#this is poetry - pure and simple

[nerdishpursuits]

Es que tu no comprendes que solo nos tenemos la una a la otra. Lo eres todo para mi. Mi fuerza, todo. Yo estoy a salvo si tu estás a salvo. Ya no hay vuelta atrás, yo no concibo mi vida sin ti. Contigo siento que puedo enfrentarme al mundo entero. Lo único que podría acabar conmigo, es perderte. No me vas a perder, mi amor. No lo vas a hacer.

Don't you see, we only have each other. You are everything to me. My strength, everything. I am safe as long as you are safe. There is no turning back, I cannot conceive of my life without you. By your side, I feel that I can face the entire world. The only thing that could undo me is losing you. You won't lose me, my love. You won't. ________________

All other pairings on this show can pack their bags and go home. Because nothing compares. The love and devotion Marta & Fina have for each other is unmatched. They'll put them through the ringer and suffer they will, as befitting true angsty heroines. But damn, the journey is, and will be, so worth it.

[inkliinng]

[perfectlyoongi]

HUSBAND!YOONGI who asked you to marry him without a ring or planning, just the desire to be yours forever motivating Yoongi. you were about to go to bed, tired from another long day of work, but when he looked at you, focused on your night routine, arranging things for the next day, Yoongi realized that was a vision he wanted to have for the rest of his life; Yoongi's words came without hesitation, spontaneous, carrying with them all the hope and desire for a full life by your side. “let’s get married. i can't bear to spend another day with the fear of losing you. i want this life we have forever.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who at your wedding, at the end of the day under the sunset, pulled you away from all the guests and said private vows just for you. at the ceremony Yoongi was nervous, too eager to hurry up the ceremony and finally have you forever and ever, and, as such, his vows were beautiful, yes, but brief; however, when the day was ending, when dancing and laughter occupied all the space, Yoongi gently held your hand, taking you to the garden, pouring out his soul in the form of simple words. “i promise to love you. not as i love you now, or as i loved you yesterday, but as i will love you tomorrow and the day after, for i continue to fall in love with you constantly and my love will never diminish, only grow.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who sits in the kitchen with a guitar and serenades you. whenever you were cooking, cleaning the kitchen, or simply working, Yoongi would take his guitar to the kitchen and embellish your tasks with a gentle melody echoing through the room, the music that your husband played for you comforting your heart and making you smile every time Yoongi decided to accompany his guitar with his sweet voice. “i wrote a new ballad with you in mind. wanna hear it?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who likes to be the little spoon when you take a nap on a sunday afternoon. Yoongi liked to have you in his arms, to have the feeling that, in a way, he was protecting you from the world and that he contained within you all the essence of your soul that made you so unique, so beautiful; however, Yoongi wasn't going to deny that he also liked to feel held, to have your hands around his body in a warm blanket of pure love and tranquility. “do you want to take a nap with me? i wouldn't mind being held now... because… i need you, to... you know. please?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who adopted a dog on your first anniversary. Yoongi would be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about a family with you since the day he told you he loved you — it was stronger than him. you made Yoongi dream, dream about things he never thought he wanted, things he never thought he was worthy of wanting; you were magic for Yoongi, an eternal source of dreams and hope and he just wanted to repay you — a dog, an animal that would keep you company when he was away, an animal that was capable of loving you almost as much as Yoongi, almost. “i don’t know what magic you have in you, but i just want to continue to grow with you and make our relationship grow. this dog is the beginning of our family.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who reads you books out loud when you are tired or sad. Yoongi asked you to lay your head on his lap and choose the book he would read: poetry, fantasy, even plays he was capable of reading and interpreting for you if it meant you resting and laughing for moments; there were entire hours of nothing more than your husband's melodious words filling the room, various tales and stories coming to life through his voice while you closed your eyes and let yourself be carried away by the narrative recited by Yoongi. “if i read you shakespeare and look at you while i read the love dialogues, does that count as a confession from me to you?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who loves you unconditionally for years and years on end, the feeling that was planted in Yoongi's heart only growing with each moment shared with you without ever withering or losing a single fragment. as if linked by the oldest constellations, your love was constant, long ago idealized by the universe itself with traces of stars and magic making your relationship lasting in each lifetime. “i don’t want to stop dreaming about you. i don't want to stop loving you. you are the only reality for me and i only exist with you by my side.”

[woodenanemone]

"you’re so precious to me.”

you look up at choso, who in turn was looking back at you. you didn’t realize he had been staring at you, quite invested in the meal he had just prepared for you two. looking down at his plate, you notice that it was untouched. shifting your gaze back to him, you had to physically flinch at the pure, unadulterated adoration in his tired gaze. looking back down bashfully, you pushed your food around on your plate, unable to help the smile that bloomed on your face.

before you could react, choso had reached over the small table, soft hand wiping at your cheek faintly. you look over to see him withdrawing, a tender look in his eyes. “did I have some food on my cheek?” you questioned, wiping the other side of your face, observing your hand for any crumbs.

“no.”

you look back at him in slight surprise. “oh.” was all you could lamely say. it was hard having such an affectionate boyfriend at times; he was constantly outperforming you in terms of love. you know a relationship was supposed to be anything but a competition, but he couldn’t even speak straight. its literal pure poetry falling from the mans mouth. how could you measure up to that?

“i love you, you know.”

you look down at your plate intensely as you say this, unable to look him in the eyes. even his mere eye contact felt deeper than your simple words of, “i love you”. you see him rise from his seat out of your peripheral, but you still stubbornly stared down at your warm plate of food, which you’re sure he poured some of his literal soul and spirit into (even food outdid you…). feeling a warm hand guide your face, you look up to see that familiar soft gaze on you once again, filling you with the type of warmth only felt by a million suns.

he cupped both of your cheeks, bending down to look at you closer. you didn’t even have to say anything, his eyes already telling you that your love is enough. more than he needed, than he deserved. leaning forward, his warm lips placed themselves between your brows, longer than he needed to. he pulled back, only by a hair, to whisper his professions.

“i want to say you have my heart, but you are my heart.” he kisses your face once more, a little further down from the last kiss.

“there’s nothing and nobody else that I need.” another kiss, further down again.

“i surrender my everything to you.” another kiss, landing on your cheek.

“do you know how long I’ve prayed, begged, for your lips?” your other cheek.

“you own me. you, and you alone. you own me.”

you at first thought choso to be a quiet man, shy even. a person unskilled with his words. and yet… you’ve never seen anyone more assured, confident, and certain than him when he spoke to you like this. to know that the one thing this man was undisputable about was his adoration for you… well, it spoke to your soul in a way no store bought flowers ever could.

he punctuates the absolutely devastating confession with one last glance to your lips. you notice his eyebrows are furrowed, his voice strained. you swear these confessions hurt him somehow.

he plants his lips on yours with a sweet inhale, slowly breaking away just to reconnect his mouth to your own, over and over. the kiss was languid, syrupy, and filled to the brim with adoration. he pulled away slowly, his nose still brushing against yours.

"i love you.”

yeah. he was better at this than you.

i need to stop and go study omg

[claramelooo]

Hey, guys!

If you're reading this, congratulations! We've reached the end of this saga! I'm so happy I had the courage to start this project, and it's all thanks to the support of you guys who interacted with me so well that I felt comfortable writing with all my heart.

I still thinking in eventually to write one-shots for them, but I dunno, you tell me!! Lol

and I will definitely write more about the milfs we love, no worries!

Enjoy it!!

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Happy Ending!!!

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader

Summary: Wanda's courage makes her knock on your door after five years

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb | Part 6 - Pure Crimson | Part 7 - Dependece | Part 8 - Passion | Part 9 - Revenge | Part 10 - Control | Part 11 - Consequences

VELVET CHAINS

Love

After five years, everything had changed. You had graduated in International Relations and were working in a mid-level position at the American embassy, handling negotiations, mediating conversations between diplomats, and diving into a routine that made you feel important. It wasn’t exactly what you had imagined when you first dreamed of your career, but you were on the right path.

Living in a quiet Manhattan neighborhood, your apartment reflected who you were: an organized person with a touch of calculated chaos. Stacks of books sat on the coffee table, an unfinished painting leaned against the wall, and Sparky, your Golden Retriever, bounded back and forth with endless energy.

Sparky had come into your life at a strange time, a gift from Yelena. "You need some decent company," she said, placing the puppy in your hands. "Because clearly, you can’t pick good company on your own." It was her way of showing she cared, and you knew that.

Yelena was one of the few ties you kept to your past. Despite your differences, you often met up, usually for quick lunches at tucked-away cafés in the city. She would talk about her work, about Natasha, and occasionally drop hints that you should go out more.

"You're young, smart, and beautiful," she’d say, almost like a mantra. "And you live like a nun."

What Yelena didn’t understand—or pretended not to—was that you didn’t just want to go out more. You wanted something that felt impossible to find: connection.

Even when you went out with your blonde fling (if you could even call her that), everything felt hollow. She was funny, gorgeous, and always willing to meet up, but she knew nothing about who you really were. She didn’t know about Sparky, your sleepless nights reading poetry, and definitely didn’t know about Wanda.

Ah, Wanda.

There were moments when thoughts of her crept in. Not intentionally, of course, but reflexively. Like when Sparky did something adorable, reminding you of how much Wanda loved dogs. Or when a particular song came on, one she used to hum while cooking.

But you’d learned to shove those memories into the back of your mind. There was too much to deal with in the present.

That day, for example, a stack of reports awaited your review, and you had a meeting at three. But first, you needed to take Sparky for a quick walk. Grabbing his leash, you left the apartment, greeting a few neighbors along the way.

"Good morning, Y/n!" called a cheerful older woman from the second floor.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harris!" you replied, your smile automatic but genuine.

Mornings were like that: simple, ordinary. A far cry from the life you once lived.

By the end of the day, Sparky lay curled up on the rug while you pored over a complicated email. The weight of routine settled over you. Everything seemed in place, yet something still felt out of tune.

You paused, staring out at the city through the window. The lights shimmered on the horizon, a promise of vibrant life out there.

But inside you, there was only silence.

After five years, everything had changed—except you.

Outwardly, you were the perfect image of an adult woman: successful, independent, living the life anyone would envy. But inside, the marks Wanda had left on you lingered like invisible scars, impossible to ignore.

You still felt like a little girl, torn between the desire to be cared for and the need for discipline. No matter how much you tried to bury it, there was a void in your routine that no job, company, or casual relationship could fill.

Wanda had shaped you. She taught you to surrender, to trust, to lose control in a safe way—and somehow, that had defined you. The nights with her still visited your dreams, a mix of longing and anguish. Her voice, firm yet full of care, still echoed in your mind when you felt overwhelmed.

"Good girl."

It was a simple phrase, but loaded with meanings no one else seemed to understand. It wasn’t just the compliment itself; it was what came with it: warmth, security, the feeling of being seen entirely.

A shiver ran down your spine at the memory. Sometimes, you hated it—hated how her memories still held power over you. But the truth was that part of you yearned for it again: a firm touch, a gaze that stripped away all your layers of protection, a kiss that said, "You’re mine."

You’d tried to recreate it with other people, of course. Foolishly, you thought you might find something similar with your blonde fling. But the woman lacked patience, or the understanding to handle your needs. She enjoyed herself, sure, but she had no idea that, for you, it went far beyond casual sex.

There were times when she rolled her eyes as you hesitated or became too submissive. It made you withdraw, reminding you that without Wanda, no one else seemed willing or capable of understanding.

"You’re complicated," the blonde had once said after you hesitated to take any initiative.

The woman straddling you moved rhythmically, trying to coax a reaction that just wouldn’t come. It wasn’t her fault; she was doing everything right. The problem was you. It was always you. Or rather, the emptiness left by the one who should never have gone.

Your vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling, your hands resting lazily on her hips, entirely unenthusiastic. Everything felt wrong, each touch a cruel reminder of what you truly wanted.

And it was only one person.

Not even five damn years had been enough to erase her name from your mind. It was etched somewhere between your ribs, buried deep but never far enough to ignore.

Wanda.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the thought away, but it was useless. All you could do was remember the feel of her mouth on yours, the sound of her raspy voice calling your name, the devastating look that made you feel like the only person in the world.

Now, she was on the other side of the country. Probably lying in bed next to her perfect husband. You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Vision was everything any woman could want: stable, respectable, and, of course, approved by everyone that mattered. But he was never you.

You let out a deep, heavy sigh, so profound the blonde paused, propping herself up on her elbows to look at you with a mix of confusion and irritation.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

You shifted your gaze to the blonde straddling you... Jenna? Jemma? You couldn’t even remember her name. All you knew was that she worked in a different department.

Gripping the blonde’s hair, you yanked her head closer. "That’s not how you ask for what you want. But since you’re a dumb little slut, I’ll do all the work."

The woman, who had been about to protest your dirty language, fell silent as you buried three fingers inside her. You grabbed her waist and pulled her down until your fingers disappeared completely.

Her nails were already digging into your shoulders with the simple movement. You smiled to yourself before you began to destroy the poor woman's pussy. You thrust with maximum speed and force, making her scream in pleasure.

You curled your fingertips, hitting the woman's spongy, pulsing spot—bringing tremors in her legs, indicating the strong signs of an orgasm. When the woman came loudly, you pulled out of her.

At least she started to get dressed quickly afterward, "Maybe we can do this again sometime."

You gave her a weak smile. "Maybe."

You grabbed your phone, ordering an Uber for the blonde, the feeling of having brought her here haunting your mind like a mistake weighing on your heart.

As you waited for the blonde's Uber, guilt began to mix with boredom. It wasn't just her; it was the whole situation. The repetition of the same pattern: empty encounters, forgettable faces, names you didn't even bother to remember. You grabbed a robe to dress yourself and cover your nakedness—you threw yourself on the living room couch, while Sparky, your faithful companion, jumped beside you, offering an affection that seemed to be the only true constant in your life.

The apartment was a clear representation of who you had become over the past five years. Modern, well-decorated, yet with an air of transience, as though you had never truly committed to the space. A reflection of your own soul, perhaps.

And now, there was the job offer abroad. Paris. A dream for anyone in your field. The first thought you had when you received the news was excitement. Yet, there was something inside you that hesitated. It wasn’t just attachment to what you had built in Manhattan. It was what you still couldn’t let go of, even after all this time.

Wanda.

Her name still carried a different weight. A name that brought a flood of memories: her laughter, the way she looked at you, the way the world seemed to dissolve when you were together. You didn’t know how she was now. You knew she was in Texas. But beyond that?

Was she still with Vision? Did the boys remember you? Had she completely forgotten about you?

The emptiness returned, but this time with a twinge of curiosity. What was Wanda doing now? Was she sleeping beside Vision? Was she thinking about you?

The sound of a notification on your phone pulled you from your thoughts. The Uber had arrived. You got up, escorting the woman outside, ensuring she was safe—you’d never let anyone leave without making sure of that. The blonde waved at you from the car window, and you responded with an automatic gesture before walking toward your balcony.

You stopped in your tracks when you heard a familiar, yet more mature voice.

“You should put some clothes on if you’re planning to stay out here all night.”

Your blood ran cold at the sound of that voice. A strong wave of denial surged within you. Turning toward the voice took all the strength you had to stop yourself from retreating indoors.

The world seemed to tilt when you turned, and there she was. Wanda Maximoff. Five years. Five damn years since the last time you’d seen her, but nothing could have prepared you for this moment.

She stood at the base of your balcony, arms crossed over her chest, covered by a wool cardigan. Her hair was longer than you remembered, with strands that caught the faint streetlight, giving her an almost ethereal glow. But that wasn’t what captured your attention. It wasn’t her undeniable beauty. It was the restrained fury in her eyes, a deep, uncontrollable fire that pierced you like blades.

“Wanda…” you whispered, her name barely escaping your throat as your heart raced wildly.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression stern as she tilted her head slightly. “I asked if you’re staying out here all night or if you’re finally going to get dressed.”

You looked down at yourself, realizing you were still in just your robe, nothing else. But it wasn’t enough to distract you from the fact that she was there. After five years. After all the time and distance, she was standing on your balcony, looking at you as though she could dismantle your entire life with a single glance.

“I…” You tried to speak, but your voice failed. Your chest tightened, a storm of emotions you couldn’t name swirling inside you. Fear. Guilt. Longing. Anger. Love. All spinning within you like a tornado. “It’s been a while.” You finally settled on that response.

Wanda’s eyes narrowed at you. “Yes, and you’ve kept yourself very busy since the last time I saw you.”

Her sarcasm hit you like a slap. Her anger, once contained, began to spill over. How dare she? Five years of silence. Five years of emptiness, and now she was here, judging you?

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, your voice harsher than you intended.

“It used to be,” Wanda replied with the same intensity. She took a step closer, her eyes burning as her voice dropped to something rougher, more intimate. “You used to be so good to Mommy.”

Her words cut like a knife. The heat you’d felt turned to a chill. You stepped back, raising your hands as if to keep a safe distance from her, from everything she represented.

“Goodnight, Wanda,” you said, your voice cold and controlled, trying to salvage the last shred of dignity you had. You turned to head inside, but before you could take more than two steps, you felt a tug on your wrist.

Her touch, even after everything, was familiar. Too familiar. Your eyes met hers again, and something in Wanda’s expression had shifted. There was anger, yes, but also... something else. Something that looked like desperation.

“Y/n,” she said, her voice now almost a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken conversations. “We need to talk.”

“Talk?” you repeated, almost mocking. “Five years, Wanda. Five years of silence. And now you show up at my door, after everything... to talk?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When she opened them again, tears were beginning to pool.

The tension in the air was almost suffocating. Your heart was still racing as you stepped back, swallowing hard and looking away from Wanda. It was too much—seeing her there, the weight of her presence after all this time. You tried to escape the emotional storm, turning toward your hallway, your hands trembling as you gripped the door to close it.

But before the wood could meet the frame, her foot stopped it.

The shock of her audacity quickly morphed into anger. You spun on your heels, ready to confront her, but before you could say a word, Wanda had already crossed the threshold of your home. Without permission.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” your voice came out firm, though the lump in your throat remained. You stepped forward, crossing your arms, trying to project an authority you didn’t feel.

Wanda didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. She shut the door behind her with a calm that was unsettling, her green eyes scanning the room before landing back on you. “I’m not standing out in the cold while you play house with every random whore who crosses your path. But when I need you—when Mommy needs you—you refuse to listen,” she said, her tone almost casual, but with an edge of something dangerous, like a sharp knife wrapped in velvet.

The word you hadn’t heard, hadn’t uttered in years, sent shivers down your spine. Hearing it from Wanda’s mouth reignited a fire in your lower belly—one you tried to ignore.

“Listen?” You laughed, but it was dry and full of disbelief. “You barge into my house after five years and think I owe you anything? Wanda?”

Wanda stepped closer, and you realized you were cornered between her and the wall. Despite the anger burning inside you, something else was growing—something that made your knees weak and the air hard to breathe.

“Five years,” she repeated, her voice heavy with meaning. “Five years without a single word. And now, when I finally see you, you think you can dismiss me with a ‘goodnight, Wanda’? No. We’re going to talk, Y/n.”

“Talk?” you repeated, almost derisively.

The tension in the room was almost electric as you held Wanda’s gaze. No matter how hard you tried to maintain your firm posture, your crossed arms, and your cold voice, something inside you was crumbling. She was so close now, and that familiar scent—a mix of something floral and woody—invaded your senses, dragging up memories you had spent five long years trying to bury.

“Yes, talk,” Wanda replied, her tone lower now, but with an intensity that rooted you in place. “And you’re going to listen, Y/n. Because I didn’t cross half the country to be ignored.”

You let out a bitter laugh, anger and confusion boiling inside you. “You don’t have the right to show up here and demand anything from me, Wanda. Nothing! You made your choice, remember? You chose your family. You chose Vision. So why are you here now? For what?”

Her eyes shimmered with a mix of pain and determination.

"Vision found out." Two words—only two words were enough for you to completely let your guard down with her.

You felt your arms drop to your sides, your posture crumbling. All the control you had desperately tried to maintain was ripped away. Wanda observed the change in you, her eyes watchful but devoid of any satisfaction. It seemed like she was crumbling inside too.

"Found out what, exactly?" you asked, but your voice came out softer than you intended. It was a loaded question, filled with everything you had tried to ignore for years.

"About us," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "About everything."

You let yourself fall back against the wall, trying to find stability as your head spun. "And then? What do you want from me now, Wanda? I can't be your safe place when everything falls apart. Not anymore."

The woman ignored your questions and continued her monologue, her eyes glistening with tears. “He threatened me. Threatened to expose this to the church, threatened to take the boys from me.” Wanda's voice was a fragile thread.

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry. Everything about her—the teary eyes, the voice heavy with pain, the proximity—was pulling you back into a whirlwind of emotions you didn’t want to face.

“I thought about killing him.” The confession made your heart stop for a second. You felt the weight of those words hit you like a punch. Wanda, your Wanda, talking about murdering her husband with an almost practical coldness.

She took another step, her palm now resting against your cheek, a touch so delicate it completely contrasted with the violence of her words.

“It would be simple to poison him, and I’d be free—I’d have my boys, my reputation intact, I’d have you.”

The closeness was suffocating. The intensity in her eyes, the tears slowly rolling down Wanda's face, mingling with your own tear-filled gaze, trapped you in a way you couldn’t escape.

“But then… Billy got sick, and I saw no other way out, Y/n. There was no other way to push you out of my life except for that…” Her voice trembled, an echo of a desperation so raw and real it made your chest tighten even more.

Your heart was torn between believing her and protecting yourself. Her words seemed genuine, but you knew Wanda had always had the power to manipulate your feelings. She always knew exactly how to reach the most vulnerable corners of your soul.

“Wanda, I...” You tried to find words but were lost. Lost in the whirlwind of emotions she provoked in you—anger, sadness, love, and a terrible longing for everything you used to be together.

"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered, her fingers now softly tracing the line of your jaw. "I just wanted to protect you. Protect the boys. Protect... us."

"Protect?" Your voice finally found strength. "Wanda, you destroyed everything. Not just your life but mine too. I spent five years trying to piece together what you left behind. And now you come back, expecting me to believe it was all to protect us?"

Wanda stepped back slightly, but her eyes remained fixed on yours, pleading for something you didn’t know if you could give. "I don’t expect you to forgive me, Y/n. Not now. Maybe not ever. But I needed you to know. I needed you to understand what really happened."

Silence fell between you, heavy and oppressive. Her words still echoed in your mind. Vision. Threats. The boys. She had thought about killing for you. For them.

And despite everything, a part of you wanted to believe her. Wanted to go back in time, to before everything fell apart, to when her touch was the only thing that made sense in the world. But the past was there, as present as she was, and you didn’t know how to escape its shadow.

“Who was she?” Wanda's hoarse voice cut through the silence like a blade—low, but laden with an intensity that sent a shiver up your spine.

You blinked, confused, trying to understand the question. "Who...?"

"The blonde? Who was she?" Wanda interrupted, her eyes burning into yours, her tone a little firmer, almost possessive.

You hesitated, discomfort growing. "I... I don’t know what that matters now, Wanda."

"It matters," she shot back, stepping forward. "Because she left your house wearing the same cheap perfume I smelled on you when I arrived. So I’ll ask again: who was she?"

The sudden clarity in Wanda's words hit you like a shock. It wasn’t just curiosity or simple jealousy; there was something deeper in the way she was looking at you, as if she desperately needed this answer.

“She’s just...” You averted your gaze, trying to find an explanation that didn’t sound as frivolous as the truth. "She’s nobody. Someone from work. She means nothing."

“Means nothing,” Wanda repeated, almost to herself, but with a touch of sarcasm that hurt more than you wanted to admit. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as if trying to calm herself. When she opened them again, her green eyes were intense, locked on yours. "You think I believe that? Since when would you let just anyone touch you? She isn’t ‘nothing.’"

"You have no right to come here and ask me these kinds of questions, Wanda. Not after everything," you snapped back, your own anger finally starting to bubble.

She began, her voice deep but trembling, “Just the thought of someone else touching you, kissing you, seeing you the way I did…” She paused, her fists clenched at her sides. “It feels like the ground is disappearing beneath me.”

You felt the air leave your lungs. Her intensity was overwhelming. "Wanda..."

“You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice broke, and for a moment, she seemed so vulnerable that you didn’t know whether to stay or run. “I tried to move on. I tried to accept that I’d never have you again. But every day, every night that passed, I felt you with me. Here.” She pressed her hand to her chest, over her heart.

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to deal with the storm forming in front of you.

“I see myself in every woman who tries to touch you," she continued, her voice lowering but still loaded with dangerous intensity. “And it’s unbearable. Because no matter who they are, I know none of them will ever be good enough for you. Because none of them are me.”

Her words hit like a blow, mixing anger, sadness, and a pang of something you didn’t want to name. Love. Maybe obsession.

You whimpered, “That’s not fair! You chose him over me! You can’t just come here and say whatever you want.”

“I had to, Y/n! For the sake of my kids, for Billy’s health!” She snapped, clearly frustrated with your stubbornness.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “And what does that mean now, huh? What does it change in the present?”

She stood up from the couch, straightening her posture—and her pride. “It means I’m divorcing him.” She began walking toward you in slow steps. “It means I took the first flight and traveled 27 hours—even though I’m terrified of planes—just to see you.” Wanda smiled, emotional. More steps, closer to you. “It means, Y/n, that no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t forget you.”

You wanted to step back, but your body wouldn’t obey. You couldn’t control yourself and cursed inwardly at the thought that your body still belonged to her, and the promise Wanda made you before still lingered.

“You know what, Y/n?” Wanda said, staring at you intently.

You couldn’t have answered even if you wanted to, your voice stuck in your throat.

“All I’ve been able to think about for the last few fucking months is your beautiful face between my legs.” Her face was close to yours, her breath fresh and hauntingly familiar, tickling your skin. “Tell me, so many women coming and going from this place… but has any of them made you come like I did?”

The truth was that you hadn’t had an orgasm since your last time with Wanda. Every woman who had passed through your life didn’t understand how much you wanted to be broken during sex and then be held, pampered, loved…

“Oh, poor thing… Haven’t you cum since the last time Mommy made you?”

Usually, you hated it when people got in your head, but you were getting close to the limits of your intelligence. The only woman who could make you was right in front of you trying to do just that.

“It seems like you need Mommy as much as she needs you.” Wanda slowly knelt down, opening the robe you were wearing a little. She moaned when she saw that you weren’t wearing any panties.

“Fuck, I love how wet you get for me.” The woman’s mouth was watering as she remembered the taste of you on her tongue.

Your breathing quickened when one of Wanda’s fingers dragged through your folds. Quickly, you took a step back and closed the robe again.

“I can’t do this. You're going to fuck me and then leave me!” You shouted, stomping your feet like the little girl Wanda knew well and missed terribly.

“Y/n, I'm getting a divorce, seriously!” She uses that soothing tone, the tone she used to calm you down when you cried in her arms after a punishment.

Before you can deny her once more, Wanda crushes her lips to yours—and that was the end of the conversation. Your hands locked themselves in the older woman's blond locks, bringing her even closer to you.

“I hate you so much!” You growled, biting Wanda's lower lip, making her moan. “You owe me the best orgasm of my life.”

You rip the woman's blouse, wrapping Wanda's nipple between your teeth—mutilating them, making Wanda moan.

“Has he touched you since I left? Do you moan like that for him? Does your body react to his touch?” As much as you tried. Tried to forget her and put out the fire of your obsession for her, here you were, with your mouth mistreating every inch of her skin.

“No.” Wanda replied breathlessly, her hands tangling in your hair. “Only you.” The woman’s intense gaze as she said this made you shiver.

Wanda pulled your head away from her. Your neck was stretched back as she stared hungrily at your body, “Mommy understands that you’re mad at her, baby, but don’t forget who’s in charge. You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

You immediately flinched at the brightness of her black eyes of pure excitement, “Yes, Mommy.”

Her lips pressed against yours in a small peck, “Good girl, now take me upstairs.”

There was a hesitant tremor in your body as you picked up the older woman and carried her to your bedroom. You sat her down on the bed and stood in front of her, waiting for the next move. You were writhing around, your pussy was so wet.

"Did you enjoy fucking that blonde slut on this bed? This bed should only be used for pleasure if mommy allows it."

You shook your head, "No, mommy…"

"What about the other sluts you were fucking? Hmm, you had so many, didn't you? All blondes… I wonder why that was."

Your focus was divided between her questions and the hand she was using to tease you. Her hand found a path you desperately wanted to follow. From your chest to your pussy.

"No mommy, they couldn't satisfy me."

Wanda finally took a long step towards you, placing her hand on your chest. "And why is that, baby?"

Your breath hitched as she touched the band of your robe, threatening to take it off. Her delicate finger crept into your folds.

"Because only mommy can make me cum." She pinched your clit, making you whimper,

"Say it again."

"Only mommy can make me cum," Your voice rose an octave as Wanda thrust a finger into you.

There was a slightly sadistic look on her face at the sound of your cries. She bent down to her knees, pulling off your robe, leaving you completely naked to her. Her finger continued to attack your pussy.

"You're so tight, Detka, has no one put a finger inside you since mommy? Have you kept that pussy all pristine for me?" You were struggling to stand at this point.

The way she was talking to you along with her finger fucking was enough to make you fall apart. Wanda smacked your thigh firmly, making you jump in surprise,

"Mommy asked you a question." Your frantic eyes met hers,

"No, mommy, no one has touched me since you."

"Not even your pretty little finger has been in that pussy?" You shake your head,

"No, Mommy."

She takes this as a sign to shove 2 more fingers inside you, "Open that pussy for Mommy. When I'm done, that hole will be just right for Mommy."

You moaned at the way your pussy stretched for Wanda. You could feel the juices dripping out of you as Wanda worked her magic on you. You almost screamed when you felt a slap against your clittoris.

Although you couldn’t see her, you were sure the woman was smiling at your reaction. She continued to pound your clit hard to the point that your knees felt like they would give out at any moment.

“It’s like it’s the first time all over again. You can’t handle a simple caress and a slap on your pussy without your legs giving out. We’re going to have to retrain you after this,” the woman pushed you hard onto the bed.

Your hands were gripping the edge of the mattress as your legs dangled over the edge. Wanda settled herself between your knees.

Her hot breath teasing your pussy. She gave one last smack before closing her lips around your clit.

“Fuck, mommy!” Wanda giggled into your pussy, sending vibrations through your body.

Wanda used one hand to hold you down as she fingered and tongue fucked you. Your back was almost arched off the bed.

“Mmm, so sweet.” She murmured into your pussy. “Mommy missed that smell so much, that sticky little pussy of yours wetting my mouth.” Wanda ground her own pussy into the edge of the mattress, the friction sending tremors through her legs.

You wanted to close your legs because there was something building in the pit of your stomach.

You staggered up from your sitting position when Wanda removed all contact. It was like your eyes were going to pop out of your head.

There was a mischievous smile on her lips as she looked down at you.

“What’s wrong, Detka?”

Your body was shaking, yearning for your long-awaited release.

“Mommy, please.”

Wanda smiled even wider as she crawled on top of you, lining her pussy up with your fluid cunt. She was directly above you, her eyes looking playfully into yours,

“Please, what, huh? We’ve barely started, baby girl, you don’t want to cum now, do you?”

Wanda began to grind against you, making you both moan at the contact of your pussies together. The ease with which your clits met only showed that your bodies had met before—maybe in another life.

"I need to cum, Mommy. Please let me cum. Fuck, it's been too long…. I need my Mommy to make me cum, only Mommy can make me cum, please," you were desperate.

If you even tried to touch yourself without her permission right now, she would deny you. The best thing you could do was beg like the hungry slut you truly were.

She increased the friction against your pussy and a small cry escaped your lips. You demanded more, and Wanda knew it.

"Look at me," Wanda gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

She brushed your messy hair away from your face and placed a tender kiss on your forehead, "I've missed you so much, Y/N. I'm going to make you cum so hard. Do you know why?"

You shook your head, unable to speak. Tender moments during sex didn’t happen often between the two of you. So this was definitely new, and it was making your heart flutter.

She placed her forehead against yours, “Because I love you.” She moaned passionately, as if those words had been stuck in her throat for a long time. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed my perfect little slut? My little sneaky baby, huh?” Wanda continued to grind her hips against you, feeling her orgasm coming on herself.

“All I want to do is take care of you. I want to make you feel good because it makes me feel good.” She began to thrust harder against you.

You grab her face with both hands, crushing your lips against hers feverishly. She slumps against your body, so she’s no longer holding back.

You moan directly into her mouth as she begins to move more sporadically against you.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” the command was whispered in your ear, and that was all it took for you to cum.

Both of your bodies shook, and your arms flew around Wanda, pinning her in place. It felt like your entire body was spasming under the immense amount of pleasure.

Wanda placed soft kisses on the side of your neck as you began to regain your composure, “You’re my good girl. Cumming as soon as Mommy says you can.” You look so beautiful when you're under me like this, darling.

Wanda sighed, her fingers tracing small circles on your back, each gentle touch laden with a tenderness that felt almost reverent. Her breathing seemed calm, but you could feel the rapid pulse in her chest, as if her heart was struggling to break free from the walls her mind insisted on building. There was a raw vulnerability in the silence between you, a space where unspoken emotions seemed to take form.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you murmured, your voice thick as you buried your face in her shoulder. Every word felt like a battle against the tight knot in your throat, threatening to unravel into tears at any moment.

“I did too,” Wanda replied, her voice heavy with a weight only she could understand. Her lips brushed against the top of your head in a slow, almost hesitant kiss, as if she needed to confirm you were real. “And every day without you… felt like an eternity. A never-ending punishment.”

“I love you too, Wanda. That’s never changed.” The words came as a whisper but carried a devastating power. You didn’t need volume; the love pouring out of every syllable was enough to fill the void of the lost years.

Wanda froze for a moment, as if your confession had the power to split time in half. You hadn’t realized how tense she was until you felt her body relax against yours, a shaky breath escaping her lips. Slowly, she pulled away, rolling to her side until the two of you were face-to-face. Wanda’s face was an open book—hope, fear, and love colliding in a whirlwind of emotions.

“I have children,” she said finally, her voice low and raw, as if each word was a confession torn from her. Her gaze was piercing, searching yours as though bracing for judgment or hesitation.

“I know,” you said, your voice steady, a contrast to the delicate fragility of the moment. Your eyes held hers, offering the reassurance she seemed to desperately need.

“The divorce…” Wanda continued, her words almost a lament, “it might get messy. Ugly. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know.” You squeezed her fingers gently, as if to say no obstacle would be big enough to separate you again.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was as if both hearts were readjusting their rhythms to beat in unison once more after so long out of sync. You brought your free hand to her face, gently caressing her warm, delicate skin.

“I’m here by your side, Wanda, no matter what happens. As long as you’re honest with me, I’m yours.”

Wanda blinked, her eyes glistening with tears she didn’t try to hide. “All mine…” she echoed, her voice almost a whisper, as though she couldn’t believe the words. A single tear slid down her cheek, and you wiped it away with your thumb, a simple gesture heavy with unspoken promises.

“Yes,” you reaffirmed, your voice soft but resolute. “Always yours.”

Wanda closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, a determination shone in her gaze that hadn’t been there before. “I’m going to fight for this. For us. I’ll never let you go again.”

And so, in that room where time seemed to have stopped, you found each other once more. After five years of pain and distance, nothing felt more certain than the promise you now shared.

[...]

The irresistible aroma of roasted turkey wafted through the house, mingling with the scent of pumpkin pies and spices that promised a memorable dinner. Through the window, the golden light of an autumn evening softly spilled onto the dining room walls, painting everything with a warm, cozy glow. Sparky, ever vigilant for any sign of food, lay at the foot of the table, watching everyone’s movements like a little guardian.

“Tommy, if you put one more olive on that plate, I swear you won’t get dessert!” Wanda scolded, her voice filled with exasperation, though her eyes betrayed an amused glint.

“Mom, olives are the best part of dinner!” Tommy retorted, stacking a fourth olive in the corner of his plate as if building a tower. Billy, seated next to him, leaned in with a teasing grin.

“Let him be, Mom. At least that way he’s eating something, considering he always skips the vegetables.”

“I don’t skip them! I… selectively eat them,” Tommy corrected, raising an eyebrow.

Wanda ran a hand over her face, clearly resisting the urge to say more. She looked like the epitome of an exhausted mother: wrinkled apron, hair tied back in a hurried bun, and a furrow between her brows that revealed her struggle to keep everything under control. Watching from the kitchen as you sliced bread, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Relax, love. They’re just excited. It’s part of the holiday,” you said gently, crossing the space between the kitchen and the table with a plate of salad. Wanda turned toward you, her shoulders subtly relaxing at the sound of your voice.

“They’re going to drive me insane, that’s what’s going to happen,” she grumbled, though her words were tinged with affection.

Leaning in, you kissed her cheek, ignoring the muffled teasing coming from the boys.

“It’s only until dinner. I promise, after that, they’ll be calm and polite as angels.”

“Doubt it!” Billy called out loudly from across the table, laughing as Wanda narrowed her eyes at him.

Finally, everyone sat at the table, the golden turkey shining at the center, surrounded by colorful dishes: gratin potatoes, sautéed vegetables, pies, and sauces that completed the feast. Sparky, realizing it was mealtime, lay down again with an exaggerated sigh.

“Okay, kids, let’s give thanks for today,” you suggested, taking Wanda’s hand, who in turn took Tommy’s. The chain was formed. Billy glanced sideways at his brother before offering a small smile.

“I’m thankful for this new house and for Mom’s cooking,” Tommy said first, surprising everyone with his sincerity. Wanda blinked, clearly moved, but held herself together.

Billy, ever practical, smirked and said, “I’m thankful Sparky didn’t eat my snack this week. And for that pumpkin pie over there.”

Everyone laughed, breaking the momentary seriousness. Wanda squeezed your hand gently before speaking.

“I’m thankful for the family I chose and for the peace we have here. None of this would be possible without you.” She looked directly at you, her green eyes full of a tenderness that seemed to envelop her entirely.

You smiled, feeling your heart warm. “And I’m thankful for all of you. For being together, healthy, and happy. That’s all that matters.”

That night, as the boys slept in the room next door and Sparky snored at the foot of the couch, you and Wanda found each other in the small space of your new home, cups of tea in hand. The soft lights of the room illuminated only your faces, creating an intimate and cozy bubble.

“Do you realize we’re here now? Together. Like a family,” Wanda murmured, her voice tinged with a sweet incredulity. “I never imagined my life could be like this.”

“You deserve this, Wanda. You deserve love, you deserve peace.”

She smiled softly, her eyes glinting with some distant memory. “That trip to Paris… it was the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, fondly recalling the moment. Wanda thought you were taking her just to celebrate your vacation, but both of you had a secret plan. On the first night, under the illuminated Eiffel Tower, you took her to dinner, pulled a ring from your pocket, and knelt before her. Wanda’s smile and tears were enough to calm any nerves.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was that she also had a ring hidden in her bag.

“It’s funny how we proposed to each other at the same time,” you said, laughing softly.

“I knew we were meant to be; I just needed a ring to make it official,” Wanda joked, leaning into you.

The memories mingled with the present: family dinners, the twins’ laughter, Sparky’s innocent antics, and the love that overflowed in every touch and shared glance between you. Life went on, and that moment was just a snapshot of a story that would continue long after the readers’ eyes closed.

Destiny is a quiet and unpredictable force, weaving invisible threads between souls that, somehow, were meant to find each other. Sometimes, it acts as a whisper in the wind, a shared glance in a church that grows into a grand story, the kind so impactful they become unpublishable.

The best love stories are the ones eyes can’t read, the ones words aren’t enough to tell. They are the stories that are felt or dreamed.

Some loves are born as sparks: they shine brightly but end in the same breath that started them. Others, however, carry eternity in the eyes of those who live them. They are built over years, with patience, courage, and even silence. These loves withstand time, crossing generations, and when life ends, they find a way to continue. Perhaps in another era, perhaps in another skin, but never in another heart. Because there are loves that don’t belong to just one life. They belong to destiny, and destiny, however whimsical, always finds a way to perpetuate what was born to be eternal.

We are all like pieces of coins that children break in half as keepsakes—turning one into two, like flounders—and each of us is always searching for our corresponding half.

And so all this commotion is a relic of that original state of ours, from when we were whole, and now, when we long for and pursue that primordial wholeness, we say we are in love.

And that was it. You had found your other half. Wanda was your primordial wholeness, and you were hers. The world might change around you, but that—that silent and secure love between you—would remain, unbreakable as velvet chains.

~*~

Thankiuuu so much for you read Velvet Chains!!! YEYY

I hope the ending met your expectations!

I dunno if i'll write anything before Christimas, so... MERRY CHRISTMAS you gayyys!

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi! Can I request some Hank McCoy romantic fluff headcannons?

Hank McCoy Romantic Fluff Headcanons

How is Hank in a romantic relationship

In your romantic relationship with Hank McCoy, his intellect and gentle nature create a comforting and stimulating environment where you feel both cherished and inspired.

I can totally do that! I hope you like it <3

- Being with Hank means embracing every side of him—from his brilliance in the lab to his warm, endearing awkwardness. He has a tendency to overthink things, especially when it comes to you. At first, he was nervous about whether you’d be comfortable with his more “beastly” traits. But the way you look at him, with genuine love and acceptance, has gradually put him at ease, allowing him to fully be himself around you.

- Hank is a complete gentleman. He often insists on opening doors for you, pulling out your chair, or offering his hand as you walk together, even in mundane situations. His old-fashioned, chivalrous ways stem from his love of literature and classic cinema, and he finds joy in treating you with the same care as the romantic heroes he admires.

- Although he can be reserved, Hank is incredibly affectionate when you're alone together. His love language is physical touch, and he cherishes the simple intimacy of holding you close, his large, furry hands gently intertwined with yours. He often rests his head on top of yours, relishing the closeness and warmth that he so rarely allows himself to feel with anyone else.

- Hank loves to read with you. He has an extensive collection of novels, poetry, and scientific journals, and there’s nothing he finds more comforting than spending a quiet evening reading together. Often, he’ll choose a passage he finds particularly beautiful or thought-provoking and read it aloud to you, his deep voice adding a rich, soothing cadence to each word.

- He’s incredibly thoughtful and remembers every little detail about you, from your favorite tea to the songs that make you smile. If you casually mention something you like, it won’t be long before he surprises you with it, whether it’s a new book he thinks you’d enjoy or your favorite snack after a long day. Hank is always looking for ways to make you feel special and cherished.

- Despite his intimidating appearance, Hank has a soft, almost bashful side when it comes to romance. He’s meticulous about planning dates, often going over every detail to make sure everything is perfect. He’ll spend hours planning something as simple as a picnic, meticulously choosing the spot and packing all your favorite foods. His devotion shines through in all the small ways he tries to make every moment memorable for you.

- Hank has a deeply playful side, and he loves to surprise you with unexpected jokes or a quick spin around the room. You’d think his serious intellect would make him less inclined to have fun, but he absolutely loves to make you laugh. Sometimes, he’ll lift you up effortlessly, spinning you in his arms just to see your surprised smile. His laughter is a rich, warm sound, and it fills you with pure happiness whenever you hear it.

- When you’re working late on something or simply feeling stressed, Hank will surprise you with a comforting cup of tea or a gentle shoulder massage. His hands, large but tender, work away your tension with surprising finesse, and he’ll murmur soothing words as he does so, reminding you to take care of yourself. He finds joy in helping you relax, finding any excuse to take care of you.

- Hank has an endearing habit of talking to himself while he’s working in his lab. Sometimes, you’ll catch him muttering theories under his breath or reciting scientific facts to no one in particular. He always blushes when he realizes you’re watching, a bit embarrassed by his eccentricity, but you reassure him that it’s one of the many things you adore about him. Knowing you accept even his quirks only makes him love you more.

- He’s constantly creating small inventions just for you—little gadgets to make life easier or items he thinks will make you smile. One time, he crafted a unique bookmark for you with your initials engraved in it, so you’d never lose your place in a book. Another time, he made a tiny portable light that clips onto your book, so you could read anywhere without straining your eyes. Each invention is a token of his love, showing just how much he pays attention to your needs and comforts.

- Hank is deeply protective of you, though he tries not to show it too much. He respects your independence and strength, but if he senses any danger, his instincts kick in, and he’ll stand by your side without question. When he’s with you, he feels a sense of purpose and devotion, and he’d do anything to keep you safe. His loyalty to you runs deep, and you can always rely on him to be there when it matters most.

- Sometimes, he’ll absentmindedly play with your hair as you both relax together. His touch is gentle, and he finds it incredibly soothing to simply be close to you in these quiet moments. You’ll feel his fingers combing through your hair, a soft, comforting gesture that reminds you of just how tender and affectionate he is, despite his tough exterior.

- On evenings when you’re both especially content, Hank will hum softly, his voice low and gentle as he cradles you close. His singing is rare but beautiful, and you love the calm, intimate atmosphere he creates when he lets himself relax this way. It’s a rare glimpse into his private world, a peaceful moment he reserves just for you, reminding you of the depth and beauty of his love.

[painter-of-the-stars]

ᴏʜ, ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ.

Bleeeeep! The Payphone is ringing !A personal request from the author!

Maybe you're a daughter of hades, maybe people find you rude. But he doesn't and he never will. He will always drown in those violet, violet eyes.

A percy jackson x daughter of hades!reader !

Percy Jackson is in love, to say the least. To say more, Percy Jackson is really, really in love with a daughter of Hades. To say even more, you probably don't even like him. But his heart can't help but skip a beat when you lie in the fields with him, talking about collage, talking about your dreams. And maybe, just maybe, he wishes he was a part of them. "And then, I'll make my way to college and every. single. teacher. is going to be so scared of me." He laughs, the sound catching the air. You make him laugh with your antics. He's not sure if they're on purpose, but he grins anyway: "Why? Will that stop them from giving you homework?" Percy watches as you huff, lips perking up. Like you were trying not to laugh. Trying not to tell him things that made their way to your brain. "Well, yeah. But also, I can bully them for a better grade." "Right. Of course, every teacher will tremble in fear of you. the very ground will shake upon your arrival." The sarcasm in his tone is not missed, and you turn your head towards him, eyes finding his. The precise thing that made him fall over the edge that was 'platonic love' deep, deep into the depths of pure, pure, love. Those violet eyes carried the melancholy of every burden put upon you, they carried also a simple spark of mischief, of hope, of everything he finds himself looking for. Sometimes he finds himself wondering if they carry a hint of love, for him. Violet stare into the Sea-Green, death stares into the ocean. Her eyes find every flaw, every scar on him, but surprisingly, he doesn't feel embarrassed. "I didn't miss that. You don't always have to be so sarcastic with me, ya know?" "Oh, but what's the fun in that, princess?" And so Percy Jackson will continue yearning, for those violet eyes to stay in his life. For those eyes to stare back at him with the devotion he is sure is present in his. For her lips to be on his. He'll keep on yearning, till all that happens.

a/n: sorry, dropped some poetry, lmfao- anyway, percy jackson obssession is hitting HARD!

Bleeeep! Insert a coin into the slot to make another wish! Later, reader!

Want to be on the payphone's taglist? Shoot me a dm!

[intermundia]

so i've always found anakin's dialogue much more difficult to write correctly than obi-wan's. obi-wan is a wry and posh voice, simple in compared to anakin's mess of contradictions. pragmatic, blunt, and forthright, but also that somehow translates into saying things like i'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me, my heart is beating hoping the kiss will not become a scar in the most melodramatic way possible. he's self aware enough to say shit like you're asking me to be rational, that is something i know i cannot do, but also one of the most deluded characters in star wars. it's hard to accurately capture the way he says the truest possible thing at any given time (from his point of view), sometimes he's spouting poetry, sometimes joking and quipping about it, depending on if he's in the prequels or mid clone wars. as vader his vocabulary is menacing, lofty, sarcastic. it feels impossible to nail the exact balance between his brilliance and stupidity, his literal, technical brain with all its jokes and pure, deep, strong emotion. it's definitely part of what makes the character special, but it's also a hell of a needle to thread trying to write him right.

[ranexpositioning]

I'm obsessed with Rainbow Rowell's writing. And the thing about it is that it's simple, so it's overlooked. But no one writes romance like her. No one captures life itself like her, period.

Her writing isn't flashy poetry or noticeably profound on first read. It's subtle. But once you see it, you can't unsee it.

Like Cath, who was her own person starting school. And it wasn't a gimmick or surface quirky. She wasn't just an outlet for any reader to plug themselves into. Cath was a beautifully real character. And it's the little things, like how she never went to the cafeteria because she didn't know how people did things because no one ever explains how. Or the absolute awkwardness of being in love. Because Cath didn't need some over the top gesture or huge confession to show that she was in love. It just was.

And don't get me started on the Carry On series. Every reread and there's a new line to highlight. A thousand quotes that take on new meaning. Baz is always entertaining, because he's annoyed with several of Simon's habits and he loves him stupid.

Rainbow Rowell captures neediness and pure want, and put it in the pages of her books.

[thegleamingmoon]

Beloved.

Chapter 1 - Meeting you.

🪷✨ ❛ In every world, my heart would bloom for you. In every moment, in every lifetime, amidst the stars and the endless ocean, in every heartbeat and whispered breeze, I would choose you always and forever. ❜ ✨🪷

*********

The golden rays of the early morning sun filtered through the intricate carvings of the Padmanabhaswamy Temple, casting a divine glow upon its magnificent structure. And there she was, draped in a simple yet elegant saree as she walked through the temple's corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone floors and like every other day, the air was fragrant with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, as the devotees murmured their prayers, lost in their own worlds of devotion as the girl walked into the inner sanctum, where the majestic form of Lord Padmanabhan lay in eternal slumber.

"Dear lord, please look after the world like you always do. I pray for the good health of my family and dear ones. May you always be with them and keep them happy." This was what she usually prayed for. Nothing more, nothing less. But today was different, she had come here to seek solace in the divine presence of her beloved deity but she still felt restless for reasons unknown.

The strange sensation grew as she moved out from the sanctum to the temple premises, she felt as if someone was watching her. Turning around, her eyes met those of a man standing a few feet away. He was tall and handsome, with an aura of mystery surrounding him. His complexion, very much like the clouds filled with rain and eyes, deep and penetrating that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

"Namaskaram", he greeted her with a warm smile, his voice gentle and calming.

"Namaskaram," she replied, curiosity piqued by this stranger. "Are you new to the this place? I haven't seen you here before."

"Yes, I am new to this city." he said, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. "I’m Aravind. May I know your name?"

"Bhadra. It's nice to meet you, sir", she replied and saw his smile grow wider, making his eyes twinkle with an emotion she couldn't comprehend.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bhadra. And we can drop the formalness." He said as she shyly giggled. It was sweet to hear her name in his beautiful voice. She thought, mentally facepalming to bring herself out of her mind. Something was really wrong with her today.

As they walked through the temple grounds, Bhadra found herself more intrigued, drawn into a conversation with Aravind. They talked about the temple, the city of Thiruvananthapuram, its history, and the legends that surrounded it. He spoke with a depth of understanding that left Bhadra in awe. Hours passed like minutes, and soon the sun began to set, casting an orange hue hue over the temple.

"What brings you here? And how do you know so much about this place?", Bhadra asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Aravind smiled mysteriously. "Well, I have always been connected to this temple."

"Tell me about it." She looked deeper into his eyes, only to find a glimpse of her own secrets that were kept away from the world.

Bhadra lived a simple life, tending to the temple and helping those in need. She didn't remember a time when she was not insanely drawn to the deity. She had always looked up to the blue-hued god who slept on a thousand hooded serpent. She saw him in the vast sky, in her delusional thoughts, in the poetries she wrote, in the songs she sang and in almost everything she did.

She would dream of peacock feathers, moonlit nights and beautiful dense forests where gleamingly blurry visions of her beloved flute player would greet her with bliss and confusion. She would hold on to them to this day and maybe forever, without any expectations but just pure, boundless love that she had.

"Maybe those visions are trying to tell you something? You still get them don't you?"

That deep voice of Aravind broke her chain of thoughts as she looked up at him perplexed and maybe a little annoyed.

"Did you just read my mind?"

He just replied with a cheeky smile as he brought himself dangerously close to her, "Perhaps I just understand you better than anyone else, Bhadra. I have always done so." he gently whispered, only making her confusion grow.

"And I have always wanted to tell you that I love to hear you sing, even though you don't sing often. Your voice melts like honey into my ears. I can listen to it everyday." He looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"How do you say that when you have never heard me sing? Who are you, Aravind?", she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You seem to know me in ways that no one else does."

He chuckled even as his eyes were moist, "Oh I have heard you countless times. You, my dearest, are much more than you think of yourself to be."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I want to explain, I can't. He sighed wistfully. "It's sad, but I have to leave now. I will return soon, Bhadra. Until then, promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"Why?" She clearly didn't understand a thing. It didn't seem fair, or so she thought. This man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, mysterious but familiar, only to say he’d disappear again, leaving her with countless questions. Yet, somehow, it all felt right. Despite not wanting him to leave, she could only hope that he would come back.

Adoring the curls that framed her soft features one last time, Aravind stepped back. "Until next time," he voiced, extending his hand. Bhadra grasped it firmly, losing herself in his eyes as she tearfully bid him goodbye.

"Moley," she heard her father's call and turned around. "I'm here, Appa," she yelled back, hearing his hasty steps as he reached her.

"I knew you'd be here," he said with a warm smile lighting up his kind eyes. "It will be dark soon. I want you to come home with me." He gently caressed her head, and she nodded in agreement.

"Are you okay, kanne? Were you talking to someone here?" He asked, concerned.

Bhadra turned to her side, only to find nobody there and smiled in despair and surprise. It all felt too real to be one of her delusions and too elusive to be reality. She wanted to tell her father about the mysterious person she met but she knew that it would be difficult for him or anyone to believe. So she chose to remain silent about everything that happened today.

"No, Appa. Let's go home" She replied as she followed her father on their way back home.

Today was different indeed.

**********

Moley/Kanne - a way to address a daughter or a little girl in Malayalam.

A/N - Wanted to write something like this for the longest time. This may have some cliche moments but this work by far, is the closest to my heart. And I may turn this into a series if y'all wish. So let's see. I hope you enjoy reading it <3

Tags- @krsnaradhika @houseofbreadpakoda @harinishivaa @achyutapriya @kaal-naagin @sambaridli @sambhavami @yehsahihai @ramayantika @khushireadsandrambles

[chanranghaeys]

🐸 “come here, hold my hand.”

request from my og @tusswrites! "come here, hold my hand.” “you’re washing the dishes.” “…i can do both…” with minghao? please i love this man and I’ll crumble if he says this to me 😭

pairing: minghao x gn!reader word count: 1k+ genre: fluff, slice of life (HELLO IT'S ME) rating: pg tags: pure fluff, physical touch as the love language, mundane stuff, household chores, request prompted washing the dishes so you will have washing the dishes, i try to make up a song warnings: none

a/n: finally found the random inspiration for this drabble that ended up with more than 1k words. purely self-indulgent. bear with me. as someone who always washes the dishes, i want this. bow.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Minghao is a strong believer in physical touch as a love language.

Popular media doesn’t showcase this all too well because of the image and concept that has been formed around him. Still, physical touch is the love language that remains superior in his opinion. This means being able to reach out to the other person and hold them in any manner, being in proximity to them to express how you feel, and being in the same room with each other regardless of what you are doing.

He says it’s about having something tangible to hold—tactile in his hand and palpable on his body—and how he appreciates having the people around him to physically ground his thoughts and dreams that can soar as high as the heavens allow. It reminds him that he doesn’t just have his rational mind anchoring him down but also something and someone to help make sense of things.

Minghao, contrary to popular belief then, is actually a very clingy person.

Words are not and will never be his strong suit. Yes, he can write. Yes, his words are like poetry, like water flowing through the rough in cascades of emotion, but they only come out when the cup is full. On a day-to-day basis, Minghao expresses his love which can be felt even through the slightest brush of hands.

This is a fact that you learned almost immediately.

He comes home, wordless, whether to his place or your place, and the first thing he does is go in for a hug. No matter where you are or what you are doing, he forces you to stop so he can hug you for who knows how long, deeply, fully, and wholeheartedly—not that half-assed wraparound from the side that people excuse for a hug.

It’s a habit he started during a particularly trying time in his life. He would pull you closer and engulf you in his arms, burying you in his scent as he buries himself in the crook of your neck or the crown of your head.

Naturally, during a particularly trying time in your life this time, you picked up his habit easily and did the same to him.

Scientific studies show that a 20-second hug is enough to release oxytocin that can lower stress levels and improve quality of life. Whatever the research says, you and Minghao do agree that this little practice has made your lives easier and more bearable than they used to be.

Recently though, you always end up missing each other at home. He would come home late nights and early mornings after schedules to find you sound asleep in your bed, while you would wake up a few hours later to his sleeping form recovering from the previous day’s demands. You’d come home one too many days to a space devoid of his comforting presence, and the same could be said for him.

It happens, you think. It’s absolutely normal. Being this busy just means that both your lives are taking a turn for the better, right?

But still, you miss him, despite coming home to each other every day. You miss the simple act of sharing your silence together and you miss the way his touches would simultaneously calm you down but also keep you on your toes.

Today, you couldn’t help but feel lonelier than usual as you set your jacket and bag down to be greeted by a dark apartment room. Based on his last message a few hours ago, Minghao was still in the studio practicing. He sent a selca with the other performance unit boys and you don’t deny how you stared at his sweaty hair and bare smiling face for a minute longer than you thought you did.

But you had a good day at work, where everything just worked out the way you wish every day would, and you absolutely will not let anything rain on your small moment of happiness. No, not even the mess of a room you left this morning and not the pile of dishes you didn't realize remained unwashed this morning.

So you turn on the speakers and press play on a song that has Minghao’s voice fill the empty space. It was one of his unreleased demos for his recent solo EP. It was a shame because this was your favorite from his endless roster of songs—a song where the lyrics talked about how the most mundane of moments could be the most special if you had your love’s hand to hold.

You started on the dishes and got lost in the process almost meditatively in the menial task. It was enough to startle you when you heard your name from behind you. You see him in fresh clothes and slightly damp hair, a clean scent emanating from his presence.

“When did you get home?” You asked in reply to your most favorite voice in the world.

“Just now,” Minghao instinctively reached out to latch onto your waist, easily letting your gravity pull him to you in your natural ritual of finding purchase in each other's nooks and crannies. As if you were two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly, he molds his body against yours with his chest flush to your back and his hands folding on the flat of your stomach.

He breathed in your scent and you felt his smile against your temple. Instantaneously, you relax against his touch as he says against your ear, “I missed you.”

You turn to find his lips, softly pressing yours against them and repeating his words to him. With a smile, you continue your reply with a melody to your voice. “Come here, hold my hand.”

You feel his chuckles with his cheek pressed on yours when he says, “But you’re washing the dishes.”

“I can do both.”

So he does, intertwining one of his hands with yours—albeit awkwardly—and helping you finish the chore in front of you. His soft giggles mingle with yours as you two find a rhythm to washing the dishes among four working hands.

You two stay in this position for a while with the song still playing in the background, the lyrics resounding as you sway in time with the rhythm.

“Come here, hold my hand, pull me in, and let me orbit around your gravity…”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: still from my little drabble request game and still accepting requests! all you gotta do is shoot an ask <3

[merakiui]

mera what does skully think of period sex?? 🥺

👁️ 👁️ if it’s Skully in the Victorian era, then the mere idea of any type of sex before marriage is absolutely scandalous. I think he’d salivate over your menstrual belt (the Victorian equivalent of the modern-day pad). OTL if he gets his gross, grubby, gentlemanly paws on it……. >_< it’s not even simple curiosity; it’s love and lust, the most carnal of desires when he sniffs at the stained garment,,, lapping at it like a terrible mutt!!! Wrapping it around his dick as he fucks into his fist in the shadows where candlelight can’t reach. If you knew of the filth he got up to with that garment of yours, you’d surely think he was a rotten, depraved thief. As far as you know, it’s merely missing. A misplaced article of clothing. :)

But he can’t help it. :< he wants to know everything about you, savor all that there is, be as close to his love as possible. And this will sate all of those urges (for now).

Omg and if he does get to have you on your period…. he’s determined to please you!! To give you pleasure so praiseworthy it’s as if Eros himself has bestowed it upon you. Laying you down on the soft bed and kissing his way down to your special place while lowering to his knees. Stuck between your legs as he licks at your sopping cunt, his fingers dipping into the pudge of your thighs as he holds them apart. Sloppy in technique he may be, he makes up for it with enthusiasm and determination. He could spend so much time stuffing his fingers and tongue inside you, tasting your blood. When he pulls back, his maw is stained with your blood and his pupils are so delightfully, maliciously wide.

He’ll wax the sweetest poetry about it, too. <3 so enamored with you and your menstrual cycle. You’ll have to beg him to finally put his dick inside, otherwise he’ll dive back in for more, and a command from his dearest is something he’ll never ignore. You’ll get whatever you ask for and more from him, for he cherishes you so. The pure-white linens are stained a lovely scarlet by the time you’re both finished and lying snuggled together, shushing each other as you giggle about this sinful affair.

[jlepixie]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ she is pure poetry, walking and breathing ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

╰ ୨ Tom Kaulitz is kissing you ୧ ╯

༶⋆˙⊹｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ✩ ˛˚.

☆ he is a traditional kisser, he's more into deep, heavy kisses to show intimacy. Although sometimes his kisses seem more demanding and rough.

☆ but also, Tom loves playful kisses, whether they’re short pecks or drawn out kisses

☆ one hand is always on your butt

☆ it would always start as simple kisses but obviously they will turn into something more and sexual, whether is a blow job, a quickie or even making love

☆ Tom loves deep and sloppy kisses

☆ He is a tease. He probably butterfly kisses you until you beg for him to kiss you normally. When he does it’s rough and passionate. Definitely adds his tongue. There is no kiss without.

☆ he is the type of guy that would pull you into a sloppy kiss when he gets jealous and would definitely make eye contact with that person

☆ Tom's favourite place to kiss are definitely your lips but sometimes he gives small pecks on your forehead and hickeys are a must to you, I feel like he is the type of guy that wouldn't accept hickeys on him.

© 2023 jlepixie.  ─  please do not copy,  repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission. 

[teabunnee]

YAY AN AFK WRITER 😭 i’ve been so starved. please gimme any hcs you have for lorsan or lucius (in general or x reader hehe) i love them so much

Lorsan 

Lorsan is a dork. But at least he’s your dork!

Whether that’s a good thing or not is up to you. 

Lorsan canonically loves flower crowns, as a child. As an adult, he won’t admit it but should you give him some fresh wildflowers, he melts a bit at the gesture. Maybe he’ll make you a crown, though it might be a bit messy from lack of practice. 

He does his best to woo you with his words. Many of his compliments, however are pure poetry, and he’s an expert in romantic letters to make you swoon, then he ruins it by praising himself too much. 

Don’t be fooled, he’s a romantic at heart. You can see the effort he puts in to sweep you off your feet. 

He enjoys making you blush, sneaking you kisses on the cheek when you aren’t looking. 

If you take your revenge while he’s talking, he continues talking until he registers the kiss and his voice trails off. It’s a great way to get him to stop talking for a bit. 

Dates with the dork are fun! He likes to explore new things with you, or to show you his favorite pretty date spots, he’ll take you to the prettiest, iconic date spots in the Dark Forest, like Lovers’ Wish. (“Though they don’t hold a candle to you, darling”) 

Oh, get ready for the pet names. All of them, sometimes in the same sentence. They get cheesier the more mischievous he’s feeling. 

Lorsan is your protector, should you need it! It’s sometimes difficult to remember that Lorsan is a skilled Windwhisperer and warrior in his own right, but he’s very good at making people remember. 

All of the tension goes out of him when you two are alone, he’ll nuzzle against you, boneless and tail twitching in happiness, kissing your cheek with his lips and his nose. He’s a cuddler, through and through. 

Lucius 

This man be a himbo. A relatively sophisticated and well-bred himbo, but a himbo all the same. 

Dude was straight up missing for two weeks trying to help people. He be himbo

Canonically, most of his advice involves exercise or horses. I don’t think he understands romance. At all. 

Lucius is a noble, so his ideas of romance are kind of centred around what he heard growing up. So he courts you, basically, in his own way. He gives you gifts that are simple, practical and beautiful. Bouquets of flowers, jewellery, whatever you asked for him. Service is also a big thing. He’s your literal knight in shining armour, dude will carry you across the globe princess style should you ask him to. 

he takes you to his favourite restaurants, they are simple, plain fare. Though with how loved he is by his country, the servers and owners always do their best to make it a good experience. 

He’s very sappy, make him something, no matter how stupid or silly it looks, and he wears it with pride in public, proclaiming you as the maker. He gets a bit confused should you get embarrassed. 

He likes taking you on horseback rides, he’s named every single one he’s ever ridden, and remembers their temperaments, so it will always be a pleasant experience for you. 

He won’t talk to you about his troubles, he’s had to keep it to himself so long that it’s tough for him. He’ll open up to you very slowly, after some needling. 

He’s also very hesitant about affection, he won’t initiate it unless you give your permission. He’s very gentlemanly in that regard, though it can be frustrating. 

His kisses are very gentle. He cradles your face in his hands, and gazes at you with such tenderness. His hugs are comforting and very warm, like he's protecting you from the entire world.

[theinnerunderrain]

The Soldier, the Poet and the King [Yan! Genshin]

The Soldier is someone who will battle for his principles even if it means becoming coated in blood, sweat, and tears as long as he is victorious and able to obtain his treasured prize, that being you. Due to his ambition and perception that violence is in his horizon, he enters the violent world partly as a result of his own judgments. However, that voyage of violence seems to have been worthwhile when you are at the other end. As you extend your arms for his hug, you appear to be gleaming at him with a brilliant smile, but that appearance is merely a deception played on his mind, a greeting that only fools who are in love cannot see through.

After a long day on the battlefield, when he closes his eyes to drift off to sleep, you are the only image he can see as you are everything he has ever dreamed of. He was aware that it was immoral to want you, to lust after you like such a succubus, and to desire to knead every curve within your figure. He was aware that wanting to embrace you and tainting your innocence with his blood-stained fingers and the souls he took was wicked.

Nonetheless, he was driven by self-interest.

He wouldn't have survived this long if it weren't for you. In a quest to become a closer to you, he toiled so hard for you that he slaughtered and endured several scars from the Gods above. He partially gave up his pride, his family and childhood all just for you.

After all, he is a soldier. He must be brave, no matter what.

Will you not fulfil his one and only wish? To simply love you? Merely to be with you? In light of what he has accomplished, he is not really asking for much.

Don't be selfish now.

Consider those who had to die as a result of your actions. Think the women and children he had to massacre. All the homes he burned down, all the people he slaughtered.

Don't you think it would be a shame to have their sacrifice go to waste? Are they nothing but burnt corpses to you?

You don't want their lives to be wasted like that, do you?

Do you?

The Wanderer, Cyno, Childe, Capitano, Alhaitham, Traveler.

The poet is a serene being who values beauty and lyricism, and in his eyes, you are perhaps the most beautiful person in the world. Curiously delicate and appearing to be reserved for you and you alone, his words would stream from his lips much like roses spewing from water, pure and innocent. The poet would captivate you with one of his many talents, whether it was alchemy or simply simple poetry. Despite the absurd number of warning signs that are flashing in your face, it wouldn't take you long to become infatuated with him since all you can hear are his alluring words and assurances of an eternal union. But keep in mind that not all of what he says is truthful, even a poet is capable of telling lies.

One might even contend that poets are the greatest liars since they are so clever and skilled with language that any falsehood would be easily revealed.

You are his dearest muse, but that does not mean you are exempted from his lies, lies that are meant to protect you from the dangerous world. The poet wants to be able to depict your beauty, whether it be through writing, sketching, or even more nefarious tactics that involves a more scientific means. Even if his experiments of curiosity are a little strange sometimes, don't worry too much.

You are guaranteed to be safe.

Despite being arrogant, he was aware of his capabilities. Even you, who he longed to believe was immortal, knew that people were frail and continually constrained by the bonds of existence.

That's why he is in such a frenzy to acquire as many recollections of you as he can through songs and poems, artwork and literature, as well as by collecting pieces for your hair and dead cells that you left behind within your blankets.

He desired to be continually captivated with you and to retain a fragment of you with him forever.

You are his finest creation, after all.

One that he wants to keep around forever and ever.

Kazuha, Albedo, Dottore, Tighnari, Kaeya.

The King is an individual who feels the gravity of needing to oversee and undertake responsibilities for the entire world, so it is not strange that he feels a sense of obligation to you. He believes he must carry out his obligations and adhere to social demands because they are unavoidable.

Regardless of whether the king aspires to be a poet, he is always restrained by that notion of responsibility. In his heart, the monarch longs to be free to frolic and parade through the streets without the need for a care in the world. His people, his feeling of responsibility, though, bind him.

He felt some freedom and comfort in your presence, and that was enough liberation for him. You gave him the freedom to speak without worrying about being judged or making a mistake. Just by being there, he would lavish you with gold and diamonds, as well as opulent clothing and delectable cuisine.

So, he couldn't comprehend why you would be attempting to escape him.

He didn't understand.

He thought everything went well.

So why are you running?

You must take into consideration that this man was nevertheless a king, a monarch capable of starting war in another country with the snap of his finger, so perhaps it was a mistake for you to assume that he might appear to be a carefree poet in your presence. He was a man who was capable of coldness and savagery, and he could have your head in a matter of hours.

Thus, wouldn't you like to explore a little more with his game?

So do play around with his game a little further won't you? Apologize to him for running, and you will not bear any punishment.

Zhongli, Venti, Pantalone, Ayato, Diluc.

+

[theeluvian]

Under His Spell

2k words, a little snack for you all, no spoilers, just Rook and Emmrich on his desk, so beware this IS smut.

Ring after ring they come off, placed carefully in a small jewelry box that fits perfectly in one of the drawers of Emmrich’s desk. His fingers are long and slender and always move with such grace and dexterity, no matter what they’re up to.

Rook has always watched so intently whenever Emmrich would calm the spirits or perform necromancy like it’s as simple as writing a letter; pure poetry in his every movement, and she always wondered what they’d feel like against herself, dancing across skin, guiding her like she’s one under his spell.

“Come here, darling,” he says, standing next to his desk that has been cleared of any and all papers, gesturing for her to join him.

She only wonders briefly why that is, and walks over to lean against the wooden table per his suggestion.

And barely has she gotten there before his hand is upon her, caressing her cheek before cupping her face with both ring-less hands and leans down to kiss her. His kisses are always just like his self; kind, gentle, thoughtful, caring and attentive to her wants.

There’s only ever tongue between them when he is the wanton one, and this time seems to be such an occasion, as his tongue now asks for permittance into her mouth, and she gladly obliges with a delighted hum.

Emmrich then steps in front of her, both hands on her hips as he kindly suggests for her to sit on top of the empty desk, and it is as she suspects; he cleared it for her - for this.

Then from her hips he moves up, freeing her shirt from where it is tucked into the form-fitting pants she wears, and the excitement in her soul builds in those mere moments before his bare hands are on the skin of her waist.

He doesn’t move further at first; holds her in place with an ever so slightly firm grip, squeezing her agile body beneath the clothes, as if he’s taking note of every inch of her as those adept hands move up and up until they meet just the underside of her breasts, and Rook’s breath hitches then glides into a quiet moan as his thumbs run across her nipples.

It is a brief touch, but there’s more to come as he pulls the shirt over her head and drops it to the floor by their feet.

“My word, as splendid as ever. Your beauty always captivates me,” he hums, gazing first at her breasts then up to meet her eyes.

“And you are quite the charming looker yourself.” She smiles at him and chases him for a kiss, but he leans away faster than she.

Instead he leans further down, tall as he is, his lips meeting with her collarbone, gliding across it with numerous kisses, and as he moves further down, Rook’s breathing increases in fervor, as much as she always tries to remain composed with him.

Emmrich gives a few brief kisses around on her sensitive breasts before bringing forth that expert tongue to lick across one budding nipple, making Rook lean her head back and place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing there to encourage him to continue.

And he does, bites a little, nibbling on her skin, gently pulling at the nipple with his teeth, his right hand working on the other breast, pinching and rubbing it in synchronicity with how he treats the left one. It is a perfect combination that sends shivers down Rook’s back, surging through her chest and down into her crotch that starts warming up like kindling to a fire. 

“Oh Emmrich,” she whispers and it catches his attention enough for him to come up to kiss her with sudden and unbridled passion, but it isn’t an unfamiliar experience, for once he gets going, he’s as much of a loving expert as he is a gentleman. It probably came with age and practice, but she doesn’t dwell on that.

Because all of the past doesn’t matter when he clearly hungers so desperately just for her, burying his face now in the crook of her neck, kissing and breathing in the scent of her like she’s a flower in bloom.

As Rook moves her hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, so does his hands move down to hook onto the waist of her pants, and she of course knew where this was going all along, happily.

Knowing from their past experiences together, her pants are too tight for him to get where he wants to go, so with both hands placed on the surface of the desk, she lifts herself up from it as he tugs both her bottoms off of her, shoes as well till she’s all in the nude and he’s still all dressed.

“Pure perfection,” Emmrich compliments as he takes all of her nudity in.

Soon his hands are on her thighs, high up and squeezing the flesh, massaging her muscles that rarely get to rest; this moment already an exquisite relief from the lives they both lead currently. Cautiously, as if such a thing is still necessary between them, he moves his hands inch by inch, higher and higher till he’s by her hips. And with his hands there, he pulls her closer to the edge of the desk, then lets one hand, guided by the thumb, draw nearer to the center between her thighs, and upon touch Rook inhales in a delighted gasp. The digit there starts drawing circles with her clit, tentatively slow and obsessively accurate with every motion. By now he knows her body, how it works, what it likes, what she likes, swiping his thumb like a conductor to the rhythm of her light moans.

It is, as always, a pure delight to be touched by him, even just being in his presence when they’re alone urges forth a lustful feeling and likewise a sensuous string of thoughts and images in her mind. He once said he chooses his words carefully, and so does he with his actions undoubtedly, rubbing his thumb against her whilst kissing up and down her neck, his otherwise free hand massaging and pinching at her breast.

All of it a symphony of stimulating notions.

Then his lips brush against her ear as he gently asks, “May I?”

And breathlessly, she answers, “Yes.”

The rhythm then changes as he twists his hand around enough so that he can run his fingers through her slick labia, thumb still on her clit as he teases her wet hole with his index and middle fingers, making Rook hum and bite down on her lip, brows knit together in expectation of forthcoming ecstasy. 

“E-Emmrich,” she pleads with him.

“Ask me, then,” he whispers with such a sweet smile for what they’re doing.

“Please.”

“Your wish is my command.”

In one swift plunge he drives his fingers into her pussy and moves them inside of her, making her moan out as he finds those deliciously perfect spots that his long, immaculate fingers can reach. It sends sensational lightning through her body, swirling around in her abdomen like a typhoon of pleasure with his every move, and as he starts thrusting ever so gently, thumb still circling her clit, she cries out.

Ahs and Ohs fill her mouth, one hand on the desk, the other on his shoulder, and even with her eyes tightly closed, she can feel him staring, knows his smile is there.

Soon he adds a third finger, unmistakably sensing that she wants more from the way her body clenches around his digits. It’s all too much, all too wonderful, and it builds in her gut, warms her up hotter than the sun, and her voice grows in pitch as she nears orgasm, muscles tensing up, thighs quivering and hands trembling. Even with his gentle touches and intentful motions so deep inside of her, slow and practiced, he makes her cum with incredible force as she stills, letting out one long moan, legs instinctively closing in around his continuously moving hand as he massages and lets her ride out the pleasure till there is barely a breath left in her lungs.

And ever the gentle man, he draws his hand away softly, and when she opens her eyes to look at him again, she catches sight of him licking his fingers clean of her. When he then kisses her next, she can taste herself on his lips and tongue, and she hums in delight of it, still ever so turned on and needy for more than what he just offered. 

Calm and collected as ever, he steps away from her just enough so that he can take off his bracelets, the vest, his shirt and all their accessories till his torso is bare and naked and shaved cleanly. He’s slim, fit, aged like fine wine and Rook drinks all of it in every time like it’s their first time together.

He then, with expert practice, undoes the belts of his tenting pants, slides them down together with his underwear just enough to release his lengthy, perfect cock, then steps toward Rook once more.

Who in her turn grabs on to him with gentle hands and strokes it with the same temper and temptation that he offered her just before. Into their kisses his breathing is heavy yet tactful, and in her hand he twitches whenever she runs her palm across the tip, smearing his precum across the heated, pulsating flesh.

She guides his cock to her hole, then leans backwards to rest her elbows on the desk, chased by his lustful kisses as he places his hands flat next to her elbows, leaning in over her as he slowly slips inside. They share a moan and the air belonging to one another as he sinks deeper, inch by inch into her pussy.

He breaks their kissing only for air briefly before diving back in to meet her lips with ever the fervor, starting to move in and out with lascivious intent. Their every time together is filled with just as much splendor as their first, like lovers discovering each other over and over, a sensation neither will grow tired of.

Especially Rook, moaning louder with every thrust, every inch, every time he fills her completely, to the bottom of his shaft and the bottom of her cunt. No words can describe their time together, only labored breathing, gasps for air, moans in unison as their souls entwine. 

And slowly, like he’s afraid to break her if he let all of his lust free at once, Emmrich thrusts faster, harder, every plunge as deep as he can go, hitting every sweet spot inside of her sensitive pussy, still so fully ignited from her first orgasm, and the second one won’t be far away now.

One arm at a time, she wraps them around his shoulders, careful as to not touch his precious hair, even as strands of it have come loose somewhere along their tryst. This close she can moan and whimper straight into his ear, and she knows it drives him mad with lust for her with every extended vowel coming from her parted lips.

He brings up one hand to press their bodies closer as he again moves faster, each motion becoming more and more erratic, and she can tell by that that he’s getting close.

That and his, “I’m close, darling.”

Rook then lets a hand massage her clit so that she can finish faster, and it truly barely takes a touch for her to tense up and clench down on Emmrich’s cock, making him grunt out in a rather brutish manner for what he usually does, and her tightness surrounding him urges him to cum inside mere moments into Rook’s orgasm, and after a few quick thrusts, he stills, buried deep and comfortably.

Together they heave for air, sighing blissfully with every exhale, embracing one another as they stay like this for a few prolonged seconds, like they are one now and forever.