argument at the end but has a HEA :)

4.1k words

Rhys had yet to decide where it was exactly he was going. His hands were tucked into his pockets and the darkness of his power swirling from his neatly pressed jacket.

He left the ball thrown in his honor quickly after it started, it was an event meant solely for him to find a High Lady, or at least scope out the options.

A night of mindless women vying for attention that he had no care for, none of them held what he was looking for, and none of them were her. Who she was, he had no clue, but he would, once he found her.

A low whistle came from his lips, the tune the same one he heard as he snuck out of his own damned party.

I was squatted down beside the bar sign, writing the nightly specials with the chalk in my hands when the stranger approached.

"One free drink with the order of a meal? It's almost too good to be true," The male said. I turned, not noticing his footsteps, and glancing towards him. I chuckle, rising to face him— even if he towered over me, and readjusted the sign to stand on its own. "You hungry? I could open up a few minutes early," I offer and his dark, manicured brows lift in slight surprise. He was beautiful, truly, his tanned features and hair dark as night complimenting his stunning violet eyes that seemed to be stealing the breath from my lungs.

"Such generosity, from a stranger," He smirks, his eyes softening as he took in my modest dress and simple hairstyle. It wasn't pity that shone in that glorious violet, but warmth. Then those eyes flick down from my face, lower, then slowly trail my figure all the way back up— lingering for a moment on the way my neckline dipped a little too low for comfort. I blurt out my name and his eyes snapped back to mine, not at all looking ashamed for his staring.

"There, not strangers anymore." I shrug with a gentle grin. He mirrors it with a charismatic smile that has been guaranteed to have dropped panties before.

"Lead the way then," He jerked his head back towards the tavern and I nodded, swiveling on my heel and heading towards the propped open, slightly worn red door. The tavern itself was a little rough around the edges, the paint chipping from the walls, the fireplace dusty, and half of the table legs were uneven. But it paid the bills and the regulars didn't seem to mind as long as we served drinks.

"Why aren't you at the ball tonight?" The male asked as I loved my way around the bar counter and he sat on one of the stools.

"I have to stay and look after my mother," I explain, and I wasn't sure why I told him something so personal, so I quickly added, "Besides, once that ball is over this bar will fill tremendously. Someone's got to run it."

He simply nods in reply, leaning onto the counter with fascination in his eyes, as if I were a creature to be studied.

"And what about you? Why'd you leave?" I ask, turning away from his stare to pour him a mug of ale.

"I didn’t find what I was looking for there," He explains as I place the mug in front of him. "Out here, though, much better." His eyes linger on me as he brings the glass up to his sensuous lips, and something tells me he wasn't telling me the entire truth.

"That's all? I don't buy it, you're too polished to be wandering like this, what's the true reason?" I lean my hands onto the counter, tilting my head at him.

"Polished, huh? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're flirting with me." He taunted, setting his mug down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"And I'd say you're deflecting," I retort. "So tell me, what are you hiding, stranger?" I smirk, using the nickname to my advantage, if only to further show I knew very little about him.

"Perhaps I found a better reason to stay away?" He suggests, leaning back in his stool with casual grace as if he comes to this bar nightly.

"Oh? And what might that be?" I arch a brow, pushing off the counter and crossing my arms over my chest.

His smirk widens. "I'm looking at her." He purrs and a blush blooms across my cheeks and my heart rate picks up, I prayed to every god that he couldn't hear it.

I steel my features into submission as I say, "You're not a very subtle male are you?"

He snorts, looking down at his pressed black suit. "What about me says subtle?" His eyes come back up to mine, reaching to his lapel and picking an invisible piece of lint from it.

I chuckle and shake my head. "Very little," I say with an amused smile, going over to the sink and grabbing a damp cloth that hung over the faucet, wanting to busy my hands, I begin wiping down the countertop.

"So is this what you do, then? Tavern maid by day, barmaid by night?"

"No, I only work the night shift here,  I'm a teacher at the school down the road during the day," I explain, a proud grin on my lips as I think of all my young students.

"A teacher? I thought they were supposed to be strict?" He suggests and I smirk, glancing up at him with a wicked gleam in my eyes.

"I can be strict if you'd like," I shrug, feigning innocence.

"You're bold for someone who doesn't know who they're talking to," He purred in reply and I scoffed.

"Bold?"

"Inviting me in? Flirting with me?" He suggests, leaning onto the bar, closer to me.

"I am not flirting. And I'm only being nice, you looked like you needed saving from your own thoughts." I shake my head, turning away from him and discarding the damp rag back over the sink faucet before moving towards the kitchens where I could prepare him a meal.

"And you think a meal will do that?" He asks from behind me, I can feel his stare on my figure as I shuffle behind the bar for a plate.

"I've been told I make a killer pie, you'd be surprised how far a slice will get you," I say while playing with a piece of my signature pie.

"I'll take one then," He hums and I walk back over to him, placing the plate of warm pie in front of him.

"Good." I hold a fork out to him. He takes it with wild amusement in his gaze before digging into the slice and taking a large bite. I tried to pretend I wasn't watching his reaction, instead refilling his ale but his minor groan did not slip past my notice.

"So, you never told me your name, what should I call you?" I lift a brow, glancing over at him and pushing his mug back over beside his plate.

"Handsome? Mysterious? Dashing? All three? I'll let you decide." He replied unflinchingly and it takes everything in my power not to scoff.

"I think I'll stick with 'stranger' for now," I give him a pointed look but he only replies with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Your loss."

———

The Stranger came back the next day, and the next, and the next. I always set a slice of pie aside for him. He usually came in at the end of the night, when the crowds dwindled and the barstools were put up, and once he was done with his food he helped me with the dishes, and I tried not to acknowledge the way my heart skipped a beat when our hands would brush beneath the warm soapy water. He'd always walk me home afterward and bid me farewell at the door, and only once he was gone would I realize that I never got his name. And if I did remember he'd change the subject or call himself handsome again.

I didn't get too hung up on it, I was far too distracted by his casual grace and clever remarks.

At some point we had shifted into him walking me from the school house to the bar, then meeting with me again to walk me home, I don't even know how it happened, how he had interwoven himself so much into my life. Not a stranger, a friend, whom I still did not know the name of.

I hadn't been expecting to see the stranger today. I wasn't working at the bar tonight, I told him that, yet here he was at the school house grouped with all the parents there to pick up their kids. They stared sometimes, at me and him. It was unabashed and more of a gawking look than a stare but if the love life of their children's school teacher is the only drama they have in their lives then so be it. I let them stare as the Stranger slung an arm around me and guided me along.

"I thought I told you yesterday I'm not working tonight?" I say, propping my hands on my hips as I stare at him with a pointed stare. "Which means no daily pie?" I say because that's what this was, right? He'd walk me to and from the tavern for some free food then be on his way. That was all.

He shrugs, his hands in his jacket pockets casually as he utters, "I still wanted to see you, slice or no."

"Shouldn't you be busy with more important things?" I ask, taking a few steps closer as a gaggle of young kids rush past me with their bags halfway on their shoulders, running to their parents.

"Who says this isn't the most important?" He suggests and a pink hue graces my cheeks. I look down at one of my students struggling with his bag.

"Well, you're always welcome," I say while leaning down and adjusting the boy's straps onto his back. The kid thanked me then rushed off, staring slightly at the Stranger in wonder. "Though the kids might ask you to read a story if they see you hanging around too much." I smile teasingly while brushing the front of my clothes off.

"I think I can manage that." He hummed, staring at me like I hung every star in the night sky that this court worshipped.

"I hope you know I'll be holding you to that," I say with a small smile, grabbing my own bag from its cubby and slinging it over my shoulders.

"Can you hold me to walking you home as well, or should I take my leave?" He asks, leaning against the doorway of my classroom.

I scoff a laugh, shaking my head amusedly. "I suppose some company would be nice." I drone dramatically and he returns my chuckle with his own rich, deep laugh.

The crunch of shoes on gravel sounded as the Stranger walked beside me, his black suede shoes so contrasting to my colorful kitten heels that the younger girls in my class adored so much. "So what does a school teacher do on her night off?" He asks after a pause of comfortable silence. Our hands brush as we walk, so I shove my hands into my pockets and shrug.

"Oh you know, wild stuff, baking pies, reorganizing the pantry, going to bed after dinner, truly living on the edge," I remarked, tossing him an incredulous glance.

"Dangerous, I might have to stick around just to make sure you survive." He intones and a soft giggle leaves my lips as I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

I could feel his stare linger on me at that moment, and perhaps it was the sun setting behind me, or the echo of my laugh, but I could’ve sworn he whispered, “Beautiful.” I glanced at him curiously but he looked away.

"You know, I've been thinking—" He started and cut him off.

"Treacherous words." I purr, earning myself a sidelong glare.

"Rude, as I was saying, I've been thinking that you might be one of the most interesting people I've ever met." He confesses and I snort, looking at him like he’s gone mad.

"What's funny about that?" He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest— and I most definitely did not miss the way his muscular arms strained against the fabric of his jacket.

"I work two jobs and live with my sick mother, there's not much interesting there," I utter, looking at the familiar slightly run-down town townhouse in front of me.

He shrugs. “I stand by what I said,” He hums, continuing to stay beside me all the way up to the front door.

My hand rested on the doorknob but I didn’t make the move to go inside, instead, I turned to him— my breath hitching at our proximity. I hadn’t realized how close he was, but now I could feel the warmth radiating off of him, his smell of sea salt and citrus invading my senses. I swallowed thickly as his eyes glanced down to my lips, then quickly back to my eyes.

"You've got flour on your cheek," He murmured and I flushed beet red in embarrassment.

"Still? Oh gods, I was prepping some dough for the tavern this morning," I replied, rubbing at my cheek with panicked movements and he chuckled, moving forward and reaching towards my face, then hesitating before touching me.

"Here, can I?" He arches a dark brow and I blink up at him but nod.

He cups my jaw, his thumb swiping over my cheek in a lover's caress. His touch was so intimate, and his calloused hands only brought warmth.

“There,” Again, his gaze went down to my lips, but before he could lean in I turned towards the door, fumbling with my bag for my keys while clearing my throat.

His touch didn’t linger as he retracted his hand and then took a few steps back. “So do I get an invite inside or am I subject to wandering the streets looking lost until I find my way home?" He suggests, simply filling the silence as I scrounge for my keys.

"Something tells me you're often lost," I say slightly shakily, finally finding my keys and unlocking my door.

"Not with you." He says casually and heat rises to my cheeks. I swing the door open, scanning the room for my mother then figuring she must be in bed. “You can come in, for a few minutes,” I say, entering the house and sliding off my shoes.

He follows my actions and closes the door behind me, taking in the warmly lit cabin, the fireplace crackling in front of the sofa, the curtains spread and welcoming in the last of the sun's rays.

I silently shuffled into the kitchen, and the stranger followed on my heels.

“So this is where the magic gets made, hm?” He said, eyeing a pie half dug into on the counter.

I frown at the sight of it and his brows furrow. “What is it?” He asks as I scan the room.

“I made that pie for you,” I say softly. “Hold on, just a moment,” I say and stalk towards the dining room separated by a partition wall. I peek my head through the open archway, finding my mother at the end of the table with incriminating crumbs and jam on her plate— and the corners of her mouth.

"Mom, what are you doing out of bed?" I sigh, more worried about her health than her stealing a slice from a container that I specifically told her this morning not to eat, granted she was half asleep and any food she could get down was as valuable as gold to me nowadays.

"I need a few moments of feeling young, and this pie will get anyone out of bed." She waves her hand at me dismissively, making a sour face as I attempt to look disappointed.

"Who's your friend?" She jerked her chin in the direction behind me, but she didn’t even glance at him. I turn to see the stranger now leaning against the open doorway, taking up the whole space with his height.

"Uh, he's—” I begin to say, only to realize I could not answer, for I still did not know his name. Yet here I was, inviting him into my home.

"By the cauldron— the High Lord." My mother gasps, standing up, her chair scraping against the tiled floors.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, gods, you'll have to excuse her, she's a little out of sorts—" I wave her off but the Stranger simply smiles and bows formally to my mother.

"At your service, my Lady."

My mouth goes dry. "You... you're the High Lord?"

The stranger— no, High Lord Rhysand, smirked. It dawned upon me that I never learned his name because he made sure of it, he only visited me during opening and closing hours, and that first night, the night of the High Lords ball, he said he hadn’t found what he was looking for, a potential wife. He had been looking for a High Lady that night.

Yet here he stood in my dining room like he’s always belonged here, his dark hair, his violet eyes, and his tanned skin all slotting into place in my memory of what I’ve learned of my courts High Lord. I swallowed thickly, glancing between him and my mother, then back at him.

“Can we speak, in private?” I say with a polite smile.

He pushes off the doorframe and moves for me to pass through. “Lead the way.” He gestures for me to pass with his hand in a dramatic manner. “It was nice meeting you, Miss,” The High Lord smiles charmingly at my mother and I grab his arm, dragging him down the hall towards my bedroom.

“You too, dearie!” My mother calls in a slightly frail voice.

I ignore him and pull the male into my room, closing the door behind him and then staring at him like he’s turned my world upside down.

I didn’t know how to react or what to say. I wanted to be furious at him, wanted to scream and yell and throw something at him to express the suffocating emotions clawing up my throat, but for some reason, I couldn’t.

Because beneath the betrayal, the anger, and the shock, lay something I thought I’d never experience. That flutter of something warm I felt when he smiled at me, or when our hands brushed, made me feel safe in ways I thought I never could before.

“Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?” I whisper, quiet but not weak. My words were barely audible but he heard me, he always did.

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you, I just, I got lost in the feeling of you seeing me, for me.” He expressed but my glare did not waver.

“But you still have duties, you have a title— you have a gods damned court, you can’t just use me to play pretend,” I argue.

His eyes soften at my words and he takes a dangerous step forward. “I’m not using you, and I’m not playing pretend— in fact, it’s quite the opposite. With you Darling, I feel more like myself than I have in centuries.” He admits and I swallow, wringing my hands anxiously. “I wanted to tell you,” He adds.

“You should have,” I stress with narrowed brows, a furious expression that didn’t quite meet my eyes.

“But would you have treated me differently if you had known from the start?” He suggests and I clamp my mouth shut.

He was right, I doubt I’d be as unguarded with him if I knew of his title, and I certainly wouldn’t allow him to walk me home every night, and gods— oh gods, I flirted with him. The High Lord.

“I don’t know,” I sigh, rubbing at my face, unsure how to navigate any of this.

“I’m still me, nothing has to change.” He takes another step, less than an arm's distance away now. Too close, or too far. I didn’t know.

“But they do, you’re a High Lord and I’m just—”

“Don’t. Don’t finish that sentence, you are far more than ‘just’ anything.” He cuts me off and I release a low, well-earned sigh.

“High Lord,” I muttered under my breath, the weight of the title seeming to make my room close in around us.

“Rhys, please, call me Rhys.” He grabbed my still fidgeting hands, his familiar callouses still the same, the warmth still the same.

“I could never fit in your world,” I express.

“You already do, in ways I thought never imaginable.” He expressed, his thumb caressing over the fluttering pulse in my wrist.

“I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I want you in it— beside me, I mean.” He confessed and I swore my breathing stopped and the words were stolen from my mouth.

“You, you can’t be serious,” I shake my head, disbelief encasing me.

“I told you I didn’t find what I was looking for the night of the ball, but I did— an equal, a High Lady.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Everything was a phantom wind, except those violet eyes that I feel like I’ve known my entire life. Those remained steady, constant. “Rhys,” I whisper and the tension in his shoulders dissipates, as if hearing his name on my lips had lifted a weight atop them.

“I don’t know the first thing about, any of that,” I admit and a soft smile tugs at his lips.

“That’s okay, we can figure it out, together.” He promised. “You don’t have to decide right now, you don’t have to decide for another century if that’s what you prefer— just think about it, because I truly believe no one else could fill that role, not the way you can.”

I nodded slowly, still processing everything, and leaning into his touch, his hand slipping into mine while his other came to cup my cheek.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I nod. Because I had to weigh my job at the schoolhouse, and my situation with my mother— I couldn’t just uproot my life and move into a palace.

“Will you also think about finally letting me kiss you?” He mutters, our noses nearly brushing.

I crack a sly smile. “I’ve done enough thinking about that, come here Stranger,” I grab him by his collar and he grins wildly the moment our lips connect.

His hand on my jaw slides to the nape of my neck while his other moves to my hip, pulling me impossibly closer.

My arms sling over his shoulders, my chest pressed to his, slotting together like the final piece to a puzzle I’ve been trying to finish for years.

Everything else faded away as my back made contact with the cold wood of my door and his wicked tongue slid over my bottom lip. I gasped softly and he took advantage of the moment to invade my mouth. He explored and tasted and savored every inch he could find, memorizing the feel of me against him, my taste, my rapid heartbeat, my muffled noises.

I didn’t know I was suffering from lack of oxygen until he pulled away and I had to take a deep, recovering inhale.

I blinked a few times, the kiss tilting my world on its axis.

He chuckled, the sound like velvet against my bare skin. “That really did a number on you, huh?” He taunted and I glared up at him, wrapping my arms a little tighter around the back of his neck.

“Don’t get cocky, I’m still mad at you,” I grumble but his smile didn’t falter.

“In my defense, you never asked if I was the High Lord,” He said matter of factly and I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, right because that’s a normal question to ask people I meet on the street.” I scoff and he nods, staring down at me with a love-drunken smile.

“I might take you up on that High Lady offer sooner than expected if kissing is a part of my job description,” I murmur, ghosting my lips over his.

He gifts me a wolfish grin in reply. “Much more than kissing is on that description,” He purrs, matching my tone.

“Tempting.” I rise onto my toes and connect our lips once again, and again, and again. Prepared to do so until I was sure I was sick of the taste of him.

I knew it was reckless to make such life-changing decisions so suddenly, but internally it was clear what my answer would be to his offer.

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[shelbgrey]

Doing Something unholy (Benedict Bridgerton)

Paring: Benedict Bridgerton x Wife!Reader

Summary: Benedict wants help with one of his "art projects"

Warrings: SMUT! Riding, getting dirty with paint both metaphorically and literally, unprotected sex, painting body parts, praise kink, dirty talk, married couple.

MasterList ML2

Benedict had been locked in his room for hours, I was missing my husband and getting bored of hearing yet another story about Colin's travels. As much as I loved him, I couldn't take much more. I excused myself from the conversation with my brother-in-laws and walked down the hallway where I knew Benedict would be doing his painting.

I opened the door quietly. I smiled when I peaked around the corner, even in his most comfortable state he was the most handsome I've ever seen. He was wearing nothing but his ruffled white shirt, the collar open wide to reveal most of his chest and his suspenders were sitting somewhat loose on his shoulders. His gray eyes staring intently on his canvas as his hand moved the brush with expertise.

I came up behind the stool he was sitting on and my lips found his cheek. He turned his head slightly, catching my lips before they could make contact with his skin then returned to his work.

“don't let me distract you, My Love” I whispered as my hands found the opening of the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel his warm skin against mine even if it was just the palm of my hand.

“You always know how to distract me, Mrs. Bridgerton” he says softly as the brush continues to move gracefully across the canvas.

“Me?” I kissed his jaw as my palms moved down his bare chest. “never”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. His eyes never leave the canvas as he continues to paint, but his body leaned into my touch. “Mmm... I beg to differ, darling”

“Mhm” my fingers hooked on to the suspenders on his shoulder and pulled them down so they hung from his pants. “Just keep painting... I won't distract you” I said softly against his neck. I kissed the skin where his jaw and neck met as I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, my hands still brushing up and down his chest as I stood behind him.

His breath hitches as my lips meet his skin, fingers tightening on the brush for a moment. He releases a slow breath, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Darling…” His voice is husky, just a little rough, like his warning me even though he knows it'll be ignored.

“Yes, my love?” I asked innocently.

He turns his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “You may think you're not being a distraction, but you got that look on your face… that naughty one, my dear”

“I don't know what you're talking about” I smiled. I placed my hand on his jaw, turning his face towards me. The paintbrush falls to the floor with a clink as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling into his lap I set sideways on just one of his knees as his other hand reaches up to cup my cheek, staining my skin with the leftover paint on his fingers. “Oh, I think you do”

Our noses brush against each other as he cupped my cheek. I shivered when I felt the cool liquid of the paint touch my cheek. He smirks, his thumb brushing gently against the smear of paint. “It seems like I've left a little something on you”

I shook my head playfully, knowing the dirty thoughts that were probably circling his mind after that little inuwindo. I reached for the paint that was on the table next to us and dipped my finger tips into the liquid. I gave him a playfully smile as I smeared some paint on his bare chest to get him back for the mess he made on my cheek.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. his eyes watched me intently as the paint marks appeared on his chest. His free hand reached up and grabbed mine, making a paint blotch on his skin as he pressed our hands to his chest. A small smile playing on his lips. “You're a messy one, aren't you?”

“When it comes to you” I said softly, cupping his jaw and kissing him softly as more paint got stained his jaw.

The softness of the moment only broke when he pulled back, his breath slightly ragged as he looked at the smeared paint on my cheek and neck. “you want to try something... New?” He murmurs, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

I nodded softly, pressing my forehead against his. “Like what, My love?” I asked, slipping my hand under the unbuttoned white shirt that he was still wearing, showing the rest of his torso.

His breath hitches, he leans in and whispers against my lips. “I want to paint with you, use our bodies to do it”

I couldn't miss the sexual undertone and the sparkle in his eyes. The idea of our nude bodies in paint and rolling around, making an abstract design did something to me in a way I couldn't explain. We weren't strangers to trying new things in our sex life. I pressed my lips to his and nodded. In the corner of my eye I could see a huge piece of paper lying on the floor of his studio.

He presses a quick passionate kiss to my lips then pulls away with intensity. “Take your clothes off” He commands softly, the thought of getting covered in paint together turning him on.

I get up from his lap and pull my dress down, letting it pool to the floor. His eyes roam over my corset-clad body with nothing but intensity and admiration. He stands up and begins to remove his shirt. In a rushed pace, revealing his toned chest and arms.

His gray eyes stared at me with hunger as I quickly untied the corset and threw it to an unknown place in the room, leaving me completely bare to him. His breath hitches, taking in the sight of my nude form. He blindly picks up a large paintbrush, his eyes never leaving mine. “Lie down on the canvas, face up” instructs, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes, sir” I said softly, I placed a kiss on his lips before walking over the large piece of paper on the ground and layed down on it like I was told.

Benedict's breath catching at the sight of my bare body against the canvas. He reaches for a container of paint and dips the brush in, approaching the canvas. “You're so beautiful, so perfect”

I spread my legs slightly and let my arms lay above my head, watching him kneel between my legs with lust in my eyes. my eyes fluttered closed, moaning at the feeling of the cold liquid hitting my burning skin. He paints swirls and thick layers around my breasts, belly, and thighs. As he paints, he occasionally dips his fingers in paint and runs it over my skin. My eyes fluttered closed and my brain short circuited at feeling the cool liquid against my flesh, all I could focus on was him.

The brush glided over my nipples and down my stomach. He reaches for another container of paint, a deeper shade of purple. “Open your legs wider” He instructs softly.

He paints a large, thick swirling against my inner thighs, the purple paint standing out against our pale skin. He then sets the brush down and runs his finger tips over my skin. “So beautiful” He murmurs, our eyes locked as his hands travel up the inside of my thigh.

“Ben…” I moaned softly, feeling my stomach tighten from the pleasure. I wanted to squeeze my thighs together for some sorta friction, feeling myself getting wetter for him. My hips arched and a sinful noise was forced from my lips as his fingers brushed through my folds, gathering the juices before teasing my clit with a thin, delicate touch. “So wet for me already”

I moaned softly, arching my hips up instinctively as His hands ran over my burning cheek. He smirked, watching me squirm on the canvas. “You're so beautiful... I'm going to give you a final touch here”

“Benedict” moaned softly.

“Yes, my love? Shall we continue?” He asks, his voice soothing yet dominating and teasing.

“Y-yes” I tested his patience by quickly flipping us on the canvas. I pushed him gently to his back and I straddled his hips.

Benedict's eyes widened in surprise as he registered he was on the canvas now, flat on his back. He looks around at the canvas, smirking as he layed in the center. “What are you doing, love?” He asks, his voice slightly breathless.

He watched intently as I dipped my fingers in the paint and slowly made a stroke of red from his collarbone and down his chest. I could feel his heart racing with anticipation under the tips of my fingers as the red paint trails down his chest, he can't help but let out a soft gasp. “Fuck,” He breathes, his hands squeezing my paint stained hips. “Keep going”

He lets out a sharp intake of breath as my fingers slowly brushed from his neck and down to one of his nipples. Benedict's back arched off the canvas as his gray eyes stared into mine. He huffs and before I knew it he was setting up and I remained in his lap. I moaned against his lips, kissing him roughly as I blindly took a glob of paint and ran both of my hands down his back, gripping his shoulders. My nails dug into the back of his shoulders when I felt his erection poking against my aching core, I instinctively rock my hips.

He breaks the kiss, his chest heaving, his eyes holding a feral gaze. “Enough games” He growls, the grip on my hips tighten as pressed his erection against my slick folds. “bloody hell”

I threw my head back in pleasure as he suddenly buried himself inside me. I let out a moan, arching my hips as the paint on our skin mixed, creating a messy, beautiful scene.

“Benedict!” I moaned. He thrusts roughly, his need and desire filling every movement. The paint on our bodies mixes and smears on the canvas beneath us, creating a masterpiece worthy of the love between the artist and his muse. “Fuck, you're so tight, love”

I moaned at the fast pace he set, I placed my hands on his chest, leaving handprints all over his skin as I tried to keep balance. I rocked my hips at a rough, rushed pace. I moaned his name like a prayer.

“I can't get enough of you, Darling” Benedict groans possessively. I moaned and cried his name as he continued to thrust and rock our bodies together like a mad man. His pace unrelenting as he claimed my body without missing a movement. Paint mixed with our sweat, leaving trails of color on our skin and the canvas beneath. “Stay with me, y/n... Fuck me back”

“Benedict” I moaned desperately, rolling my hips, riding him at a fast pace. “oh, God” I moaned out, lifting my hips up so only his tip remained then swiftly setting myself back down, so I felt every inch of him.

He growls, he blindly dips his hand in paint then grip on your hips, making the cold liquid smear over my hips and back as his hips moved with mine, driving himself deeper, hitting every spot that had me seeing stars. The scene before us became an abstract explosion of passion, paint and sweat.

“God, Benny!” I moaned, rocking my hips and trying to keep up with his thrusts. My head falls back in pleasure as every inch of him stretches me out and his tip repeatedly hits my g-spot.

“You feel so good, Darling, so perfect” Benedict's voice was thick, husky against my neck. Every word was filled with his desire and lust. Our hands never stop roaming over each other, leaving trails of color and feeling wherever he could touch. My cry of pleasure encouraged his movements to become more urgent.

Feeling of our hot bodies and the cold paint that covered us consumed me with pleasure. It was something that felt so good but scandalous even for a married couple. I didn't care, it felt too good to stop now. The sinful activities was for our eyes only and all that mattered was the two of us. I moaned and cried out his name like it was the only thing in knew. I arched my hips as the knot in my stomach got dangerously tight with pleasure.

There's something wildly intoxicating about the act. Benedict's hand wrapped around the back of my neck with his painted covered hand and pressed our lips together and swiftly flipped our bodies, pressing my paint covered back to the abstracted canvas.

I moaned, tugging at his hair as I sunk underneath his body. I arched my hips off the canvas, the mixture of paint and our releases making the paper stick to our skin. I let out a high pitched moan, my head falling back in pleasure against the canvas

“Benedict... B-ben I'm close” I moaned desperately.

His hips bucked, the pace became faster and more urgent. He nipped at my ear lobe, whispering. “Come for me Darling” his voice was like a siren call, pulling me into the depth of pleasure that was him.

I dug my nails into his back as my walls clenched around him. I wrap my legs around his waist, pushing him deeper Inside me. My body arches, our body pressed firmly together, leaving no space between us and allowing the paint on our skin to become one.

shivers went down my spine. He thrust harder and deeper, his eyes locked with mine as pushes me over the edge. “I want to see you fall apart for me” He said, his voice strained and desire glowing in his eyes.

I let out a sinful moan, digging my nails into his shoulders as our eyes locked. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make the knot in my stomach snap. I held on to him tightly like he was the only thing keeping from slipping away. I arched my hips as I came, my orgasm drowning me in pleasure “Benedict!”

He growled low, as I convulsed around him triggering his release. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, kissing and biting at my skin as he rode his orgasm out. His hips kept bucking until we were both spent. “Christ you're beautiful”

I moaned softly, feeling the mixture of our releases pool in between my thighs and onto the canvas. He carefully pulled, leaving me moaning at the emptiness I felt. A satisfying smile spread across his face as his softening member left my warmth. He looked down at the canvas and saw the mess we made, the paint and our releases creating an abstract art piece.

“I'm going to clean you up, Darling,” Benedict said softly and carried me to the bathroom. He filled up the tub with hot water. Then sat down gently into the water, I sighed constantly as the warm water kissed my skin. Benedict slowly sat himself behind me in the water and began to wash the paint and our releases off my skin gently. “We make quite the mess, don't we?” He said, smiling against my shoulder as he kissed it lovingly.

“we always do one way or another” It was always something with us, we still haven't told violet about the couch we broke. Luckily Anthony was able to find an identical one to replace it before their mother found out.

He chuckled as he continued to run the washcloth over my skin. His fingers gently massaging my spent muscles as he cleaned the remaining paint off. “And I wouldn't change it for the world”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“when did you do that?” Anthony asked, looking at the large abstract canvas that was now hanging in Benedict's room.

“the other day” Benedict said as anthony got closer to the piece of art. His eyes squinted and he tilted his head, studding the odd canvas.

Colin added “since when do you do abstract art? It's quite large too”

“trying something new” Benedict said, glancing up at his two brothers for a moment. He tried to hide his smirk at the thought of the process it took to make the piece.

“is that a hand print?” colin asked, he got closer and stared at all the random blotches and strokes. “it's too small to be yours-oh...” he stepped back and Anthony turned his head to benedict, smirking. “oh you didn't, brother you sly-”

“a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell” Benedict said, cutting off Anthony's teasing. “oh, but brothers don't keep secrets” Colin added, raising an eyebrow.

“carriages, canvases... Can nothing stay innocent in this family?” Anthony asked, shaking his head at his little brothers.

[no1deepspacehater]

Private Collection - Rafayel x Reader

Tags: Just a littleee NSFW (so no minors), a naked body is involved, reader has breasts, unresolved tension, sexual tension.

AN: Cross posted on my AO3

 You breathed a silent, agitated huff out as you stared at yourself in the mirror. When you made a deal with him to be his ‘bodyguard’, you never expected to be roped into an activity like this.

 A knock on the bathroom door brought you out of your thoughts. You tied the slings of the robe tight around you, though it was a pointless act since the apparel would be coming off soon enough. 

 “Would you hurry up in there? God, you’re as slow as a sea slug.” Rafayel’s disgruntled voice muffled behind the door. 

 “I’m coming!” Annoyed, you opened the door to meet Rafayel right behind it. His arms were crossed, and he had an ever-present look of snob on his face that you can only get from someone with high celebrity status like him. 

 He immediately turned around, going to one of the two chairs in the middle of his studio. “Finally, let’s get started.” 

 You tried to make a normal stride to the chair across from him, but it came out more like a nervous shuffle. You stopped in front of him, a second of hesitation.

 Rafayel looked up from mixing his paints, catching your eye. “C’mon, don’t get cold feet now. If you’re worried about me, I had to study tons of nude references, now hurry up.” 

 Yeah, but being naked and put on display was foreign to you, and being naked in front of him is what was putting you on edge. You grumbled a lame comeback, whispered it basically, and untied your robe. 

 Like ripping off a band-aid, you threw the cloth over your shoulder and let it drop to the floor. Goosebumps immediately formed on your skin from the cold air, and part embarrassment. You sat on the stool softly, brows furrowed as you focused on him mixing paint instead of your face. He was mixing a dark hue of his favourite blue. 

 Rafayel finally raised his head to you, and for a quick moment, you locked eyes with him, catching the bright red blush that roared across his face. 

 He cleared his throat momentarily, looking back to his paint to coat his brush with paint. When he looked at you again, the blush was already starting to fade, and you had already averted your gaze, your own face heating up, too. 

 What happened to him being used to this!? What was that? He’s such a liar. 

 “It’s cold, don’t move.” Was his only warning as he started to paint around the base of your neck. It was cold, but you did your best not to squirm as he spread the paint downwards. Your body quickly adapted to the chilled stripe of paint until he dipped his brush again and applied it to the other side of your neck, sending another cold jolt. 

 “This paint is skin safe, right?” You spoke a sudden thought, attempting to make the whole situation a bit less awkward. 

 Rafayel hummed “Maybe, I did mix a few special ingredients in there to get the hues just right.”

 Your head jerked towards him, “What?!”. Rafayel tsked at the sudden movement. 

 “Don’t move so suddenly! It’ll mess up the stroke.” 

 You grumbled again and hoped you wouldn’t break into hives after this. 

 Rafayel continued to apply around your neck, standing up and working around your body. He took a moment to coat your whole back in an array of colours you couldn’t see. For a moment he stood back, brush to the side as he put a hand on his mouth in thought. 

 “Angle yourself a little bit forward.” He instructed. 

 You slipped a little bit off of the stool, hands to your side gripping the stool. “Like this?” You asked. 

 Rafayel hummed, examining you hard. You could tell his gaze was one of artistic scrutiny, looking for the best angle of his subject, the right ‘composition’ as he liked to say.

 He moved in front of you, grabbing your forearms, shoulders, and back and adjusting them to his liking. His next aim was your hips, pulling them forward just a bit. The action set you back to a flustered mess all over again, and if it bothered Rafayel, he didn’t show it one bit. 

 Sitting back down, he continued his work on the front of your body. As his stroke neared the curve of your breast and over your unfortunately hard nipples, you held back a shudder. 

 “Will you relax…” Rafayel breathed out a laugh. The redness on his own face was starting to come back, unbeknownst to him. 

 “It’s… cold!” You mumbled out. A solid excuse. 

 As he moved towards the other breast, you swore he was doing it on purpose. Purposely applying new, cold, paint and dragging the paintbrush ever so slowly over the nipple. 

 You couldn’t fight back the shudder, and Rafayel pulled the paintbrush back fast enough as you arched up suddenly. 

 His hands immediately moved to your hips again to put you back in spot; his sly smirk was not missed as you nervously looked down at him with a scowl. “D-did you do that on purpose?” 

 “Do what on purpose?” He dismissed you just as quick, moving to apply the finishing stroke to your chest area and moving down. “I’m simply painting, now would you seriously stop moving, before I have to start all over again.” 

 Knowing not to take Rafayel up on his warning because you know he would seriously make you wash everything off and start over, you gritted your teeth and stayed still. You’ll get him back, somehow, and decided to force your other racing thoughts on some type of revenge. 

 Rafayel made quick work of your midsection, and surprisingly, with no teasing, finished painting your more lower region as well. His pace slowed at your thighs, painting them with intricate details you couldn’t see the lower he went, since he’d instructed you to keep your head up to not disturb the paint on your neck. 

 Then it was your calves, at which you complained to hurry up since your muscles hurt from not moving for so long. He told you to shut up and let him paint. You’re feet finally, which, of course, tickled, and Rafayel threatened to turn you into fish balls if you dared squirm again. 

 Finally, after what seemed like hours, Rafayel stood up and put up his paintbrush. He stalked around you, eyeing every angle to make sure it was to his liking. 

 “There, another masterpiece. Stay right, and I mean exactly, there.” He commanded as he went to the corner of the room. You didn’t dare turn your head to look where he went, but you could hear him digging through one of his drawers. 

 He came back into your view with a professional camera. 

 “I didn’t know you were also into photography.” You commented in between flashes.

 Rafayel walked closer, ghosting two fingers under your chin, lifting your head up. You both locked eyes again, his face unusually close, before he backed away to take another pick. He was making sure your face wasn’t in any of the pictures, a promise he made when you agreed to be a part of his ‘artwork’.

 “It’s not my chosen medium.” He murmured, focusing on the angle of the camera. “But it proves useful for pieces like this.” 

 You had another thought. “Do your photographs sell as much as your paintings?” You knew what you were getting into, but the idea of some creepy rich guy hanging a large photograph of your body in his bedroom made you feel a little icky. Oh well, it’s too late now. 

 “Depends on what I take a picture of. Though my imagination is priceless when I paint, a picture is worth a thousand words.” He took his last picture before straightening up. His smile was one of satisfaction. “Or I might use these pictures of a reference for my next painting.” He put his hands on his chin in thought. 

 “I hope whoever buys it is very happy with their purchase… well maybe not too happy…” You laughed a bit at your joke, but Rafayel suddenly got serious. 

 His eyes sized you up from up and down, and then when he realized you were looking at him, perplexed. He walked close to you, motioning for you to stand up. He picked up the robe from the ground and gently began helping you put it back on. Locking eyes for the third time, there was a gaze in his eyes you couldn’t quite decipher. He held eye contact as he tied the robe tightly back around you. 

 “You can go wash off now.” Is all he said as he backed away, going back to his camera. “Do call if you need help~” His tone went back to teasing, and you snapped out of your daze and rolled your eyes. 

 “Yeah right, maybe in your next ‘artwork’.” You snarked as you walked back to the bathroom, in need of a really hot and long shower after whatever that was just now. 

 It turns out Rafayel suddenly changed the theme of his next art gallery, to the dismay of his poor assistant, with little to no explanation. He’d decided to keep the pieces he had planned to display to himself for his own private collection.

[aether-starlight]

Those Eyes - Rafayel

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: Rafayel takes up on your offer to hang out and something of his catches your eye.

Word Count: 1k

For all Rafayel complained about hunter’s lack of refinement, you were quite an avid reader. He watched you get through half of your book in one afternoon, brows creased in concentration.

It was something fantastical, a journey amongst strangers with a common goal who would later become friends.

He supposed that if the core of you could be described by a book, it would be something like that.

Meanwhile, he had been painting —not studying you and following your mannerisms like a total weirdo, not at all. 

Since that time you had realized your face was on his canvas —he underestimated your artistic eye— he had settled for details. Pieces of you he could keep only for himself.

His current work had the expressiveness of your eyes, it swirled in the color of your irises and dipped into your pupils. 

To most, it probably appeared abstract, perhaps sand slipping down or crashing waves, the bark of a tree, a midnight sky.

To him, it was another attempt at unraveling you. He wanted to find the soft center of who you were, brush against your sharp side. 

There was a secret at the edge of your lips and he wanted to hear all about it. 

He imagined that kissing you would feel like drifting at sea, fresh water easing the blazing sun as all earthly burdens dissolved into salt water.

And yet, here he was, sitting across from you, making a total fool of himself. 

“You know, I met the author,” he feigned nonchalance, gesturing at the book cradled between your hands. “Had a nasty habit of interrupting people.”

“As opposed to talking all the time?” You raised an eyebrow, smirking to yourself. You were way too smug about your own jokes.

“You know, there was a time when you were actually polite to me.”

“It wasn’t you, per se. It was AI you.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” He shrugged.

Your gaze drifted from him to the canvas.

“I like your painting,” you praised, uncharacteristically. “I don’t know why, but it feels like longing.”

Rafayel felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. He coughed.

“You think?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, resting your cheek against your hand, draped over his sofa like a lazy cat. “Are you going to auction it?” 

“No.” His reply was visceral and much too quick, enough for you to perk up, and close the book on your lap.

It was his eternal curse; when he wanted you to pay attention to him, you ignored him. When he wanted you to pay him no mind, you were like a hound dog on his trail.

“Why is that?” You feigned to be casual.

“Artistic reasons you wouldn’t begin to understand,” he primly smiled at you.

“Uh huh.” 

You stood from the sofa, stretching a little before coming to sit by his side on the stool. It was a tight fit.

He liked everything about it.

How cozy you looked, out of your hunter’s uniform, barefoot and dressed comfortably. The way sunlight bathed down your hair like a cascade of gold.

Most of all, he enjoyed the openness in your gaze when it met his.

“What if I want to buy it?” You pouted. “Not even a painting for your bodyguard?”

Rafayel felt himself blushing.

“This?” He scoffed. “You have seen nothing yet, Miss Bodyguard. I’ll make you a painting the size of your bedroom wall.”

“I don’t care about the size.”

His eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Dick.” You slapped his arm.

He laughed.

“You make it too easy. Give me a week and I’ll have something for you,” he offered.

“But I want this painting.”

Rafayel was mystified. 

An idea surged.

He smiled beatifically at you. You narrowed your eyes.

“Alright. I’ll give it to you under one condition.” 

“I’m not posing naked for you.”

“Yeesh, what kind of artists have you met before? It’s nothing like that.” 

He felt just a bit scandalized, and if the idea of you posing for someone else made something ugly sprout at his chest, then it was nobody’s business.

“Then what is it?” You pressed, impatience laced into your voice. 

He leaned closer, until you could discern the light freckles grazing his cheeks.

“Tell me why you want it.”

You blushed furiously, sliding away from him in an instant.

“I told you, didn't I? I like it.” 

Rafayel pressed closer, positively glowing at the opportunity to tease you. 

“Why do you like it then?” 

He smelled like a fresh breeze, and every time he was near, you swore you could hear a distant song over crashing waves.

He was driving you insane.

“Fine.” You shifted closer to him, a silent challenge. 

It might have been your imagination, but his pupils seemed to dilate. “I want it because… I know what it is.”

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, openly curious.

His breath brushed your cheek, a reminder of the strawberries he had been eating absentmindedly while working.

You kept your attention nailed to the swirls of color. They harmonized, brought each other to life in a way that was both fantastical and realistic.

“I can recognize my own eyes, Rafayel.”

This time he was the one to blush furiously, quickly stuttering: “Narcissistic much?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You wish.” 

He choked back another cough. Dressing himself on his flirty bravado.

“And what if it were? Why would you want a painting of your eyes?” 

“I like the way you made them so expressive.” You looked down and mumbled: “How they feel.” 

“About what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, fish boy.”

“Admit it, you’re just obsessed with me.” 

You scoffed.

“I’m not the one crafting paintings of you.”

Rafayel offered you a look filled with promises of trouble. Beneath the sunlight his irises seemed more rouge than mauve, they were like a sunset reflected over sea water.

“But I bet you fantasize about it.” 

“That made no sense.”

“For someone who wants something from me, you’re being incredibly crass,” he complained. “You’re definitely getting nothing.”

-

The next day he gifted you the painting and refused to let you pay for the delivery.

[elizabethsnuts]

Birthday Surprise

Aaron Hotchner x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Emily and JJ help you and Jack put together a surprise birthday for your dad.

———

The kitchen was an absolute mess, with flour all around the counter, frosting sticking to every surface in the form of child handprints, and the very obvious one too many failed cracked eggs that you insisted you needed to crack.

You stood in the kitchen with Jack, JJ and Emily, the four of you very busy making a big birthday surprise for Hotch when he came back from work. You watched as JJ stirred the icing with her spoon, mesmerised as it moved around the bowl and smoothed out.

“I try?” You asked JJ with excitement in your voice, you loved being a big helper in the surprise birthday for your daddy.

JJ nodded and smiled. “Of course you can, honey.” She picked you up, setting you on the stepping stool so you could reach the counter and stir the icing.

Jack was helping Emily with the streamers and balloons, he was having the best time throwing them all everywhere while Emily did the hard work blowing the balloons up.

Emily looked over at Jack and smiled. “Hey, bud, why don’t you go and work on the banner? It needs its finishing touches!”

Jack nodded quickly in agreement. “Yeah! I’ll put more of N/Ns glitter!”

You quickly looked up at JJ when you heard the word glitter. You loved glitter, you had glitter covering you from your recent arts and crafts on the banner. “Glitter?” You asked with a smirky smile.

JJ laughed slightly, taking in the mess of you. The little apron covered in flour, your cute little face with icing smeared on it, and of course the glitter in your hair, your face and your clothes. “I don’t think we need any more glitter, I think we’ve got enough.”

You just sighed and continued stirring the icing. “Glitter.” No one could tell if you liked glitter because it was shiny and pretty or if you just loved making messes, the guess was usually both.

Eventually, the cake was done and Emily and JJ had to keep you away from the kitchen before you could dip your little fingers into it, they knew you wouldn’t be able to resist that urge.

“Cake lonely.” You pointed to the cake sitting in the kitchen, you wanted a way in there.

Emily shook her head and laughed. “The cake is not lonely, it’s got the icing and all the toppings there for friends. Your dad will be home soon and look! We’ve finished everything on time!” Emily smiled and ruffled your now glitter-free hair.

“Y/N you can’t eat the cake until Daddy gets home!” Jack laughed and chucked his stuffed bear at you which earned a laugh from your little mouth.

When Hotch arrived home, he definitely did get surprised. You all popped up in excitement, yelling Happy Birthday, the house littered with streamers and balloons, and a big banner that said ‘Happy Birthday Daddy!’ in big bold letters, hung from the ceiling.

“Happy birthday Daddy!” You squealed loudly and ran over, hugging him tight and showing him a card you’d made just for him. “For you, for you!”

Aaron smiled a little wider at the sight of the surprise. “You guys surprised me so well!” He chuckled and looked at your card. It was covered in paint, pen drawings, random buttons and tape but most of all, glitter. “Wow Y/N this is just an absolutely gorgeous card you’ve made for me.”

You smiled widely and nodded. “Daddy, you like, you like?” You jumped up and down excitedly, you were so excited to give him your card.

“Do I like it? Y/N I love it! I’m going to keep it for forever.” Aaron smiled and hugged you tightly.

By the time the cake rolled around, you were jumping around the place. You needed that cake in your belly right at that moment. You watched your daddy closely as he cut the cake and got the first slice.

You took this as your cue to get some now as Aaron had taken some. You quickly realised you couldn’t have the knife so you resorted to your hands, grabbing a chunk and shoving it in your mouth.

“Good cake!” You cheered and jumped around the house. Aaron knew the sugar rush he’d have to deal with later but he’d just enjoy the moment now.

Aaron hugged both you and Jack close, grateful for his two loving children. With Haley not around anymore, he couldn’t be more appreciative of Emily and JJ who stepped up and made sure that you and Jack could give him the best birthday ever.

[figsnpassionfruits]

Paint Away, My Little Dove

A/N: welcome to my very first imagine. This takes place right away the gang arrives at Horseshoe Overlook. It is somewhat canon but you will figure that out as you read. English is not my first language, so in case there is anything you notice, please message me! I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing this <3 word count: 2k tags: arthur morgan x fem!reader, fluff, age gap dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

Oh yes, the fields of Big Valley. What a sight they were. Each careful brush stroke you were making was an attempt to recreate the unforgettable beauty of the scenery in front of you. The love-songs of the birds around you filled the silence in the air as you dipped your brush into one color, then into another, to create the shade you needed for the details of the Bluebonnets. All day you’ve been sitting on your small wooden stool, your glutes and back slightly sore, but the will to finish this piece before the sun went down was stronger than the pain.  

Your two horses were to your side, roaming around the violet flower field. In order to make them comfortable you had removed them from your wagon and their reigns. Every once in a while, you would hear their hooves stomp on the ground as they were snacking on the fresh grass. Spring was just starting to come in. ‘The grass must be tasting sweet for them’, you thought to yourself.

Most of your days were spent like this. It included finding a pretty spot with different elements of nature, such as mountains, trees, riverbanks and forests. Then you would proceed to paint it on your canvases. Some paintings were small enough to fit into a saddlebag, others big enough to compliment homes. Your wagon was able to stash all your supplies and works. At the end of each day, you would pack up everything, set up a camp, and sleep, excited to see where the next day and trail would bring you to. After the soreness in your wrists starts to settle in, building up too much discomfort to ignore, you would go into the nearby town to sell your art. Earning a living with art is not necessarily easy, but it is most definitely amusing, especially when you encounter folks who do not really know about the value of it. Therefore you knew your target group: People with too much money in their pockets who do not question the overly-expensive prices. Sure, sometimes it would work, other times it would not. But it was enough to get you food to fill your belly and the supplies you needed to get by.

Scrunching your eyebrows, you swat away the bees buzzing near your ear, annoyed at them pulling you out of your focus.

“What’cha painting there?”

“Whatever is in front of me…” You mumbled. You couldn’t help but let out a tiny sigh, followed by small eyeroll, before turning around swiftly, facing the stranger who asked. “Could you please leave?”

“Excuse me?” He chuckled.

Placing your brush on the small wooden plate of the stand in front of you, you rubbed your temple. “I apologize-“ You giggled. “I just get so caught up in my work. Can’t afford no distractions.”

“Aghhh” The stranger groaned, getting down from his horse, “I get it. No apology needed.” He said, putting his hands up in a light-hearted way, as he kept walking towards you. By closing the distance between both of you, you allowed yourself to take a better look at him, analyzing his clothes, trying to understand who or what he was. Maybe a potential customer? What price range could you offer him, which would be enough to profit you, but not too much to the point of scaring him away. Or maybe, he was perhaps just a curious man, intrigued by people. In that case, offering him a price was maybe not a necessary thing to do. Weighing out your options, you decided to be blunt and tell him right away.

“Seventy-five for this one.”

The stranger took a step back, looking back and forth between you and the unfished painting. “Seventy-five?!” He exclaimed. “The yellow in that better be liquid gold.”

A small shrug with a self-satisfied smile is what he got in return.

He was indeed very handsome. Broad shoulder that stretched his shirt, beautiful light eyes that could reflect objects in his vision like a mirror and a mustache slightly longer than his stubble. He seemed like a well-groomed man. Well-groomed usually equivalents to a decent amount of money. Unless he was a con-artist.

“Beautiful horses ya got there” He nodded over to the direction of where your wagon was placed.

Following his point of direction, you turned around. Those horses really were beautiful, such as the bond you had with them. “Thank you.” You replied softly.

A small moment of silence occurred as you both individually took in the scenery and everything nature had to offer for you. It truly was beautiful. The way the snowy mountains up north were looking over the river, which was flowing through the flower field, seemed unreal. The combined sounds of the birds, bears, coyotes, deer and bees further blocked out your other senses. It was peace.

“How come you haven’t painted ‘em?”

“Hm?” You hummed.

A small giggle left his lips as he smiled, his eyes glued to his slightly dirt-covered boots for a split second. “Ya horses. How come you haven’t painted ‘em?” He repeated, kicking a few small stones around.

“Oh- I guess… I just like sticking to landscapes. Haven’t really figured out how to make the animals look good.” You admitted.

He nodded understandingly, his gaze roaming around the fields again. Unexpectedly, he took another step towards you, offering you his wide and strong looking hand. “Arthur Morgan”

You waited for a second yet flashed him a small smile right before you bit your lip. “Y/N L/N” The corners of your lips quirked up as you shook the hand in front of you with your own.

Arthur stepped away, tilting his hat down as a polite gesture. “See ya around, Miss.”

“See you, Mr. Morgan.”

..................................................

Valentine… What a lively little town. It had everything you’d need to make a home. A butcher, a store, livestock, a stable and even a saloon. Yet, this was not something you could think about. Having no one to lean on to was not the most uncomplicated thing in the world. But it does allow you to harden your shell and intuitively create different paths of survival. Travelling around was yours.

You had set up a small stand near the theatre, your paintings displayed for every passing person to see. Your horses were in the stable, getting treatments you could never afford for yourself. After all, they were the ones doing all the pulling and walking. If anyone deserves a day off like that, it was them. Strangers would pass by, some only glancing at your creations, others stopping for a few only to admire them. And then they were people who bought. The local folks here had already gotten used to you. This was a great spot to sell, especially during the tourist seasons. The hotel was never empty during this time of the year. The fancy and rich from up north loved the sun. So, to take advantage of those, you would come here twice a year. Anytime they would show up, you were here as well. Waiting for potential customers could get a tad bit boring but sitting on a nice cushion helped.

You were picking out the dirt from under your nails when precipitously the Sheriffs frame came into your sight.

“Miss L/N! How are you this fine afternoon?” He cheered as he walked past.

“Thank you, Sheriff, I am fine.” You smiled back at him, finally leaving your nails alone. Your eyes followed his strut, trying to block out your envy. He was a man after all. Being a woman in these times was not easy. A home was something you could only dream of if you belonged to a man, whether that is being a daughter or a wife. Legally owning property? That was not anything that women should even be thinking of.

The sound of wooden wheels rolling and cheery singing of female voices made you glance towards the direction it came from. It was a wagon, its back filled with women, each more gorgeous than the other, while the front had two men seated on it. Once the movement and tunes came to a halt, everyone on it got off, splitting ways on where to go. Yet one of the men came right towards you.

“Miss L/N.” Arthur greeted, trailing to you and your tiny gallery.

Attempting to block out the sun with your hand, you smiled up at him from your cushion. “Hello, Mr. Morgan. Changed your mind on the seventy-five dollars?”

“God, no.” He snickered, bending down to take a better look at one of the smaller paintings. The lake portrayed in it seemed familiar to him. ‘Of course’ Arthur thought. ‘How could I forget this place.’. It was the small cabin at O’Creagh’s Run, which belonged to the veteran he occasionally hunted with.

“You seem to like that one, though.” You pointed out.

“Ya didn’t say this was seventy-five. Scared me off with the one from Big Valley.”

‘Yeah, maybe that was a bit too much.’ You pondered as you clicked your tongue. Before allowing silence to settle in, you asked him what he was doing here.

“Could ask you the same thing.” He said amused.

Even though you only had two conversations with this man, it was fun. The back-and-forth banter was not something everyone could keep up with you, let alone a man who would not get offended by a sassy woman.

“I get by here usually twice a year. The tourists love the landscapes. Makes their homes look nice. You should try.” You suggested.

Arthur let out a small chuckle, this time thoroughly taking his time looking through your art. His gaze was fixated on the smaller canvases. One of those could fit nicely into his saddlebag. Not that he had the space for a bigger piece. Roaming his eyes between two, one that looked similar to the Dakota River, the other a smaller version of the floral area around O’Creagh’s Run. The positive association of his friendship with the veteran Hamish made him point at the second one. “I like that one.”

You turned, picking up the named piece. “This one I would give out for fifty, since it is obviously smaller. But for you, since we are now associates,” You giggled “I will hand it out for… thirty-five.”

Even though this offer was better than the other, Arthur could not help but shake his head, a smile not going unnoticed. “Alright, alright.” He pulled out the money from his pocket. “Only because it’s near a friends house.”

You took his money, whispering the numbers while counting. “Hamish?” You asked.

“Yeah.” It sounded more like a question than a statement. “Ya know the old fella?” Arthur questioned, while taking the painting into his hand.

You hummed, putting the money into your small leather purse. “He took me in one night while I was freezing up there. Sometimes a tiny camp is just not enough. Ever since then I see him as my pa. He’s the sweetest.” You explained, keeping eye contact with Arthur. This was the longest you have had continuously looked at him. His good looks you already have noticed the first day you met. But today, it seemed to sink in. The question of what he was- you still could not answer. “I will head back to him soon. Been out here for weeks now. He must be really worried, too.”

‘That makes sense.’ He thought. No wonder he has not seen you with Hamish before.

“Well, thank you for buying something, Mr. Morgan.” You smiled.

“Please, call me Arthur.”

- 🍯

[theworldofotps]

Painting (Drabble)

Pairing: Lord Debling x Reader Word Count: 743 Description: Y/n is struggling with a painting when she recieves some much needed help.

So, I have never written fanfiction for Bridgerton before but after watching the first half of season 3 and meeting Lord Debling I couldn't help myself. I'm also very nervous to post this because it's a bit out of my comfort zone but I hope you enjoy anyway.

Dedicated to: @madhatterbri who encouraged me to write this, helped form the plot and is overall one of the best. I appreciate you so much thank you! (I haven't added my normal tag list since those are usually just for wrestling. If you'd like to be added to a tag list of anything I write besides wrestling let me know!) __________ Y/n let out a soft huff as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, staring at the canvas in front of her. She’d spent the last two hours trying to paint a bird from the book set on a stool in front of her. This was a painting she just didn’t want to mess up on but the more she stared at it the worse it seemed to look.

“Is everything alright m’lady?”

“Yes Ruth, just having a bit of difficulty getting these colors to work and blend the way that I wish them too.”

“Please let me know when you are ready, and I shall draw the bath for you.”

“Thank you, Ruth.”

Watching the maid leave, Y/n turns back towards her painting and examines the book once more. Adjusting the apron she wore over her dress to keep from ruining it, she dipped into her paints again. More time passed and her frustrations only grew as the colors started running and made the bird look like a mess.

Dropping the paintbrush in the pot of water she hung her head in defeat, deciding to just start all over again. Not having heard the door open she nearly jumped, feeling a pair of arms wrapping around her before a chuckle sounded in her ear.

“Sorry to startle you love I thought you heard me enter.”

“That’s alright my lord I just was focusing on something else.”

Alfred glanced around to be sure they were alone before pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

“Tell me what’s the matter.”

“I’m trying to paint this bird and all of my colors keep running I’ve spent hours on it but alas to no avail.”

Remaining silently as his eyes drifted over the canvas in front of them, since they had began courting he was trying to take interest in her hobbies. When he found out she had a love for painting much like his mother, it was one he quickly did his best to learn all he could about it.

“Allow me to offer my assistance to you.”

Grabbing her hand gently together they picked up the brush, the sparks of electricity she felt as they moved together dipping into her paint pallet. She could barely concentrate at the feel of him pressed against her back. When the brush touched the canvas, she let out a soft laugh.

“What is it brining you such joy my dear?”

“Your beard tickles my cheek.”

Y/n spoke softly as his own smile grew to match hers the two talking in soft whispers as he helped her fix the once ruined picture.

“What do you think?”

“It looks so much better thank you for your help now we both must sign it.”

She said pointing to the feather quill and pot of ink sat on the desk a few feet away from them, Alfred reached over grabbing the quill. Signing the name Debling then placing the quill in her hand so she could sign her last name.

Placing it back in the ink pot Y/n slowly turned to face him their eyes meeting hers lighting up as his softened.

“Miss. Y/n  I know this may come forth as a bit forward but may I kiss you?”

He asked a slight nervous quiver to his voice if you listened close enough she remained silently causing him to clear in throat. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured into anything. After a moment her smile grew as she leaned closer to him their lips brushing in the softest touch before a knock on the door sent them apart. Composing themselves she turned to see Ruth entering one more.

“Excuse me miss but your mother is looking for you.”

“Thank you, Ruth please tell her, that I will be right there.”

Ruth nodded, leaving them alone again y/n sighing softly she turned back to Alfred who gently touched her cheek.

“I must be going as it is rather late, I shall call upon you tomorrow afternoon would that be alright?”

“Yes, I would enjoy that very much my lord.”

The pair left the room and y/n saw him to the front entrance, his fingers once more touching her cheek in a bid farewell. Watching him leave she sighed her arms wrapping around herself, the thought of his arms around her caused her face to heat up. Turning, she went off in search of her mother.

[obxthornton]

You Arent Him.

Summary: Logan was dead, he had been for some time now. So who was this man in his suit in need of help?

Warnings: Light plot point spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine (not really), Guns, angst, grief, talks of a miscarriage, and talks of death.

WC:2020

It had been a normal Friday. 

I woke up at 6 am, went into the woods to chop some wood for the stove, and cooked breakfast. My dog, Buck, stood next to me, waiting for his scraps of my breakfast. I ate a few bites before I put the plate on the ground and let him have the rest of the bacon and eggs. At 7:30 I took a shower before clothing my body in some jeans, tank top, and flannel. I made a cup of tea and I sat on the back porch, working on the painting I had started a few days ago. This piece was one of the mountain ranges that surrounded my house. I sat on my stool, using my pocket knife to open up a can of paint, and dipped my brush into it, working on the forefront of the painting. I had lived in this cabin for around 7 years now, alone, only with Bucks company. However, he wasnt much of a talker. Buck was around 11 now, an old companion who spent most of his time lying by my feet and barking at passing wildlife. 

I drank my tea, looking past the canvas to the area in front of me, and then painting it into the picture. I added the forefront trees, painting over the large less detailed ones I had painted in the back.  I looked up again, this time the image had changed. A large orange rectangle appeared causing me to drop my mug causing it to shatter. I stood up quickly as two figures started walking out. Reaching behind me I grabbed my rifle, cocking the gun, before standing on the edge of the porch, aiming it at the figures. My breath hitched and my eyes pulled away from the scope as one of the figures was in his suit, his. I shook the feeling away and put my face back up to the scope, shooting at the familiar figure first. I cocked the gun again and put a bullet in the red man next to him as well. "Woah Woah Woah!" The red man said holding up his arms, the orange portal closed behind the two, "We come in peace, lower your gun." I looked over the scope, blinking hard, trying to blink away the scene in front of me. I raised the gun again, staring at the familiar man in yellow in the scope, looking over his face. It couldn't be him. I shot the man again earning a groan from him. I squeezed my eyes shut at his voice, "Get the hell off my property!" I yelled shakily. Buck was barking and I opened my eyes to see the dog run towards the men. "Buck, get back here." I huffed, lowering my gun to not accidentally shoot him. Buck's barks were excited, he ran towards the man in yellow. He jumped up, squealing in excitement, barking and clawing at the man.  The man looked confused, kneeling down lightly so he could pet the dog. Buck licked his face and barked, rolling his body against the man's chest. I let out a shaky breath as I put the gun on safety and laid it back against the wall. "You got a bathroom out here? Traveling always messes me up." The red man him now right behind me, and Buck was in the arms of the yellow man. "Get the hell away from me." I huffed holding out my finger to the man, "I don't know what you think you are doing by looking like that but it's not going to work. Leave and never come back." He was so close to me now. My eyes settled on his face, racking him over to see if it was really him, it was. His face, is all the same, just alittle older. His eyes connected with mine, the eyes I fell in love with. He set down Buck and grabbed the red man's arm, "let's get out of here," he muttered. "What! we need her to save the timeline." He turned towards me, "Please ms, we have traveled across space and time to get to you. We are from a different timeline, and we need your help to save my timeline. You know logan right? This timeline's Logan, not Wolvie right here." The man spoke fast and I looked over at Logan, my eyes raking his face. His face showed he didn't know who I was, "we were told to come to talk to you."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "We can talk inside. I'll make tea," I stated grabbing my riffle and motioning my head for Buck to follow me inside. "oo yay, I love tea." the red man said following close behind. "I wasnt expecting guests so ignore the mess," I stated, walking in. The floor was littered with old paintings I had completed. I watched as Logan froze in the doorway, his eyes landing on one picture on the wall, a large image framed from my wedding day. 

The two men sat on the couch, Buck in between them. The red man, Wade I learned, was sipping a cup of tea I had made for him.  I prepared Logan's tea, steeping a bag of peppermint tea with one sugar cube and no milk, the way he had liked it 7 years ago.  I walked over, holding the mug in hand, and setting it on the coffee table in front of him. His eyes were wide and he looked alittle bit uncomfortable, looking around at the photos on the wall of the cabin. "Thank you for the tea, you have a lovely cabin here!" Wade exclaimed, his legs crossed, "I love these photos, the only proof I have that Wolvie here could smile if he wanted to." I gave the man a small smile, pulling my legs underneath me in the chair across from them. Logan gave Wade an annoyed look before he picked up the tea. He took a sniff and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he took a sip and his face looked even more confused. "peppermint with one sugar." I said lightly causing him to look up at me, "My husband's favorite. I hope it's okay." He nodded and took another sip, cradling the warm cup in his hands, and staring down at it.

"Can you tell us alittle about him?" Wade said pointing to one of the pictures on the wall.  I hesitated, feeling the weight of my grief pressing down on me. But something in Logan's voice, the earnestness, made me want to share. "He was... brave," I began, my voice breaking slightly. "He was a fighter, in every sense of the word. But he was also kind, in his own rough way. He loved this cabin, our life together. He would spend hours tinkering with things, always trying to fix or improve something, even if it was already perfect." I played with the sleeves of my flannel, "He had this way of making everything feel... right. When things were bad, when everything was falling apart, he'd just pull me close and remind me that we were in it together. No matter what happened, he was there. He was my rock."

"Me and Logan met at a grocery store, I accidentally hit him with my cart and he was pissed. But then, he wasnt. I was probably 23, I don't know how old he was, he wasnt too fond of his old age." I stated, "We were together it felt like forever, he was the love of my life." Logan's face in the picture was happy, it was me, him, and Buck as a puppy, standing in front of the cabin. "This year we would have been married for 11 years," I sighed, "but he died 7 years ago." Logan's eyes were large as he listened.

Wade waved his hands, "wait wait wait, how? Arent you like immortal." His question was voiced at Logan, not necessarily at me. "Logan was sick, he had been sick for alittle. The adamantium was poisoning him and he wasnt doing the best." I shook my head thinking about him, "I had a bad accident that sent me into a coma about a year into Logan being really sick.” My voice caught in my throat for a second and I tried to regain my composure, “we had just found out I was pregnant too. Logan was so excited to be a father, he always wanted kids.” I shook my head trying to get the thoughts out, “we lost the baby in the accident. I would have died too, I should have died." I stared down at the messy coffee table, "But Logan is dumb, he's smart, but he was so incredibly dumb. God I hate him. I hate him for dying and I hate him even more for making it so I couldn't." I dugg around in my shirt pocket, grabbing out my pocket knife. I flicked it open, making a large slit in the palm of my hand. I held up my hand and watched as the cut slowly healed. "Dont even know how he was able to do that. I woke up in my bed, Logan's hand in mine, but he was gone." I looked at the two men, "I hate him." I turned and looked at Logan, "I hate you." Sighing I stood up, "You both should leave. I'm not going to be any help to you two."

"Wait, can we at least talk about this? Please we really need you to come back with us. Pretty please?" Wade hand praying hands, as he begged. I shook my head, "I'm sorry I'll be of no use." I turned away and walked into my bedroom, falling to my knees on the side of the bed. With my head in my hands, I cried, mourning the loss of him for what felt like another time. As if I was letting him die again. The presence of someone else filled the space and I sat up, rubbing my face. "You look just like him," I stated, smelling his familiar scent, "I have prayed every night that one day I would be reunited with my love. Yet I can't die and you aren't him."

I turned to look at the man who was looking around at the room Logan and I had called our own. More pictures scattered the walls, our closet open, filled with Logan's clothes that no longer smelt like him. "I'm not him," Logan stated. He kneeled next to me, his arms resting on his knee, the same way my husband would do when I was upset, "but I'm not leaving until I know eveyrthing is alright." My lip quivered as I stared into his eyes, "Can I have a hug?" I whispered, biting my lip to keep the tears from flowing. Logan hesitated for a second but slowly opened his arms. I latched myself around his neck, burry my face into his shoulder and his large arms wrapped around me tightly. He felt so familiar, he smelled so familiar. I cried. I cried while Logan hugged me, his arms getting alittle tighter as a sob escaped my lips. It was closer, it felt like closer. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry lo." I cried, gripping him as if he would disappear if I didn't hold on. He wasn’t the Logan I had lost, and he would never replace him. But there was a part of him, a reflection of the man I had loved, in the way he held me. It was enough to bring a glimmer of peace, and comfort I hadn’t felt in seven years. Though I knew I could never bring Logan back, or replace him, I could offer this man something. It was what my Logan would have wanted—to help, to support, to save the world. That's always what he wanted, to be a hero. He would have never turned down a way to help, to save people. I wasnt going to let his memory get tainted by my own grief. I obliged in helping the two men. And in that act of compassion, I found a small measure of solace, a piece of closure that I had been searching for. 

He had made everything alright. 

[annievrse]

apron makeover

sanji x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: sanji's apron looked a little plain... w/c: 0.9k c/w: a little bit suggestive (it's literally sanji), reader referred to as 'my lady'.

"Is it to your liking, my love?"

Humming, you nod. "It's perfect. Thank you, baby."

Sanji's cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson as he turns back to the sink, scrubbing at a pan. The galley is empty, with the rest of the crew on the deck celebrating another successful fight. The Sunny breaks through waves slower than usual, and the constant threat from the world is a distant thought for the night.

The only sounds are the ding of the spoon in your hand on the ceramic plate, the slosh of the water in the sink, and the faraway laughter of your friends.

The delicate sweetness of the dessert your boyfriend prepared you fills your body with a warmness only he can elicit. You're content, and with that comes the overwhelming appreciation you have for your cook.

"I love you," You say, the words tumbling from your lips as you stare at his back. Sanji glances over his shoulder, his cheeks pink and mouth pulled into a wide grin.

"I love you more, my darling."

Your cheeks warm, and you smile shyly at him. Sanji chuckles lightly and places the clean pan on the side of the sink. He turns to face you and leans against the counter.

As you lick your spoon clean, an idea pops into your head. The apron he wears looks a little plain with its all-white material, and although Sanji thinks it exudes professionalism, you think differently.

Giggling, you slide from the bar stool and rush to the storage cupboard. Sanji calls your name as you rummage through the stuff, but when you find what you're looking for, you slam the door shut and lunge for the plain apron the cook wears.

"What are you doing?" Sanji mutters, his voice light and airy at how close you are. Your gaze is wide with excitement, and Sanji would be lying if he said it didn't excite him, too (not that he ever lied about such things when it comes to you).

With a pot of black paint and a small paintbrush from Usopp's stash, you decide against taking the apron directly from his body, and sit on a dining chair. "Come here."

Sanji raises an eyebrow but complies, standing between your thighs.

He'd let you do anything to him.

Dipping the paintbrush into the paint, you lean up slightly to start the lettering at the top of the apron. And when the first line of paint contacts the material, Sanji throws all previous opinions on professionalism out of his mind.

Paint whatever you want, he thinks, I'm your canvas.

"Hold still," You mumble, splaying your free hand on his stomach to flatten the fabric of his apron. The cook freezes, his body tingling everywhere you touch him over his clothes.

"I-I don't think we should do this in the galley—"

"Sanji," You giggle, pausing your painting to look up at him. The lovesick expression on his face makes your heart melt. "I'm just writing something, okay? It is of utmost importance that this be done right here and now."

Your boyfriend nods, fists balling at his sides. He's trying his best not to distract you from your very important work, but how your eyebrows furrow and the tip of your tongue pokes out the corner of your mouth has his chest hurting with restraint.

The paintbrush moves from the top of the garment to the middle and then lower. Your hand moves across his torso and down to his hip bone, the words taking up more space than you anticipated.

Sanji is so very clearly struggling with his sharp inhales and jerking abdomen, and you decide you've tortured him enough.

"Baby—"

"Done!" You say, leaning back to admire your work. "You look so hot."

Sanji splutters, his eyes turning into literal hearts at your words. "I would never disagree with a lady, my love, but I'd say that you—"

"Sanji," You smile, standing from the chair. Your hands find his clammy ones, and you tug him to the window. His reflection stares back at him, and a laugh tumbles from his lips, his ears turning a concerning shade of red.

Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin'

You brush his hair from his eyes and kiss his cheek. "It's perfect, don't you think?"

Sanji opens his mouth to answer when the door slams into the wall.

"Oh, please," Comes Zoro's voice from the doorway. He has a disgusted, pained expression on his face that makes you giggle. "What curse has he put on you?"

You laugh, and Sanji sighs, turning toward the swordsman. "Just admit you're jealous and walk away, mosshead."

Rolling his eyes, Zoro stalks into the kitchen and pokes through the cupboard for a beer. He shrugs at its warm temperature and cracks it open. "Would love a cold one."

Sanji's eyes narrow. "And I would love it if you pissed off."

Before he leaves, Zoro looks the cook up and down and shakes his head disapprovingly.

Smiling, you grab your boyfriend's hand as he lunges. "Goodnight, Zoro."

The swordsman throws his hand up as he exits, the door swinging closed behind him.

Sanji scoffs and turns back to you, his gaze immediately melting at the sight of you. His hands grip your waist firmly. "What do you say we head to the back of the ship? I've heard it's pretty empty this time of night."

Tilting your head, you circle your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair. "I'd say that's a perfect idea, Mr. Good Lookin'."