#Tag: Etchings in the Walls { Art }

[gazelessmenagerie]

#|| Tag: OOC #|| Etchings in the Walls { Art } #( -lays on the ground- free from work I had a need to draw him even if it was something simple )

[maximilfisms]

draw me like i'm one of your french girls | thérèse raquin x fem!reader

Summary: Thérèse, trapped in her unwanted marriage to Camille, seeks comfort in Y/N, the talented artist who painted her husband's portrait, in the form of an illicit rendezvous. Or a glimpse on one of those nights where Y/N would sneak into Madame Raquin's shop, fulfill Thérèse's needs, and disappear like ghosts in the air.

Word count: 2k+

Tags: 18+, smut, fingering, cheating, semi-public sex? idk, but they almost got caught, bottom!thérèse, top!reader, what's proofreading?, MDNI!

this is my first fic, and i honestly don't even know what i am doing rip

The moonlight shone its faint light to the labyrinthine streets of Paris, where gaslights cast flickering shadows upon the cobblestone alleys, and the whispers of clandestine affairs lingered like the fragrance of aged wine. Thérèse found solace in the hidden corners of a city draped in secrets. The narrow passages, cloaked in the heavy scent of impending rain, and the hushed murmur of distant voices all served as the backdrop for her forbidden love. It was within this maze of dimly lit alleyways, where the echoes of the footsteps of busy Parisians harmonized with the nocturnal symphony of the city, that she navigated the complexities of their entangled destinies.

The bedroom, perched on the second floor of her aunt, Madame Raquin's shop, became their clandestine haven—a sanctuary veiled in heavy drapes, the creaking sighs of weathered floorboards, and the gaslights flickered outside, transforming her marital bedroom into a cocoon where the artistry of their passion unfolded. The ambient glow painted an intimate tapestry upon the walls, revealing the shared vulnerability of two souls seeking refuge in the shadows.

The air itself seemed to hold the whispers of lovers from eras past, a blend of the city's musky perfume and the intoxicating aroma of forbidden desire. Thérèse, adorned in the trappings of societal expectations, stood before her woman with a yearning that mirrored the palpable tension of the quiet night. Y/N, the painter with fingers that could evoke emotion from pigments, gazed at Thérèse as if deciphering the poetry etched upon her soul. The dim light filtered through the bedroom's heavy drapes, casting Thérèse's silhouette in a dance of shadows that accentuated the soft curves of her vulnerability, and Y/N, a connoisseur of emotion, observed with an artist's discerning eye—a voyeur capturing the essence of clandestine passion in each subtle movement.

"Draw me like I'm one of your French girls," Thérèse whispered, her voice a soft plea that echoed in the dimly lit room, where their secret unfolded against the backdrop of Paris's clandestine allure.

Y/N, attuned to the nuances of their surroundings, nodded in silent agreement despite the subtle yet genuine smile that graced her lips. The room, a haven shrouded in the mysteries of the night, bore witness to the illicit dance of two souls—a dance painted with the strokes of desire, vulnerability, and the unspoken language of their love.

Y/N's hands moved with purpose, much like the strokes of a brush in a canvas that became an intimate exploration of Thérèse's essence. Her slender fingers brushed Thérèse's shoulders, sliding off the brunette's dress off of it, watching as the fabric fell onto her feet. Y/N's eyes glimmered with sheer affection for the woman, her point finger tracing Thérèse's prominent collarbones, down to her sternum, where the valley's of her breasts lay, waiting to be worshiped.

“You truly are a work of art, mon amour,” The artist whispered as she leaned in to place chaste kisses on her soft neck, and Y/N's hands palmed the supple flesh of Thérèse's breasts, touch as tender as the stroke of an artist's brush. Each caress of the canvas mirrored the unspoken language that flowed between them—the language of love that dared not speak its name in the harsh light of day.

Yet, the threat of discovery loomed above them like a guillotine, sharp and unforgiving. Camille, Thérèse's unsuspecting husband, engaged in games just outside, unaware of the symphony of passion that played out on the shop's second floor, on their marital bed.

"We must be cautious," Thérèse whispered, her eyes darting towards the creaking floorboards below. "Madame Raquin and Camille must not suspect."

Y/N, whose heart beat in rhythm with Thérèse's, nodded solemnly. "Our love is a secret garden, Thérèse, one that flourishes in the shadows but withers in the harsh light of judgment.” She spoke as her hands went to cradle Thérèse's cheeks. “I promise to be careful.”

The bedroom, once a marital sanctuary for Thérèse and Camille, transformed into the backdrop of an illicit affair. The fear of discovery heightened the intensity of their connection, turning stolen kisses into acts of rebellion against a world that sought to confine them.

Outside, the city's heartbeat continued, oblivious to the symphony of emotions that echoed within the four walls of the bedroom. Thérèse, her heart torn between duty and desire, reached out to Y/N, their fingers entwining in a silent vow that defied the constraints of their reality.

With the air thick of passion, tender affections, and fear, all that had happened went on like a blur. Both women couldn't remember who leaned in first to trap their lips into a fiery but loving embrace, and yet, the flickering candlelight cast an ethereal glow upon their entangled bodies, the shadows playing upon the tapestry of their clandestine love. Y/N dared to speak, to try and use the last of her reason, to attempt at stopping herself despite knowing that she had gone far too deep, but, Thérèse, overcome by the weight of societal expectations, pressed a trembling finger to Y/N's lips, silencing the unspoken fears that lingered between them.

No words were needed as the artist took the initiative and resumed their kiss, her lips brushing against Thérèse's as the bedroom became a cocoon, shielding them from the judgmental eyes of society. The intimacy between them, though a spark in the vast darkness, burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Y/N carefully lay the woman beneath her to the plush bed, hands exploring Thérèse's skin like a caveman threading a path in the unfamiliar wilderness. The tips of her fingertips toyed with Thérèse's hardened nipples, eliciting held back whimpers from the woman laying beneath her.

“Y/N…” Thérèse whispered, but she only gave her woman a smile in response, taking the other nipple to her mouth, and sucking on it like a newborn starved. Thérèse closed her eyes shut, body overwhelmed by the sensations of Y/N's worship, only for those brown orbs to flutter open along with her mouth as two fingers eased their way to her core.

A sly smile tugged in the corners of Y/N's pink lips, gazing up at Thérèse whose pupils were blown wide, and mouth covered with one hand, containing the noises that ought to escape her with each thrust of the artist's long and slender fingers in her tight pussy.

Thérèse's labored breathing, accompanied with the wet sloshing sounds created by her dripping entrance and Y/N's fingers, were the only sounds heard in the stillness of the night. That was before a sudden creaking of the weathered floorboards interrupted the women's intimate bubble, sending shivers down Thérèse's spine. Her eyes widened, but Y/N did not pull back even as her breath was caught in the suspense of the moment. Instead, her fingers only went faster, opting to guide the writhing woman below her to the pinnacle of her high, and the contracting of Thérèse's pussy against her fingers only served as an indication that she was on the right track.

Thérèse struggled to finish the sentence as she held back her moans in between, "Our world would crumble." Y/N hummed in approval as she leaned in to Thérèse's clit, using her tongue to stimulate the woman's bundle of nerves that only made it harder for the latter to control her sounds, more so as she came all over Y/N's face and fingers, legs trembling as the artist's fingers slowed down its thrusts, prolonging the release.

"Quiet, amour," Y/N whispered breathily, a twinge of worry in their voice amidst the obvious arousal. "If Madame Raquin or Camille were to hear—"

The bedroom, though once a haven for marital vows, now bore witness to a love that dared to defy the norms of its time. Thérèse and Y/N, in the quiet moments between heartbeats, exchanged vows that resonated with the soulful ache of a love that existed in the shadows. The night wore on, and with each passing moment, the threat of exposure intensified. Thérèse, torn between the intoxication of love and the fear of societal retribution, felt the weight of their clandestine affair like a stone pressing against her chest. The gaslights outside continued to flicker, casting a gentle glow upon the tangled sheets that bore witness to the stolen moments of Thérèse and Y/N's clandestine affair. The night, though silent, echoed with the lingering whispers of a love that dared to exist in the shadows of the city.

In the quiet aftermath of their shared passion, the room held the remnants of their intimate communion. Thérèse, her senses heightened by the mingling scents of jasmine and musk, traced her fingers along Y/N's bare chest—the contours of a lover and confidante. The air, once heavy with fear, now carried the sweet echo of their shared pleasure. Y/N, eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrored Thérèse's, brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face.

"You don't know what you do to me, Thérèse," Y/N murmured, their voice a soothing melody that hung in the air. "I hear your voice in my dreams, feel the ghosts of your touch on my body, and crave you like I haven't satiated myself in years."

Thérèse, still lost in the aftermath of their intimacy, met Y/N's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and longing. The world outside, with its judgmental eyes and societal expectations, felt distant—a mere whisper in the night.

"Promise me, Y/N," Thérèse pleaded, her voice a fragile whisper. "Promise me that our love will endure, that it will be a persevering flame against the winds of adversity."

Y/N, caressing Thérèse's cheek with a touch that bordered on reverence, responded, "I don't have to promise anything, Thérèse. Like the stars above, I know our hearts will shine even in the darkest nights."

The bedroom, once charged with the tension of secrecy, now cradled the two lovers in a post-coital embrace. Their entangled limbs spoke of a passion that transcended societal norms, a love that flourished in the clandestine corners of their shared existence.

In the silence that followed, Y/N traced circles on Thérèse's skin, each touch a reassurance of their shared vulnerability. The room, steeped in the essence of their intimacy, held the echoes of their whispered promises and the delicate symphony of their love. The shadows, once a cloak for their secret desires, now danced upon the walls like witnesses to a tale written in the language of tender glances and lingering touches.

Thérèse, her senses attuned to the lingering traces of their passion, gazed into Y/N's eyes as if searching for the permanence of their connection. Y/N, the artist who knew how to breathe life into moments, held Thérèse with a gaze that mirrored the profound depth of their shared intimacy.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of soft pink, Thérèse and Y/N lay intertwined, bodies and souls entwined in a tapestry of shared vulnerability. The air, now tinged with the promise of a new day, carried the remnants of their intimacy—a scent that lingered like a secret between them.

"Promise me you'll come when I call again," Thérèse pleaded, her gaze locking with Y/N's in a silent pact. "When I need you the most, when I feel my cage even more… promise me you'll come running.”

Y/N, brushing a stray strand of hair from Thérèse's face, nodded with a smile etched on her face. "I'll be here before you know it."

As the sun rose, casting its golden rays upon the city of Paris, Thérèse and Y/N knew that the world awaited their departure from the intimate cocoon they had woven together. With a final, lingering kiss, Thérèse and Y/N parted ways, slipping into the daylight as if reentering a world that demanded conformity. The bedroom, now silent and empty, held the memories of their stolen moments—a gallery of passion that defied the limitations of societal norms.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x female reader #thérèse raquin #therese raquin #wanda maximoff x female reader #smut #in secret #wlw

[planet-marz1]

Tangled Triumphs

Summary: Joel learns how to do Sarah's hair Relationship: Joel and Sarah Word Count: ~800

Tags/Warnings: no warnings! just lots of fluff here :)

A/N: just some cute little joel & sarah cuteness i've been working on for a bit! tysm to @pascalpvnk for beta reading!!

beautiful dividers by @/saradika-graphics

| main masterlist | ao3 link | follow my fic updates blog @planetmarz1-notifs

The soft rays of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over Joel's small apartment. Toys scattered, and crayon drawings adorned the walls, painting a vivid picture of life with a spirited four-year-old named Sarah. Today, he’s facing a new frontier: the art of styling Sarah's wild, curly hair.

In the heart of the apartment, the kitchen table bore witness to the unfolding saga. Joel, armed with an array of hair tools and a laptop playing a tutorial, stared intently at the screen. Sarah, a ball of energy in her favorite princess dress, twirled around, giggling.

"Daddy, look at me!" she called, her curly crown dancing with each twirl.

"In just a minute, sweetheart," Joel replied, his gaze shifting between the laptop and the intimidating hairbrush in his hand.

Transitioning to the bathroom, Joel and Sarah stood before the mirror. Joel, with a gentle touch, spritzed Sarah's hair with water, creating a halo of droplets around her head.

"It's cold, Daddy!" Sarah protested, her enthusiasm momentarily dampened.

"I know, darling. It's part of the process," Joel reassured, glancing at the online tutorial for guidance.

Joel attempted to detangle the curls with a wide-tooth comb. Sarah stood in front of the mirror, her curls seemingly possessing a life of their own, evading Joel's efforts.

"Daddy, it's pulling!" Sarah whined, her patience waning.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Just a bit more," Joel said, beads of frustration forming on his forehead.

The bathroom became a battleground as Joel grappled with knots and tangles. Sarah squirmed, the process proving more challenging than anticipated.

"Can we play something else?" Sarah pleaded.

"Just a little longer, princess. We're almost there," Joel reassured, beads of sweat forming on his temples.

Returning to the kitchen, Joel embarked on the styling phase, attempting to replicate the hairstylist's intricate twists and turns. Sarah's patience dwindled, and she fidgeted, making Joel's task even more intricate.

"Daddy, I wanna go play!" Sarah insisted, tugging at Joel's sleeve.

"Just a moment, sweetheart. We're almost finished," Joel said, determination etched on his face.

In the kitchen, amidst the remnants of detangling spray and hairbrushes, Joel made a decision. "Alright, sweetheart, how about we go on a little adventure?"

Sarah's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Adventure? Where are we going?"

"To the store," Joel declared, scooping up Sarah into his arms. "We're going to find the perfect things for your beautiful hair."

The fluorescent lights of the store illuminated rows of hair care products. Joel, pushing a cart with Sarah seated in the front, navigating towards the hair care section, a world of colorful bottles and promising labels. Sarah, nestled in the cart, scanned the shelves with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

"Okay, sweetheart, we need something that will make your curls happy. What do you think?" Joel asked, examining the array of products.

"Maybe that one!" Sarah pointed to a bottle with a picture of cheerful curls on it. 

Joel hesitated, reading the fine print. "Hmm, let's see."

As he tried to decipher the mysterious language of hair care ingredients, Sarah giggled, her small hands reaching for another bottle.

"No, Daddy, this one! It has sparkles!" she insisted, pointing to a bottle that promised an extra touch of magic.

Joel chuckled, appreciating his daughter's keen eye. "Sparkles it is, then. A touch of magic for those beautiful curls."

Next, they ventured into the accessories aisle, a paradise of colors and shapes. Sarah's eyes widened at the sight of butterfly clips, hair bands, and ribbons.

"Look, Daddy! Butterflies!" she exclaimed.

Joel chuckled, appreciating the simplicity of his daughter's joy. "Butterflies it is, then! Pick out your favorites, sweetheart."

Sarah carefully selected a handful of butterfly clips in different colors, her eyes shining with delight. Each choice felt like a treasure unearthed in their quest for the perfect adornments. Joel watched, a sense of pride welling up as his daughter made her choices.

Back home, with their newfound treasures, Joel and Sarah settled in the living room. Armed with the chosen hair care product and the butterfly clips, Joel embarked on the next part of their quest.

"Now, let's try this magic potion first," Joel said, spraying the detangling spray.

As the mist settled on Sarah's curls, Joel gently worked his way through the tangles. Each stroke of the comb was a small victory, the detangling spray making the curls more manageable. Sarah, now more patient, sat with anticipation, her eyes fixed on the transformation.

"And for the finishing touch..." Joel added the butterfly clips.

Sarah beamed as the colorful butterfly clips were delicately placed, turning her curls into a whimsical masterpiece. Each clip held a story, a choice made with joy and excitement.

"Look, Daddy! I'm a butterfly princess!" she exclaimed.

"You sure are, sweetheart. A butterfly princess with the most beautiful curls in the world," Joel said, smiling.

tag list: @pertinentpostmortem @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @bastardmandennis @catchallfangirl @chaotic-mystery @beskarandblasters @amanitacowboy @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @pedrodascal @sweetercalypso @ilovepedro @cool-iguana @alwaysmicado @lovers-liability @futuraa-free @morgaussy @pedritoferg @spookykoolkat @wethairjoel @chronically-ghosted @buckyispunk @pattwtf @morning-star-joy @elvinaa @tinycozycomfort @magpiepills @pr0ximamidnight @joelscurls @janaispunk @5oh5 @farmerlarrry @maximoff-forevermore @atinylittlepain @joeldjarin @spookyxsam @honey-dip-24 @hiroikegawa @mcira @mrsmando @hyzer34 @limerence4u @sin-djarin @reddedmiller @joels-shitty-puns @elvinaa @kajashe @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

pls lmk if you want to be removed from the tag list!

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller au

[quintessencewrites]

Man-Man

drug dealer!ShuRiri x black!fem!single mom!reader

 “Hey, baby,” your soft voice cooed. You had his undivided attention and his wide eyes followed the index finger of your free hand as you gestured to the girls standing above him.

Warnings: 18+!!! smut ahead, fingering (reader receiving), cuckold, shotgunning, mentions of death, illicit drug use, slight angst, praise kink, explicit language, N-word usage, ends in fluff 🤍

Word Count: 2.8k+

Tags:

@percsane @zestgodtj @k3nn3dyxo @mlmilani @letitias-fav @doms-fav @sweetalittleselfish-honey @g4yforu @widowmakker @becauseimswagman1 @zayswriting @inmyheadimobsessed @laurensmabel1 @malltake12 @msudaku @faeriah-thv @fetchyourlife @mbakuetshurisprincess @sinsikoxo @honey-teaaaaaaaa @rxcently @pinkcorns @takeyaki @yamsthoughts @thethickerside @0hshoot1tsl4ni @shurisbathwater @shurismainbxtch @luvrzhearts @sadfreakx @shuri-my-love @justariellove @heartsforjojo @blackgirlfariy @tuesdaylovesu @chocoflagcutii @taiiunknown @zhanylai @ziayamikaelson  @taiiunknown @beautybyfire @soearthquakequeen @remwritess @pinkwright @jenlouvre @letitiasleftfoot @6-noir @kya-rose @saintwrld @someshuriposts @jessiap @ilikegecos @iiluvl4n @katymae12344 @shurismainbxtch @crookedsaladlover @motheroffae @saintwrld @marsolgy @ogbells16 @verachii @shuriszn @playgurlxoxo @ashleighshaw @te-23 @dominquesheart @shuridefenselawyer @iminlovewithdomandtish @limbozqueen @cansah2002-blog @letitiamyevangeline @youralphawolf72 @biganimeweeb246 @vampzxi @pocketsizedpanther

A/N: this one was requested wayyy before I even took my lil break from tumblr soo its finally here. it's a short little one-shot so enjoy, y'know, all that good stuff 🫶🏾

Riri’s focus was unbreakable, her movements rapid and steady. She’s hypnotized by what’s in front of her: you. 

Your body, Bast, what a work of art it is. The way your chest heaved, breasts bouncing slightly with each sultry exhale that escapes your plump, parted lips. Sweat glistened on your body, leaving a sheen that reflected in the lights above you. 

Her dark gaze rested on your brows, etched with a perfect furrow. Your eyes squeezed shut, ecstasy weighing heavy on your lids. Riri lived for this face, for your face, as it sculpted into this exact array every time she had you in this position. 

Your body was hot and the burn climbed with each thrust, rising through your physique like the smoke that rose in the room.

Her fingers were deep, so damn deep. And your spongy walls were fucking engulfing them. They’d disappear and come back out coated in your cream, collecting in the palm of Riri’s hand. She couldn’t wait to get a taste and you couldn’t wait to give it to her. 

“Ma, lemme ask you somethin’” Her touch was still grazing you, her digits deep between your folds. 

Your poor, beautiful mind was a fogged mess. The scent of sativa floated through the atmosphere from the blunt tucked tight between Shuri’s fingers and the same smoke swam through your lungs. You were drunk on their sex and high on their company. Riri could have asked you for the world and you would have given it to her wrapped in a bow. 

Shuri spoke before you had the chance. Her still figure was tucked away in the corner of the room, hundreds of hundred-dollar bills spread across her lap. Her eyes wandered over to your lewd activities and she had the restraint of a saint.

She wanted so badly to join you. Images of you submitting beneath her, screaming her name, squirting all over her- but there was work to be done and she was sure she’d have her fun with you later. Maybe not later today, but later at some point. 

What a routine you all had. Midday dates and midnight hookups weren’t unusual. You knew better than to come around when they were doing business and handling their shit and they knew better than to come around when you did yours. 

“Not now, Ri,” her soft voice was rasped with the drug coating her throat. 

“What?”

“If you asking what I think you asking, then not now.”

They spoke as though you weren’t right there, lying between them, a writhing mess. Riri’s fingers were still pumping you, and you were so fucking close. Your moans cut their convo short and the sound of Ri smacking her teeth at Shuri’s words echoed through the noise. 

“You got other shit to think ‘bout anyway.” Shuri’s chin tilted in your direction. “She bout to cum.”

Riri returned her focus to you, fingers curving to a devilish angle. A small smirk danced at the corner of her mouth when your body responded, back arching and whines ringing. 

“Shh, shh, baby. I got you.”

Her words were pushing you over the edge. The shushing and the softness in her voice- my god. 

You were splashing around her fingers with any warning of your impending release caught in your throat. 

“Yeah, ma, good girl. Give it to me, baby,” Riri’s arm was drenched, and still, she kept going. Two fingers, deep in your cunt, soaking fucking wet. 

Your body was spent, stomach in knots from how hard that orgasm wracked through you. 

Riri couldn’t peel her eyes off you. This you- curly hair tangled and frizzy, breathing labored, pupils blown- was the absolute prettiest to her. The way your exhausted figure appeared after she made you cum. It was mouthwatering. 

“What you looking at?” 

You couldn’t just let her admire you; your mouth had to ruin it. 

“You, goofy,” Ri let her body fall next to yours, not caring that the spread around you was soaked. Her lips graze your skin, little pecks littering across your cheek and neck and she swears it tastes like the chocolate it's colored after. 

“You, goofy,” Riri’s not amused by your attempt to mimic her. Your voice was too high pitched and nasally and she knew good and damn well she sounded nothing like that. Her eyes rolled so hard, you wouldn’t have been surprised if they were to roll right out of her head. “Yeah, ight. You so damn funny.”

“I know I am.”

“You two bicker like children,” Shuri’s voice was muffled, blunt tucked between her lips, Benjamin’s in her hands.

“And you built like one.”

Shuri’s curls bob with her nod, swaying in front of her brows. “Yeah, Ri, see? Childish.”

“Uh, uh. Lemme enjoy my post-nut peace in fucking peace.” Serenity looked good on you, head thrown back onto a mound of pillows, arm out beckoning toward the princess in the corner. “Shuri, baby, you being stingy. Pass it.”

Your orders sent the panther on the move, her slender legs crossing the room in far fewer steps than it’d take you. “Bossy ass.”

“Whatchu say?”

Your chin rested in her hand like the missing piece in a puzzle. She pulled the blunt from her mouth, holding it out to you. It was so seductive, the way your eyes never left hers when you let your jaw slack, mouth agape, and she sat the fat joint on your lips. The tips of her fingers grazed them before she retreated with a kiss to your forehead. “Nothing, mamas.”

Mhm, you hummed, inhaling deep, until it hurt. Your lungs screamed, filling with smoke instead of the oxygen they so craved. 

“Speaking of mamas-“

Riri was cut short by your thumb and index finger sinking into her dimples. She sat, still and silent, waiting as you pulled her lips to yours. A low groan crept in the back of her throat and you drag her bottom lip down with your free thumb. 

She understood you quite well, letting her lips fall, open and ready for you. The smoke swimming in your cheeks blew out in a steady stream, straight into Riri’s awaiting mouth. She inhaled everything you gave her, sinking in your scent as the high overtook her. 

It was over far too soon for the poor girl and you parted with a peck. 

“Nasty girl.”

“Your nasty girl,” your body sank back into the pillows once more. “Now what were you saying?”

The question had already escaped her, evaporating into the smoke-filled air around you. “What was I saying?”

“I don’t know, baby. You said something about mamas.”

Riri sat silent for a moment, meeting Shuri’s eyes. A wordless conversation passed between the two of them. Should they ask? Shouldn’t they?

The sound of Shuri clearing her throat was too loud in the too-quiet space. “Um, man-man birthday coming up, isn’t it, baby?” Her usually steady voice shook with nerves. 

Surprise sat you straight up. “Yeah, you remember? I mentioned that like a month ago.”

“Of course, we remember, ma,” Riri finally spoke. “It’s this Saturday. What’s something he want?”

“You don’t have to get him anything. He’s spoiled as is,” you waved them and their questions away, hoping they’d catch the hint and change the subject. 

They didn’t. 

“We want to, usana.”

“Well, then don’t want to. He’s good,” your entire tone shifted and Riri physically felt it. She winced at the harshness in your words but didn’t back down. 

“Why you keep doing this shit?”

“Doing what?”

The sigh that escaped Ri was long and exhausted. “You know what y/n. Man-man turning one tomorrow. We been around since before he came out the womb and you still hiding him from us. For what?”

“Ain’t nobody hiding shit, Riri-“

“Then what, baby? You think we finna hurt him?”

“No-“

“We not gonna mistreat him-“

“Ri-“

“We nothing like that deadbeat nigga you laid up with, y/n. We not walking out on you, we not gon walk out on man-man-“

“Cuz I’m not gon give you the fucking chance, Ri, damn!” They’d exceeded the limit of bullshit you were gonna sit and listen to and Riri wished she could take back her words when you stood and began to dress. 

“I wasn’t tryna argue with you, baby-“

You were silent, they were silent. The only noise in the room was the sound of your zipper gliding up. It pained them to watch you pull your shirt over your head and reach for the door handle. 

“Stop, baby. Wait a minute.”

Shuri’s voice had the same calming effect as the THC running through your system. It halted you in your tracks, lulling your movements to a slower motion. 

She wasn’t gifted with the sound of your voice when you turned back toward her. There was a fire burning behind your pitch-black irises and she didn’t want to ignite it any further. Her hand stretched out toward yours, racks of rubber-banded bills held out and awaiting you. 

“For lil man. And you of course, but y’know, tell him happy birthday for us, at least.”

Your hesitation gave them a false sense of hope. Hope that you would stay, talk, work through this stupid argument-

“We good, Princess.”

Time really must’ve come to a standstill. The two girls were stuck, frozen in place by the sound of the door slamming behind you. 

The softness of Riri’s words were low, so low that Shuri almost missed them. 

“What the fuck was that?”

You were thinking the same damn thing. 

Riri was right and you hated to admit it. You did this every damn time they expressed too-much interest in your lil man. 

You’d rushed to them, excitement running through your veins the first time he sat up by himself. And they cheered him on, eyes fixated on the video proof you provided. 

His first tooth was another experience they shared, from pixels only. 

As was the first time he crawled. 

And when he tried solid foods for the first time. (His favorite was sweet potatoes, so Shuri bought every jar of them she could find. Baby boy could have them with every meal and still have plenty to spare.)

“How long you holding off on having guests, baby?” Riri was waiting by her front door, practically ready to run to you once you’d brought man-man home from the hospital. She knew you needed some space, some time to recover, and she was more than willing to give it to you.

“Maybe a month?” You’d responded. “He gotta build his immune system up first.”

A month turned into three. 

“We got him some clothes, baby. We can drop it off so you don’t have to come out with him.” Shuri couldn’t help it. Almost every dollar she made was spent on your lil man. Sure, it was dirty money but there were pure intentions behind it. 

“I don’t think we gon have visitors right now, princess. His teeth breaking in and he’s cranky as hell.”

Three months turned into nine. 

“Don’t he gotta get used to us at some point, baby? We ain’t even meet him yet-” They were trying to be patient, they really were, but why were you hiding such an important part of yourself from them?

“And you will, I promise. Soon.”

Soon hadn’t come yet. 

And truth be told, you weren’t sure why. They did everything for that little boy, even from the arms-length you kept them at. 

He was always dripped out in matching fits that Riri never got to see beyond a screen. His little ears were pierced with the tiniest kimoyo beads you’d ever seen, courtesy of Shuri. 

They’d done so much for him from the moment you met them, belly barely even swollen yet. You didn’t hide the fact that you were pregnant or that your baby daddy went ghost the moment you sent him the positive test. 

He was too caught up in these streets to be a father, and it caught up with him. He always said he was either gonna be shot down or locked up and his words came to pass. You’d be damned if the first glimpse man-man got of his father was in his casket, forever sleeping.

And that was your fear. That you’d let Shuri and Ri into little man’s life and their lifestyle would catch up with them; they too were destined to be shot down or locked up. Either way, it’d be another person, another risk for him to get attached to somebody just for them to be ripped away.

Yet, here they were, running the streets themselves and wanting to be the parents' ol’ dude couldn’t be. They knew better than to get caught up, too smart to run the risk of making a single mistake. Riri be damned if a bullet plucked her off, and Shuri was usually the one administering the handcuffs, not wearing them. 

They wouldn’t let a damn thing happen to themselves because they wouldn’t let a damn thing happen to you or your lil man. 

Yeah, you were in the wrong, and you knew it. 

“Aye, princess.”

“Wassup, Ri?

“You get this text too?” Riri’s small form appeared even tinier in the oversized sweatsuit engulfing her figure. Shuri hadn’t even turned to look at her, too in tune with the fast-paced game in front of her. 

“What text? From who?”

“From ol’ girl.” Even distracted, the panther could hear the smile creeping behind Riri’s words. 

“Our ol’ girl?”

“Nigga, you got another? Who else?”

Shuri’s curls shook along with her head, but her eyes never left the screen. “Only took her like three days. What she say?”

“She want us to come over tomorrow.”

That game in front of her didn’t even matter no more. From the corner of her eye, Shuri saw the screen flash red with her character’s blood, but she didn’t even care. “Tomorrow? That’s lil man birthday.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Again, their eyes held the conversation their lips couldn’t.

“You think-?”

“I think-”

“For real-?”

“Shit-”

“What do I wear?”

“Nigga, he’s a baby, he not gon give a fu-”

“Hush, I gotta go get my fit out.”

Tomorrow came all too soon, for everyone. Nerves drove your every action. Riri changed her fit two or three (or four) times, and Shuri spent the entire night wide awake, Googling the perfect gift for a one-year-old (it was too overwhelming; she settled on a stuffed panther.)

The only one who was unaffected by the anxiety radiating off of everyone was man-man. When the knock on the door came, he was seated on the floor, babbling away to nobody in particular.

He was beaming a beautiful barely-toothy grin when you scooped him up and headed to greet your guests.

Behind the heavy wooden door stood an over-dressed Riri and a stiff Shuri. 

Riri couldn’t take her eyes off him. His freshly faded curly top, the color of midnight. The dimples that accentuated his chubby cheeks, and eyes that expressed every feeling rushing through his little body. Bast, he was the spitting image of you. 

Shuri felt her hardened exterior dissipate. He was gorgeous, absolutely so. She’d never gotten to see her Toussaint so little, so innocent. She wanted to hold him, protect him, from everything. 

Her long arms looked so awkward reaching out to the little boy and he practically jumped straight into them. “Wassup, indoda encinci (little man)? Happy Birthday.”

He looked so comfortable in Shuri’s hold, as though he’d been there before. 

Riri’s eyes were not-so-discreetly darting back and forth between you and your baby.

“What?” Your question was supposed to sound annoyed, but the smile playing on your lips broke free. 

“I’m waiting for you to introduce us.”

“Nigga, what?” Your laughter rang out and Riri blushed.  She loved the sound of your laughter, how contagious it was. It spread to her like a virus, pulling forth a chuckle of her own. 

“I ain’t get dressed up for nothin’, baby. I want a formal introduction.”

Man-man turned towards his mama at the sound of your lips smacking your teeth with a grin stretching his cheeks from ear to ear. You bent lower until you were eye-to-eye with your mini-me. 

His hand was so tiny compared to yours, and you held it gently, letting him grip your finger as tight as he wanted. “Hey, baby,” your soft voice cooed. You had his undivided attention and his wide eyes followed the index finger of your free hand as you gestured to the girls standing above him.

“This is Shuri.” Lil man’s head fell back against the panther’s chest, gaze climbing to fully take her in. She felt her heart swell with his body pressed against it.

“And this is Riri.” The smaller girl bore a smile that was comically wide when your baby boy’s chubby little fingers waved at her.

“Shuri, Ri,” the words felt thick in your throat. This was a moment you used to be terrified of, yet it couldn’t be any more perfect.

“This is Noah.”

#princess shuri #riri x shuri #shuri udaku #shuri black panther #letitia wright shuri #riri smut #riri williams #riri williams x reader #shuri x riri #riri wiliams x reader #shuri smut #quintessencewrites

[kingstonromcom]

Passionate Strokes // Benedict Bridgerton

Masterlist | Join Taglist !!

↳ tags : benedict bridgerton x male reader,benedict bridgerton x reader,bxb,bridgerton.

↳ pronouns used : he/him/his

↳ word count : 3,466

↳ note : i haven't seen ANY benedict x male reader's sadly, so i decided to write one of my own :)), ALSO tysm for the likes on the other post !!

Chapter 1: The Encounter

In the bustling streets of London's labyrinthine alleys, Benedict Bridgerton found himself ensnared by a mysterious figure, emanating an aura of ethereal allure. Their paths converged on a serendipitous afternoon, and a fleeting exchange of glances set Benedict's heart ablaze, as if a thousand sonnets whispered in his veins.

Chapter 2: Hidden Desires

The vivid image of this enigmatic being refused to relinquish its hold on Benedict's thoughts. Night after starlit night, he sought solace in the sanctuary of his studio, where passion coursed through his fingertips onto the blank canvas. Each brushstroke became a dance, imbued with a fervent desire to capture the very essence of this man who had awakened the dormant chords of his soul.

Chapter 3: Painting the Unseen

Time unfolded like an unfathomable tapestry as Benedict's obsession deepened, roots burrowing into the sublime contours of the man's countenance. With an artist's discerning eye, he etched every delicate line into the alcoves of his memory, translating them onto the canvas with a palette of moonlit hues. Each brushstroke became an impassioned plea, a symphony of silent longing resonating within the unspoken spaces.

Chapter 4: A Secret Unveiled

The tapestry of fate weaved an unforeseen strand of destiny, guiding the man into Benedict's hallowed studio. In a delicate dance of chance, the man stumbled upon the myriad of portraits adorning the walls, his eyes encountering the embodiment of his own enigma. In that breathless moment, the atmosphere shimmered with electric anticipation, a wordless symphony conducted solely by the heart's percussive rhythm.

Chapter 5: Mutual Awakening

Emotions, wild and untamed, surged beneath the surface, birthing unspoken verses that yearned to be sung. Amidst the sacred silence, their souls entwined, painting a sonnet of connection that transcended the boundaries of spoken language. A shared vulnerability bound them together, their hearts united in a harmonious crescendo, where the unspoken became their mutual language.

Chapter 6: Love on Canvas

Within the ethereal haze of their burgeoning love, Benedict's art bloomed, capturing the divine essence of their intertwined existence. Each brushstroke wove a tapestry of adoration, breathing life into pigments that danced and whispered their secrets. The paintings became a melodic testimony, a love song in pigmented verse, where the depths of their passion painted the symphony of their devotion.

Chapter 7: A Masterpiece of Love

Benedict's art, like a poet's quill, flourished, immortalizing their love story in vivid strokes upon the canvas. The world, enraptured by the poignant portrayal of desire and connection, marveled at the raw intensity conveyed within each brushstroke. Yet, only Benedict and his muse knew the untold verses, the unsung stanzas, the profound love that inspired these masterpieces—a love whispered in hushed breaths and ardent embraces.

Epilogue: A Love Beyond Art

Benedict and his muse, their souls forever intertwined, ventured forth hand in hand, their love an eternal sonnet. Through the tapestry of their shared journey—passion, art, and self-discovery—they discovered solace within the other's embrace. While their paintings stood as resplendent testaments to their love, their true masterpiece would forever be the symphony they composed—a love that defied conventions, a love that kindled their spirits, forever altering the course of their lives.

#benedict bridgerton x male reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #netflix #bxb #bridgerton #male reader #pls read #i love this man sm #poetry

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cariño [Part 5]

Jake Lockley X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged?

Cariño Masterlist

Summary: “Kiss me,” you muttered, expecting to have to explain yourself, your reasoning, your plan.  

Stealing the ankh was always going to be too easy.

A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long!

Warnings: typos, kissing, reader can't speak Spanish, please let me know if I have missed a warning

Word Count: 1628

___________________

You weren’t sure why you had worried about getting upstairs. It had been almost too easy. 

You had presumed that there would be at least some security, or barrier, or something. Seemed like Malay was another classic born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-his-mouth type that thought nothing could ever go wrong for him. And put too much faith in his security cameras. 

More fool him.

The room you needed (3rd floor, god, why did his man need so many floors and rooms – everything was boringly minimalistic. It’s not like he needed the space.) was protected by a seven digit pin code. 

You put your gloves and punched the numbers in. It would have been boringly simple to hack even if you didn’t have the code. 

Jake followed close behind you, quiet with a faint frown of concentration on his face. It was like he was listening to something in the far distance. 

Honestly, it was a little off putting, him being there. Someone watching you work. It was like you were performing, your hands shook with minute tremors that didn’t usually appear. But that was what it was always like when Jake was around. 

The room was cooler than the other places in the house, the air conditioning buzzed lightly in the background. There were no windows, and only the one door. You closed it behind Jake as he stepped over the threshold. 

There was a small woosh of air and thud-click as it shut. 

Jake quirked an eyebrow at you. “We’ll be able to get out of here, right?” There was a hint of a smile at his lips, an injection of humour into his words. But it didn’t reach his eyes. 

You nodded. 

Jake swallowed and looked away, glancing around the room. 

It was large, spacious with rows of cabinets housing precious art and artifacts from around the world. 

But the lighting was static, cold. Meant to keep any possible damage to the treasures to a minimum, despite the face that they were sealed away. It was like a hospital. 

The still air and lack of exits made the space smaller than it was, the walls closer. Like a tomb. Like a coffi-

“It’s over here.” You said, breaking Jake out of his thoughts. You had been watching him carefully as you found the ankh’s location. 

There was a skittishness about him that you’d never seen before. A slight tense of his muscles. A subtle thing that he held well. 

“You okay?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

You paused, in two minds before asking, “do you want me to prop the door open?”

“No.” He shook his head. It was obvious that he was lying. “Don’t want to attract unnecessary attention, do we?”

“No one knows we’re here.” You spoke softly. 

“Don’t want to risk it.”

“Okay.” 

You managed to tear your eyes away from him for long enough to go back to the task at hand. 

There were no locks here, and it was easy enough to open the fifth drawer, take out the replica of the ankh in your bag and replace the real thing with it. 

You felt, more than heard, Jake move near you, hovering just behind. 

“Here,” you turned, smiling, and holding the ankh out to him. “Does this meet with your approval?” 

You placed it carefully in his hands before going back and closing the draw. 

Jake ran his fingers over the etched hieroglyphics, nodding. 

There was a small change in the air, a momentary breeze. You frowned. There must be something wrong with the air conditioning. 

“Shall we go?” 

Jake finally looked up at you and nodded once again before slipping the ankh into his inside jacket pocket.

You weren’t entirely sure why you did it, but you lightly took hold of the wrist of his free hand and guided him gently to the door. 

The pounding of his heart ran up through your fingers. He didn’t try to pull away. 

You let go the second you were both out, your thumb tingled where you had brushed it over the back of his hand. 

Heat has risen to your cheeks. You breathed in, a little too deeply, trying to get a hold of yourself before you turned back to Jake, your mouth open to speak.

The words never came out. 

Jake’s face was tense, alert, his jaw clenched and his head bent to the side. Listening. 

It was only then that you heard it. The faint crackle of a radio and booted footsteps. A guard. 

Your eyes widened at the realisation. A brief flare of irritation ignited in your might. This wasn’t what was meant to happen. This wasn’t part of their protocol. Why the hell did they have to be wandering around now? 

The emotion was quickly swallowed down and overcome with a spike of fear. This was what went wrong.

Jake grabbed your hand and pulled you down the corridor, his footsteps light and quick. You followed close behind him as he opened a door and hauled you both inside, shutting it just in time as the corridor came into the guard’s line of sight. 

It was dark, but the faint light from outside was enough to illuminate the room. You glanced around quickly, the schematics for this building that you’d poured over playing out behind your eyes. This was a guest bedroom. Too high to jump. No way out. 

Jake kept your hand in his as both of you listened intently for any sound in the corridor outside. The music from the garden floated in, barely audible over your racing heart and breathing. 

There was another crackle of the radio. Footsteps. And the sounds of doors opening and closing, growing closer and closer and closer. 

Jake tensed beside you. 

This was not good. You both needed to be out of here without any altercation. 

While there was a good chance that the both of you could incapacitate one guard, it wouldn’t be long before there’d be more. With guns. 

Besides, even if you did get out, Malay's reach was wide, escaping his radar was something very few did. 

Another door opening. Footsteps. It seemed like he wasn’t just doing a once over either. The guard was searching the rooms, not that there was much to hide behind in this minimalistic nightmare anyway. 

Seeking passed him while he was in another room seemed too dangerous, but what other option did you hav-

A thought sparked in your mind. You winced. Internally trying to push it away, to think of something else. But you came up empty. 

Another door opening, so much closer now. 

You turned to Jake, pulling at his hand to get his attention. You could see the frown on his face even in the weak light. 

“Kiss me,” you muttered, expecting to have to explain yourself, your reasoning, your plan.  

But it seemed like Jake was on the same wavelength. 

His lips crashed into yours. His hands coming up to cup your face and guide you backwards, pushing you up against the wall. The speed in which he moved took your breath away.

He swallowed down the small gasp of surprise that escaped your lips, sneaking his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss.

You grabbed at his biceps, screwing up the material of his jacket as he leaned in closer to you. You tried to push down the heat that flared along your skin, the longing that threatened to explode in your heart and overload your mind. This was just cover, this was just cover, this was just-

Jake pressed his body flush against yours, easing himself between your legs and sliding his hand down your right thigh. He took hold just behind your knee, his fingers warm and sure but so careful not to bruise despite the almost fevered rush in which he moved. 

He groaned into your mouth as he lifted your leg up and over his hip, keeping his hand on your skin and holding it in place as he rocked against you, licking further into your mouth and-

The door opened. There was a flash of light. 

You had briefly forgotten the whole point of this exercise. 

Jake turned towards the light as you shied away from it, tucking your face into Jake’s neck as it blocked you from the intruder’s vision.

The guard made an apologetic sound. “Sorry, erm,” his Italian accent was strong, but his English was perfect. “This area, is off limits, I-”

“Oh, we are so sorry.” Jake smiled; the rumble of his words reverberated through his chest into yours. He sounded so confident, composed and sure of himself. Charming. “Just looking for a little private time.” He still hadn’t let go of your leg. 

“Of course.” The awkwardness in the guard’s voice was enough to make heat rise to your face, as if it hadn’t already. “But I have to ask you to-”

“We’ll be out. Momentarily.” 

The urge to hit Jake for that was so strong you nearly didn’t stop yourself. 

The guard began to speak again before Jake cut him off. 

“Just need a moment to look presentable.” Another dashing smile. “We won’t be a second.” 

The guard paused before he nodded. “Of course.” And closed the door.

You both stayed still, Jake holding his breath as you heard the guard’s footsteps move away and a door open further down the corridor as he continued his patrol. 

Jake put your leg down slowly, as if his touch could break it. You hurriedly smoothed down your dress, preferring to look anywhere except the man in front of you. 

“Sorry.” He whispered. The sincerity of his voice was shocking in the quiet.

You stared up at him, confused. 

He waited a moment before he grinned wickedly. “I smudged your lipstick.”

.

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @jake-g-lockleyy @raven-rkn-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @welcometostayingawake @mbakubabe @solobagginses @melodygatesauthor @dumdaradumdaradum

#fanfic #jake lockley #jake lockley x f!reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #x reader #x you #x female reader #x f!reader #moon knight #moon knight x reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #my writing

[storyofmychoices]

Beneath the Mistletoe

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage] [Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Pairings: Maiele (@lilyoffandoms) x Daenarya; Tyril x Mal, with Mal Volari x Daenarya and Tyril Starfury x Maiele Nightbloom Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Word Count: ~600 Rating/Warnings: Teen

Synopsis: Daenarya and Maiele find themselves beneath the mistletoe.

This gorgeous art of my Daenarya and @lilyoffandoms's Maiele is by the ever lovely @callmebeem. I absolutely adore how it came out. These two deserve a special holiday moment and they look so good doing so!

Lily, I hope you enjoy this as much as I do! I adore you so, so much! Sending you all the hugs & love, today and always! Merry Christmas!

Tagging: Christmas: @choicesdecember2023, @choicesficwriterscreations, @choicesholidays, @choicesflashfics (Holiday Prompt in bold)

Daenarya stood perched on a milk crate, trying to secure a sprig of mistletoe above the archway to the living room. She glanced around, hoping someone would notice. 

Maiele, catching her subtle attempt, stepped forward, offering his assistance. His touch was gentle as he held her hips, his thumbs caressing her softly.

Standing on her tiptoes with Maiele's hands guiding her, she successfully hung the floral ornamentation. 

"Thank you," Daenarya offered softly, remaining close to him. She chewed her lower lip, her gaze glancing back up at the mistletoe. "Look, there’s mistletoe. We have to kiss, it’s the law."

"Is that so?" Maiele teased, a playful glint in his eyes. "A human law, I presume? I'm not familiar with it."

"Oh, well, it is a very well-known and important rule," she insisted, feigning a coy grin. 

"In that case—" Maiele's hand cradled the back of her neck, drawing her in for a gentle, tender kiss beneath the mistletoe. Their lips met softly as he savored the notes of cinnamon and vanilla, reminiscent of the cookies she'd been baking earlier.

Daenarya leaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Maiele's neck, pressing deeper, the heat between them rising. Her footing slipped as she forgot her surroundings; the milkcrate teetered beneath her shifting weight, but Maiele was there to guide her safely back to the ground in his careful embrace.

The pair parted for a moment, catching their breath. Shared laughter slipped between them.

"We appear to still be beneath the mistletoe," Maiele noted, not ready to let her go so quickly. 

Daenarya nodded, a mischievous smile spreading on her face. "So we are." 

Their lips met again as they stayed in the moment, enjoying the comfort they found in one another. 

❤️ 💚 ❤️ 💚 ❤️ 💚

Mal turned the corner, his mouth falling, catching sight of Daenarya and Maiele locked in an intimate embrace. The surprise etched across his face swiftly gave way to a subtle downturn of his lips. He knew they shared a connection, but still, he felt a pang of jealousy... or was it envy?

Tyril watched the rogue in amusement, arms folded, leaning against the wall. "Is this not what you wanted for them?"

"Yes, but they could be a little less... I don't know... passionate about it," Mal complained. "Look at them!"

A moan slipped from Daenarya's lips. 

"Did you hear that?" His eyes widened.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you—" His tone held a teasing edge as he continued, "—although I do understand the sentiment."

Mal huffed through pouty lips, folding his arms across his chest. "It's not jealousy, it’s just... an observation."

Tyril raised a brow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Of course, just keen observation, I'm certain that's all." He pushed himself off the wall. In three quick strides, he stood before Mal. "However, if you find their display disconcerting, perhaps a diversion is in order." His long fingers danced lightly up Mal's arm. 

"What did you have in mind?" The rogue questioned, his tone faltering. His gaze traced the elf's lips without hesitation, enjoying the sudden closeness between them. His thoughts of Daenarya and Maiele faded away. He stifled a chuckle, it was envy after all, but not for much longer, at least he hoped.

"I simply mean—" Tyril leaned closer, his voice a whisper in Mal's ear. "—sometimes, distractions can be quite beneficial." 

Without another word, the elf's lips crashed against Mal's, swallowing whatever witty retort the rogue had hoped to express. He relished how easily the man melted beneath his touch. Maiele and Daenarya could have their mistletoe, Tyril didn't need it. He could get Mal exactly where he wanted with nothing more than a look, and that's exactly how he liked it. 

I hope you like this, @lilyoffandoms and it's not too much. It was going to be a sweeter kiss between them but Beem showed me a sketch for this with them looking more intimate and I just couldn't say no because look at them!

#cfwc lgbtqia #maiele x daenarya #mal volari #mal volari x mc #mal volari x oc #malarya #daenarya #mal x daenarya #maiele nightbloom #blades of light and shadow #bolas #tyril starfury #playchoices #choices game #choices book club #fan fiction #lovealexhunt #tyril starfury x mal volari #mal volari x tyril starfury #tyril x maiele #mal x tyril #tyril x mal #lovealexhunt gets art #lovealexhuntgetsart

[bullet-prooflove]

The North Star - Part Six: Degas - Terry Bruno x Reader

Welcome to mine and @the-hinky-panda The Bronx universe featuring our favs Terry Bruno & Mike Duarte.

This story takes place several years after 'Blood Out'. Terry still lives in the Bronx and works in Manhatten SVU.

Following on from @the-hinky-panda story 'The Dog' Mike has retired from the NYPD on medical grounds due to seizures causes by the attack. He has a therapy dog called Bono and lives with @the-hinky-panda character Meredith.

Tagging: @mysoulisasunflower @legit9thlunaticwarrior @bbyxoo @the-adzukibean @xoxabs88xox @crazy4chickennuggets @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @storiesofsvu @anime-weeb-4-life

Part One: Moments

It was an exclusive event, one that Paul had heard about through one of his contacts. A high-end fence Arthur Munson was hosting an auction to showcase his latest acquisitions in an intimate, hole in the wall gallery called dot-art. The catalogue he’d sent out to his potential clients highlighted several of the pieces you were hunting. You didn’t ask how Paul had managed to get the both of you on the list, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You assumed there was a link to an undercover alias somewhere, he’d been involved with several back in the day.

Dot-art was a stunning location. The showroom at the face of the brownstone building hosted the work of local artists, names that you recognised from the time you spent around the neighbourhood. These were the ones flourishing, trying to make something of themselves. You could sense the essence of the Bronx etched into their work, the spirit and the culture striking you on almost transcendent level. Each brushstroke, pop of colour, pencil mark brought the soul of the borough to life, and it was simply magnificent.

Paul’s hand came to rest upon your lower back, guiding you away from the pieces that held your heart and further into the depths of the building. The gold wedding band you wore on your wedding finger glinted in the light from above, the diamond catching the light. It had been Meredith’s mom’s once upon a time. She’d graciously loaned it to you so that you partake in this particular illusion. You were Samantha Caruso, wife to investment banker Paul Caruso. You hadn’t told Meredith that part, you had let her assume that it would be Sinclair who played the role of your husband. You didn’t want the discussion, not when Paul would be out of your hair in just a few days’ time. Once this case was over you would no longer be within his orbit, he’d forget about you, move on to someone else.

“And down the rabbit hole we go.” He whispered, his head dipping low so that his breath brushed over your ear.

There was a staircase hidden behind a floor length mirror. You glimpsed yourself in it as you passed it and you barely recognised the woman in the reflection. You were wearing a black, off the shoulder cocktail dress, that stopped just above your knee. The fabric clung to your body, accentuating your shape, the bodice dipping to reveal the ornate compass that hung below your collarbone. You wore your hair loose, the silky strands falling across the scars on nape of your neck and shoulders, obscuring them from view. Your lipstick was burnt coral, empathising the pert shape of your lips.

Paul went first, descending two steps before he turned to you and held out his palm. The metal grating was tricky in stilettos. You clasped his hand for balance when your heel caught one of the divots.

“Careful, it’s steep.” He warned you as the two of you slowly took a step at a time.

The suit he was wearing was tailored to his form, highlighting his athletic build. He’d caught more than a few stares off women tonight. With that strong chiselled jaw and cheek bones that even a model would envy who could blame them? Aesthetically he was perfect. Problematically he only seemed to have eyes for you.

The staircase opened up into another world, one rich with opulence and glamour. You could feel the thrum of history underneath your feet as you tried to comprehend the sheer magnitude of items on display.

“Is that a fucking Degas?” You hissed, gripping Paul’s forearm tightly. His chuckle warm as he placed his palm over your hand, escorting you to the artwork in question.

“It’s part of the host’s private collection.” Paul informed you as you stood before ‘Five Dancing Women (Ballerinas)’. “He needs to raise some capital quickly, so he’s decided to sell it, hence why it’s the highlight of this event.”

It was haunting, the hues of grey making the ballerinas look like spectres in a ghost story, your breath caught in your throat, your fingertips tingling with the urge to touch it. It was rare that something captured you so completely. You knew the story, everybody did. Confiscated from Baron Mór Lipót Herzog’s collection by the Nazis in the 40s, the painting had remained missing for over eighty years. Until now. There was a darkness tied to it’s history, a lifetime of human suffering etched into the brushstrokes. It was almost painful to look at.

“Shit.” You said out loud, leaning in close so that you wouldn’t be overheard. The cloying scent of his cologne filled your nostrils, bergamot and sage thrust directly into your senses. His palm came to rest on your hip, the pads of his fingers digging into the soft fabric of your knit dress as he drew you close. “This is a lot bigger than we realised. The FBI are gonna come crashing down all over us. Who knows what else this guy has stored around here.”

“It’s still going to be your bust.” Paul told you, his voice dipping an octave. “You get the glory; you rescued a fucking Degas.”

There was something in the way he said it, an undercurrent in his tone as you raised your eyes to meet his.

“Did you know?” You asked him point blank.

“I suspected.”

He fucking knew, of course he knew. He also knew exactly what this would do, how you’d be shoved into the limelight. A bust like this would make the news, open doors in your career, it would present you with options, more than you’d had in your entire life. It would also leave you indebted by the man behind the curtain,  twisting and disfiguring your achievements, making them his own. It was deceitful what he had done, a manipulation and you had forgotten how good he was at that. You wanted your career on your own merits, you’d fought hard to get where you were, and you were prepared to keep fighting.

Paul was disrupting all that by dropping a fucking Degas in your lap.

You reached into your clutch to remove your cellphone. Paul’s hand enclosed on your wrist, fingers digging into the skin as he grasped you.

“What are you doing?” he asked you.

“I’m texting Sinclair to call the FBI field office.” You told him.

“No, you’re not.” He retorted, forcing your hand back into the purse. “Do you understand the doors this will open for you?”

“I don’t want it.” You snapped back and he looked at you like you’d slapped him. “I don’t want the strings that come with it.”

His jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitching as his eyes turned hard.

“I just gave you a fucking Degas.” He told you, his voice taking on a dangerous lilt as his grip on your arm tightened. “And you can’t even give me a fucking thank you.”

He wanted to shake you, you could see it in his eyes. That agitation, the frustration, it was all building like a storm cloud. You could sense the change in mood, the way the tension coiled in his muscles. It was an echo from that night, the one where he’d put you through the mirror. The scars on the back of your neck tingled, an incessant reminder of what happened when Paul didn’t like something you had to say.

“Walk away.” You told him, meeting his furious gaze with a fierceness of your own. “Take a lap of the room.”

The calmness in your voice surprised you. It was cold steel slicing through the tension as you tore your arm out of his grip.

“We’re here to do a job.” You reminded him harshly. “A father was killed in front of his son; his mother is still in a coma. That’s the case we’re working.”

For a moment he looked murderous, his gaze flickered to the Degas and then to you and then back to the Degas.

“I don’t know how the fuck you made Sergeant.” He growled at you, his voice a low rumble as he leaned in close.

The invasion of your personal space was meant to cow you, bend you to his will as it had done before. You were stronger these days, more hardened, a thicker skin. You’d become tough because he had forced you to. You smiled, a bloody minded, vicious one that threw him off guard as you lingered within his proximity.

“Take a fucking walk.”

Love Terry Bruno? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#detective terry bruno #terry bruno fic #terry bruno x you #terry bruno x reader #terry bruno

[x-ladyathena-x]

In the Shadow of His Memory

Chapter 3–Forgotten Words I Never Got to Say

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings: graphic violence, morally grey sebastian, morally grey reader, angst, fluff, alcohol

Word Count: 893

Tag list: @hellok1ttycake

Summary: It's been 10 years since you were faced with that awful decision: turn Sebastian in for casting an unforgivable curse or lie for him.

You chose to lie for him and take his secrets to your grave, but that wasn't enough-the authorities found out soon after and Sebastian went on the run.

You never stopped loving him and when an unexpected visitor arrives in your home in the dead of night, you realize he never stopped loving you either.

—————

The only sound you could hear all the way home was your heart hammering in your ears.

The remainder of your shift passed by in a blur. Every ring of the brass bell signifying another patron entering the Hogshead made your head snap up. You remained so alert, it was mentally exhausting. By the time your shift was over, you couldn't get out of there fast enough.

On the walk home, every sound made you glance over your shoulder, kept you on edge. He told you he'd come back for you, but after so much time had passed, you began doubting his promise. You began hoping he stayed gone, because as long as he was gone, also gone was the temptation of the dark arts.

Oh how quickly you went down that path with Sebastian at the helm. It began with learning crucio because that's to only way you'd have gotten out of Slytherin's trap. That eventually led to using it on Ashwinders and only "bad" guys. Crucio grew into also using imperio. But only on bad guys. To eventually avada kedavra, the killing curse. Each curse made you feel powerful and the more power you gained, the more you craved.

And now he was here, the one that wrought your darkness. What did he want? Where had he been? Surely he knew life wouldn't just go back to normal. What was he thinking?

Sure, people didn't whisper his name in hushed gossip anymore. And eventually he fell out of the public's recent memory. His wanted posters had long since been papered over by more recent fugitives. Would anyone even recognize him if they saw him?

A familiar thrill ran through you as you thought of him standing in that cellar, his face illuminated. He'd been waiting on you. He was there for you.

When you reached your cottage, you shoved the key inside the lock and hurried inside, locking the door behind you. Though you were enthralled, you were also nervous, and maybe even scared?

Sebastian brought out the best and worst in you. You'd worked hard to cover up the things you'd done together with him. Worked hard to keep your name clean and stay on the straight and narrow. But you craved him. Craved the power only he could unlock inside you. The power you could unlock in each other.

"Hello, Love." A deep voice that nearly brought you to your knees said from the beside the fireplace.

You turned slowly to face the voice. Effortlessly leaning against the mantle, light from the sconces on the wall illuminated him in a way your wand light hadn't in the cellar.

He was beautiful.

Love, warmth, tragedy, and sadness were etched into every premature line upon his young face. And he knocked the breath right out of your lungs.

Stubble lined his sharp jaw and his once neatly styled brown hair hung shaggy, nearly to his shoulders. His robes were tattered but not completely falling apart. And he looked like he'd been eating well. He wasn't skinny as one would expect from a person on the run.

You could see the unmistakable silhouette of a well defined muscular frame under his robes.

"Hello, Sebastian." You paused, not sure what else to say. There were many things you'd thought of over the years that you realized you'd never said to him, but for the life of you, not a single one of them came to mind.

Sebastian spoke again in that deep easy voice, "I feel as if I'm looking at a dream," he took a tentative step toward you and looked as if he were close to tears. "All this time, and you were here. A stones throw from the castle."

And where have you been? That's what you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him that missing him had bore a hole through your heart. You also wanted to tell him you couldn't go down the path he would inevitably bring you down. You couldn't do that again.

Before you could say any of this he took another step toward you. "I've thought of nothing else but this moment since I left your side.

He closed the distance, took your hands in his and that familiar buzz hummed through you.

And with that, every thought of turning him away left you entirely.

The warmth from his hands washed away the chill from your walk home and the look in his eye filled you with a fire you hadn't felt in a long time.

You reached forward and traced your hands around his waist and pulled his body into yours. His warmth engulfed you.

No words were said as he pushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear and dropped his lips down to your neck. His lips were soft and your skin prickled at his touch.

One of your hands tangled in his hair while the other wrapped around his low back. And he held you just as close.

Sebastian's lips traveled up your neck, over your jaw, until they finally found yours.

Kissing him was like breathing the breath of life. It was like coming up for air after being underwater.

The man kissed you with a hunger. Rough, full of fury, softness, love, and starvation. Like he didn't want to stop. And you didn't want him to.

#x-ladyathena-x #angst #fluff #hogwarts legacy #in the shadow of his memory #sebastian sallow #reader #morally grey sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #morally gray reader

[gazelessmenagerie]

#|| Etchings in the Walls { Art } #|| Tag: OOC #( watching og dragonball is a goddamn roller coaster but i still got the monkey on the brain ) #( i just think he's cool. og design was nice with the green color but I feel like the oozaru's deserved more variations )

[whoreiaki-kakyoin]

Capo's Pretty Puppy 🐾🎀

This is an art trade piece I had the pleasure of writing for @brattythickums 💞 Fem! reader x Bruno Bucciarati, pet play, anal, mirror sex, collars, slight choking kink and possible degradation if you squint, reader has a pussy.

You stretched lazily from the comfort of your puppy cage as sunlight streamed through the window. The warmth of it was pleasant, and you sighed as you wondered idly what time it was. Your master had said he had errands to run, but surely he’d be back soon. You had no desire to be anything other than a good pet while he was gone, though. There was no clock visible from your kennel, but that was fine by you. Bruno was your master, and he worried about things like what time it was, while you only had to wait for his return with patient, trusting devotion.

Bruno was a good owner: always sweet and gentle, but firm if you needed scolding or punishment, which you didn’t often. You would take a punishment well if you had to, but you thrived on his praise as if it was air. Pleasing him made you happy. And with such an obedient puppy, Bruno was a doting master. You had all you could ever need or want: your elegant satin cushion on the couch, and the softest dog bed, tail plugs and paw mitts, and as many tummy rubs and kisses as you could ever desire. 

Perhaps best of all, Bruno had an array of collars for you for different moods and occasions. A man of discerning taste, Bruno never settled for less than perfection, finding designer collars, or ordering them custom-made from luxurious materials. There was an elegant collar of black leather with swirls etched into the material to match your owner’s signature lace. Along the side, right over your pulse point, the words “property of Bruno Bucciarati” were branded into the supple leather. You had collars with heart shaped tags that read “Bruno’s sweet pup” or “Bruno’s bitch.” Each one made your heart flutter with the knowledge that you belonged, utterly and completely, to him.

Today, you rested comfortably in your cage, a simple pink collar with the word “slut” emblazoned in small diamond letters hugging your neck. A small zipper charm adorned the closure, yet again signaling whose pet you were. You dozed in and out, snuggling into the cushions lining the cage floor. Even your cage was a dream. Twinkling fairy lights adorned the nearby wall, and a sheer, gauzy white curtain hung from the ceiling to drape over your kennel. You were the luckiest pup. You wiggled your hips contentedly, feeling the swish of your tail plug against your skin.

Heat flared in your stomach as you remembered Bruno nudging you gently awake and sliding the plug into your snug little hole this morning, the flared tip disappearing past the tight ring of muscle. Some days, Bruno would prep and plug you in front of a mirror, letting you watch the stretch of your hole as it swallowed the plug. It always made you squirm and whine from your vantage point on the bed, laying over Bruno’s lap. He’d chuckle softly when you shyly buried your face against him, wiggling your hips as you adjusted to the feeling of fullness. And every time, even on days like today where there was no mirror, only Bruno prodding and stretching your little hole as you lay obediently, mind still hazy and fogged with sleep, you were always rewarded with an affectionate scratch on the head and murmur of “That’s my good puppy.”

You preened at the attention, even now— feeling the stretch, the fullness, of the plug inside you, and the softness of the furry tail brushing your ass and thighs. You were Bruno’s good pup. Always. You drank in his affection readily, and always showed him your adoration for him, as well.  Padding over to lay in his lap when he seemed sad or tired. Giving gentle licks to his fingers when he’d pet you. Bruno loved to sit in the evenings with a book or glass of wine while you laid your head in his lap. He’d feed you by hand, warm affection sparkling in his eyes as he watched you and whispered praise. You almost wished you had a real tail that you could wag so he could always see how happy he made you. He found it endearing when you’d make the plug tail wag for him, and that was enough for both of you. It was a very good life, you thought to yourself as you curled up with a yawn.

You doze lightly, barely realizing time has passed until you feel a warm hand nudging your side.

“Amore?” You hear a soft, sleepy whine rise from your throat as you start to stir. You become aware of a hand resting on your waist, its owner shaking you gently. “Puppy, I’m home.”

You peel your eyes open, blinking up at Bruno blearily as he greets you with a gentle smile. He laughs when you yawn, his hands smoothing your hair away from your face. “Did you have a nice nap?” You butt your head softly into his chest, nuzzling and licking at his cheek. “Mmm. Good girl. I missed you so much, tesoro.”

You give your owner a few sloppy, eager kisses, perfectly becoming for an excitable puppy, before sitting back on your haunches again. You wiggle your hips in excitement, feeling your tail swish and earning an adoring grin from Bruno. “Sweet girl. Mia buona cucciola. I brought you a little something, my love.”

You cock your head questioningly, and Bruno bites back another chuckle. You truly were his puppy through and through. He scratches the top of your head, and you sigh happily as you feel your muscles relax. He always knew just how to coax you into that delicious fog of subspace, feeling completely adored and cared for and owned. You loved the praise, loved the reminders that you were his, his only. The collar sitting snugly around your neck was just one reminder among many.

You eye Bruno curiously as he produces a few shopping bags, furrowing your brow as you give him a questioning look.

“What is it? Speak, puppy.”

“All these bags? You spoil me.” He cups your cheek in his hand.

“And what if I think you’re a good girl who deserves to be spoiled now and then?” You meet his gaze shyly, and he continues. “It’s my job as your owner to pamper my pretty girl. Okay?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Speak.”

“Yes, master.” You pause. “Thank you.”

“My polite little puppy. You haven’t even seen the gifts yet. Let master unwrap them for you.” Your stomach flips in excitement as Bruno reaches into a bag. His gifts to you tended to result in some exciting nights, more often than not. Your eyes widen as he draws out a few sets of lingerie, light and lacy and sheer, and a delicate white leather collar, patterned with the same print as his signature suit. 

“Al mio cucciola piacono i suoi regali?” he murmurs with a smile, his voice low. You nodded eagerly, nuzzling at your master’s face again. “Eager puppy.” He holds the collar closer, tilting it in the light to show off the small crystals embedded in the supple material. “Would you like to try it on?” You nod again, and he chuckles, stepping back from your cage before beckoning a finger. “Come.” You crawl towards him dutifully, tail swishing as you near your master. “Sit.” You sit back, legs tucked underneath you, and Bruno crouches down to meet you. “Good girl.” With a small click, Bruno undoes the clasp of your collar before fastening the new one around your neck. It’s a practiced ritual, but one that feels sacred every time, your master securing the leather band around your neck before gently slipping a finger between the collar and your skin to give an experimental tug. 

“Mm. Not too tight?” You shake your head, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “One last gift, then,” he tells you, reaching once more into a bag. Your breath catches in your chest as he pulls out a leash to match your new collar. “Oh? You look like you like it, yes, puppy?” You can’t help a small whine as you nod, heart fluttering at the thought of Bruno putting you on a leash. “Let’s try it out, then.” He clips the leash to your new collar, giving an experimental tug that’s enough to elicit a gasping, whining sound from your throat. “My, my, I see. Puppy likes her new leash.” 

You whine again, eyeing him with a pleading expression. “Dolce cucciola. All right, I won’t tease. You’ve waited so patiently for master, haven’t you?” You give another frantic nod, as if to say yes, I’ve been good, I’ve been so good, master, see! Bruno stands, leash in hand, and gives the gentlest of tugs. “Come, puppy. Be a good girl and come with me.” 

It’s all you can do not to trip over yourself in your eagerness, though the leash forces you to follow Bruno’s pace. You will yourself to crawl at his speed instead of scrambling to the bedroom. The feeling of being leashed is a new one, and it sends heat right through your body– particularly an aching, wet heat that settles between your thighs, throbbing insistently. By the time you get to the bedroom, you could swear every last molecule within you is vibrating. Bruno gathers the leash in his hand, giving you less slack.

“Heel.” Obedient as ever, you come to a standstill as you gaze up at Bruno desperately, holding back the whine that begs to pass your lips. Good pups wait for their orders, you remind yourself. Good pups don’t whine and beg. You allow yourself only a slight wiggle of your hips, showing your excitement to your master as you wag your tail. Bruno chuckles as he pets your head. “Stay, dolcezza. Can my puppy stay?” You hold as still as possible, the part of you that needs to be good for master more important than your need to be touched, fucked, satisfied… I can stay, the needy, puppy part of your brain thinks. I can stay, I can be good! 

“Good girl, tesoro. Good girl.” You let out a whine as Bruno pets you, nuzzling at his hand adoringly. “Such a smart puppy for master. Can my puppy fetch?” You eye him curiously, and he smiles. “Go to the toy chest and fetch me your vibrator wand, cucciola. Bring it back here to me, okay?” Your heart pounds in your chest, though you whine softly when Bruno releases the leash. “Sweet girl… Master can use your leash again when you’ve brought me your toy, okay?” You nod, satisfied, beaming up at Bruno. 

With another wag of your hips, you make your way across the room to the toy chest by the closet. You nose the lid open, rummaging to find the toy Bruno asked for. You pull the wand out of the chest, only to hear Bruno clear his throat across the room. The sight that greets you is unsurprising: your master raising his eyebrows with an amused smirk. His message is clear: Good dogs don’t use their hands. You whine softly, taking the wand in your mouth with an apologetic wag of your hips, and Bruno nods. “Mmhmm. That’s better. We know how good dogs fetch, don’t we? Come, tesoro.” He beckons, and you crawl eagerly back to him before dropping the toy in his outstretched hand. “Good girl. On the bed, now, puppy.” You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself on your hands and knees for Bruno. “Present yourself for me.” You reach behind yourself to spread your lips, putting your dripping cunt on full display. Behind you, you hear Bruno bite back a low groan as hands settle on your waist.

“You’re so wet for me, mi amore… such a cute little puppycunt.” You feel a finger slide between your folds, stroking with just enough pressure that you sigh into the touch with a soft, keening noise. Bruno withdraws his hand after only a moment, leaving your hips to rock back in vain, chasing the motion of his fingers and meeting nothing. 

“Ohh, poor puppy,” he coos, and you whine as you feel yourself clench around nothing. He brings his hand to your lips, and you can see your own wetness glistening on his fingers. “You made quite the mess, tesoro. I know you can’t help it– you’re just a little puppy, and you get excited. Be good and clean me up.” You ache with need as you lick your master’s fingers clean, tasting yourself on his fingers. You knew you were just a needy mutt, thinking with your pussy, but you needed him so badly. Your mind was a haze of arousal and submissive bliss, but the thoughts of Bruno and master and want and fuck were insistent. 

“Is it mean of master to tease?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you whimper. “Mm? Does my little puppy want to be fucked and filled? I think you’d be humping the mattress like a horny mutt if you thought you didn’t need permission.” You can feel the softness of your tail lift from your thighs, and then you’re letting out a sharp gasp as your master twists the plug inside you. You bury your face in the sheets with a moan, only to feel a tug at the base of your neck– Bruno using your leash to pull you back up. 

“Poor, needy puppy.” He tugs your leash again, the leather of your collar tightening deliciously against your neck. “Come here.” You crawl over to face Bruno, and he smiles almost wickedly. His eyes are dark with lust, and a shiver arcs down your spine as he eyes you with such pure desire. “You want to cum, don’t you? You want to be fucked?” You start to nod, but he holds up a hand and you still. “Beg.” “Master, please, I need you, need your cock, please!” You paw at his legs, nuzzling against him as you plead. “Been so patient all day, missed you… want you inside me, want to cum for you, please!” Bruno smiles, eyes twinkling with adoration. 

“All right. Good puppy. What kind of master would I be not to reward my good pet?” He maneuvers you with firm hands, turning you to play with your plug once again. He fucks the toy slowly in and out of your hole a few times before sliding it out, coaxing a pathetic mewl from your mouth at the loss of fullness. “Look how stretched you are for me,” he coos. “Prepped for your master already.” 

It takes you a moment to register what he’s saying, even as you hear the telltale sounds of lube being uncapped. Bruno’s lithe fingers test your stretched little hole, with one, and then two, slipping past your rim to scissor and crook inside you. It’s still a stretch when you feel the head of Bruno’s cock prod at your entrance before pushing inside you in one smooth motion. Enough of a stretch that you cry out and clutch the sheets as your master fills you so completely where before you had been so achingly empty.

“Buona cucciola,” Bruno soothes you, stroking your back in long, smooth motions. Buona cucciola. Good puppy. His good pet. Your hips give a small, involuntary twitch back against your master’s cock as you gasp out another moan. “Shhh, master’s got you. I’ve got you, puppy.” He grips your waist, groaning as he gives a shallow rock of his hips. “Cazzo,” he hisses out. “Fuck, you feel so good, tesoro. Tight little pup.” You let yourself rock back into his slow thrusts, the stretch of his cock inside you gradually feeling more pleasurable. You feel Bruno pull your leash taut, fucking into you as the smooth leather makes clear who’s in charge. “Master,” you plead, and Bruno huffs out a laugh. His warm breath fans over the back of your neck as he covers you, fucking steadily in and out of your tight, perfect hole. You could feel your neglected cunt dripping down your thighs.

“Feels good, puppy?” “Master… so good. P…please…” “Please what?” A particularly hard thrust makes you yelp and grip the bedsheets.

“Need… need you, more, please…” You’re half expecting him to chide you for your impatience. Instead, he stills his hips for a moment.

“Poor puppy, you need more, don’t you? You want to cum, sweet girl?”

“Yes, master! Please, want to cum so bad!” You whine as you feel Bruno pull out, but he tugs at your leash a moment later. 

“Come here, cucciola. Let me take care of you.” You crawl up the bed to him, understanding what he means when he situates you to face the mirror at the other end of the room– the one he reserves for teasing you with your plug. Bruno wastes no time in thrusting into you again, wrapping your leash around his hand as he pounds into you. With his free hand, he grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to the mirror. “What do you see, puppy?”

“I…” You moan as Bruno pinches one of your nipples. “Master… fucking me. I see- see myself taking master’s cock,” you gasp. 

“Mm.” Bruno’s bronzed skin bore a sheen of sweat, and he looked so domineering in the reflection in front of you, winding your leash tighter to press your collar against your neck. “Do you know what I see, cucciola?”

“Wh..what, master?” You hear a buzzing noise as your master fumbles with the vibrator, previously forgotten on the sheets beside you. A loud moan escapes you as he presses the toy against your clit, sending pleasure arcing up your spine.

“I see- ah- I see a needy. owned. bitch.”  You can hear his balls slap against your skin as his thrusts grow more erratic. “Is that what you see?” Bruno clicks the vibrator up a setting, a moan ripping from your throat involuntarily at the intensity of the sensations. You fix your eyes on your reflection, seeing your fucked-out, whorish expression, face flushed and tongue lolling out pathetically. Your lover– your master– was above you, eyes glinting with arousal. 

“Y…Yes, master!” You’re practically sobbing as Bruno raises the speed of the wand yet again, unable to get relief for your poor clit. 

“Look at yourself.” He grits out a low moan, his hips stuttering as he tips his head back. “Master’s pretty fuckmutt. My good girl… Fuck, shit, I’m gonna cum…”

“Master.. F…fill me, cum inside me,” you beg, and Bruno spurts inside you with a shout. He pulls sharply at your leash, cutting off your airflow as he rides out his orgasm. You barely last a moment later, reaching your climax with a cry as your lover murmurs “Good girl. Cum for me, sweetheart, good puppy” in your ear. You tremble as the cresting pleasure hits its peak, leaving you to collapse in a sweaty, fucked-out heap against the sheets. After a moment, Bruno pulls his softening cock carefully out of you, and you can feel him thumb your cheeks apart to admire your creampied ass.

“Such a good girl, taking master’s seed.” He fingers the mess back into you, laughing softly as you whine. “Shh, puppy, it’s okay. I want to keep my pretty girl from spilling a single drop.” With that, you feel the familiar sensation of your plug sliding back into you, holding the warm mess of Bruno’s cum inside you. You wiggle your hips, reveling in the sensation. 

“Thank you, master.” You smile as he lays next to you. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, cucciola. Ti amo sempre.” He kisses your temple, pulling you close as you nuzzle his face and neck. “Is my precious pet ready for another round?”

Ever the obedient puppy, you perk up. “Yes, master. Please.” Bruno’s lips meet yours in a tender kiss, and you melt into his touch as he scratches your head.

“That’s my good puppy.”

#i had SO much fun writing this #osha keep scrolling #laur’s writing #bruno x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #jjba smut #trade fics #bruno 🖋️✨

[pinkykats-place]

Aged Up BakuDeku sfw one shots Ⅱ

Pro Hero AU

AO3 Fanfic Recommendations

Disclaimers!

None of the stories linked below are mine.

All are SFW … still read tags.

Art work by @estrellachan27 {twitter}.

Note: If you read any of these stories and like them please let the author know with a kudos and/or comment!

twenty-seven bones by iphido

Summary: His mother used to tell him, Katsuki, there isn’t a tender bone in your body.

Hold Me Close by mynameis152

Summary: On rainy days, the pain sets in and Izuku can't bare to get out of bed.

Luckily, his husband is there to help.

Early Mornings by Russie

Summary: Katsuki's mornings alone were just him getting up, getting dressed, and going to work. Simple, boring. Mornings waking up next to Izuku? There's always the possibility he was going to be surprised.

A Series of Dumb Decisions that Actually Turns Out Okay by bkdkwritingsdump

Summary: Izuku goes undercover at a fan convention to buy unlicensed Ground Zero merch behind his boyfriend's back.

Stupid Intruders by MoniLovely

Summary: Katsuki's friends invade his and Deku's date.

of freckles and constellations by UzukageHime

Summary: because izuku is a map with constellations etched across his skin and his eyes are a universe with which galaxies and stars collide and katsuki loves him so very much.

Puppy Love by Alphapisces0301

Summary: Katsuki and Izuku try to give their new puppy a bath. For Katsuki, the emphasis is on try.

Kisses and Fresh Paint by Loopielupie

Summary: They're finally on the verge of opening the agency. In between assembling furniture and giving the place a new coat of paint Izuku and Katsuki grab a moment to themselves.

Although maybe they should have picked a better place for it...

Worth It by asdfjkl129

Summary: “I have something for you, once you finish eating,” Katsuki says.

Deku perks up with poorly hidden curiosity. “Oh?”

His hair is still damp, dripping onto his grey shirt with a simple Sidekick emblazoned on the front. He’s wearing one of Katsuki’s sweatpants and a pair of fuzzy socks stuffed into slippers, looking so comfortable and at home that Katsuki has the sudden urge to tackle him into the wall or squeeze his face and kiss him until he passes out. Normal urges when dealing with Deku, of course.

Instead, Katsuki throws one of his chopsticks at him, nailing Deku perfectly on the forehead.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, ignoring Deku’s squawk.

— — —

Deku doesn't give himself nice things often enough for Katsuki's taste. So, he'll fix that, starting with one iconic Lego set in familiar reds, blues, and yellows at a time.

The happy place by @silverynight

Summary: Katsuki has a happy place... and his name is Izuku. It's also the apartment they live in together and the couch where they both end up on top of each other, sometimes fighting over the remote... Sometimes just taking a break from all the things they have to do for everyone else.

They're hero partners now and Katsuki somehow managed to convince his friend/rival that it was more convenient for them to live together.

His mother gave him a knowing and judging look when she heard the story from Izuku, the first time their parents payed them a visit; Inko was just happy for the two of them.

Katsuki knows his mother is right and this is ridiculous, that he's torturing himself, but if it's the only way he can have Izuku then he's willing to endure all the "suffering" that comes with it.

Tomorrow's Sound Bite by EnduringParadox

Summary: "There's no such thing as always, Deku. If Dynamight is still hearty and hale, then he's going. I think the public will get a kick out of seeing him hold his own against Hirano and Merry. Stop pouting."

"I'm not pouting," Izuku said with a pout. "I just—Kacchan—"

"Dynamight is an adult and a pro-hero. He is more than capable of answering questions about himself for an hour. Get some rest. I want you in tip-top condition for your talk at the museum opening next week. Now, please give the phone back to Dynamight."

Izuku mumbled a goodbye and mouthed Sorry as he handed the phone to Kacchan.

Kacchan groaned. "Yeah, I'll do the interview, goddamn. But if they want me to talk for an hour, then they'll get me for an hour, got it?"

An hour of pure, unfiltered Kacchan.

Izuku was sure that they didn't know what they were getting into.

---

Izuku and Kacchan always do their interviews together, but with Izuku home sick, Kacchan has to weather it alone. Izuku is worried, especially when a rude guest starts needling Kacchan about their relationship.

Bakugou's Mad Dash Airport Confession by Lovelylemonliar

Summary: “I guess you're finally getting everything you've ever wanted, huh Kacchan? I'll be gone far away and you'll be the number one hero. I'm really happy for you…”

But this was not everything Bakugou had ever wanted.

What he wanted was on his way to the airport… away from him and into who knows what kind of danger.

— — —

OR Bakudeku stars in everyone's favorite classic rom-com trope of the dramatic running through an airport to confess their love before the other's flight takes off.

On a Tuesday? by MugenUnshield

Summary: Just a regular ass Tuesday.

Life hadn't come to a grinding halt. Birds hadn't fallen from the sky, and he was pretty sure the Earth was still securely in orbit, yet…

He couldn't stop staring at the boy in front of him.

#pro hero bakugo x pro hero midoriya #bakudeku #aged up #SFW #pro hero au #ao3 bakudeku #fic recs #bakudeku recommendations #bakudeku pro hero au #adult bakudeku #bkdk #pro hero deku #pro hero bakugo #fluff #AO3 pro hero au #ao3 fics #deku x dynamight #aged up bakudeku #pro hero bakudeku #bakugou x midoriya #established relationship #hero duo #wonder duo #one shot #bkdk one shot #SFW one shots #fic rec #pro hero midoriya x pro hero bakugo #ao3 fic rec #bakudeku fic rec

[mrbexwrites]

Writing Whispers

Accepting @sarahlizziewrites open tag for this, as an excuse to dive into the archives and see how far I've come.

Rules: find a few paragraphs of writing from as long ago as you can. Re-write them how you would now.

Gently tagging @words-after-midnight @queen-tashie @deanwax @cee-grice and offering up an open invite to balance out the one I took! ;)

I actually have a good comparison project from my very first attempt at writing (and finishing) a novel!) It's from an old high fantasy project that I never did quite get round to finishing, but did attempt to re-write one NaNo a few years back.

2003

From where she crouched on her vantage point, Ylarae could survey the entire grounds of the townhouse she now perched upon. Hidden in the shadows of the stone gargoyles that stood as silent protectors against evil, she watched the Numen Warriors make their rounds as guests at the party stepped outside and mingled with one another, quickly heading back indoors when the colder weather forced them back.  Gaining entry to the townhouse had been surprising easy, despite the many guards that patrolled the perimeter. She had, with ease, scaled the wall that lead into a voluptuous rose garden, a skeletal twining of branches in the dead of winter. Keeping to the shadows, she had slipped silently past two of the Numen guards who stood shivering in their boots, trying to pull their thick woolen cloaks tighter about them. Once past the guards, she grabbed hold of the iron cast gutters and used them to scale the thick grey stone walls of the house.  Inside the house, she could hear the soft cadence of the music intermingled with laughter as it filtered through the open windows. The lady of the house was holding a party and Ylarae was using the distraction of the multitude of guests as a disguise to hide her presence within the grounds. Her footprints in the snow were lost within the steps of the partygoers as some sought nightly congress with masked strangers. The suspicion of who stole the necklace would fall on one of the guests, rather than looking outside.  Ylarae smiled despite herself; this was easier than she thought. All she had to do was break in, steal the necklace and then leave it in the hollow of the Hanging Tree in Byre’s Wood where she would find her fee. Ylarae disliked being used in such a menial task and had asked why Gristle could not do it himself. Each time, he merely laughed, a sound almost akin to a bear’s, and told her that she was the one to retrieve it. Despite her loathing of being used as a common thief, Ylarae found it impossible to refuse Gristle’s orders. Just thinking of the necklace caused her to shift with impatience, longing to get her hands on it, and have this menial task completed.   Shifting her weight to ease the cramp on her legs, Ylarae’s crossbow dug into her back. This once again ignited her ire at being used as a mere burglar. She was a highly skilled assassin, one of the best. She was trained in the shadow arts and the secrets of covert killing. But her most valuable abilities she had inherited from her mother.

2021

Her fingers tingled as she knelt atop one of the stone gargoyles that protected the perimeter wall. Carved out of granite, the stonemasons had imbued the stone with magic to ward off evil and protect those who lived inside.  It was an old magic, and ironic that these sentinels were being used to guard the very people who had scorched the earth and were trying to wipe magic from it.  Ylarae ran a gloved hand over the glyph-marks that had been etched into the creature’s head, rendering it nothing more than stone; the magic dissipated.  “What a shame,” she whispered to herself. “You would have stopped me, there is no doubt.”  She slid to a crouch beside the stone beast, hidden in its shadow as she watched the guards make another loop of the skeletal rose garden. In the summer, it would be a sight to behold; a manicured lawn with knee-height hedge mazes, flower beds and the roses that climbed to reach one another across the gravel path, forming an arch.  Light spilled out of the manor house, casting long shadows across the garden. Laughter, music and the sounds of glasses clinking filled the night air.  Gristle had told her to expect a heavily fortified home, given who lived here, but the party had been unexpected. Normally, she would have slunk back into the shadows, and returned later, but an urge, a need, pushed her onwards.  She surveyed the garden once more; she could balance her way along the wall and climb up into the house, but risk being seen by one of the guards. Or she could loop round the garden, which appeared to be the safer option, despite losing her vantage point.  A few guests would come out of the manor to mingle, have a quick stroll or to seek a quiet corner for congress in the shadows. But they never stayed out long, the cold pulling them back inside the house. A light dusting of snow covered the garden, but with wandering couples and the patrolling guards, any footsteps she left behind would be quickly lost amongst others.  As the guards passed once more, she tried to still her heart that was racing in her chest. Her hands trembled at the urgency to get going. Normally on a night like this, when she would be hunting, a placid calm fell upon her, but not tonight; tonight she was filled with electricity and need.  She dropped from the wall, landing silently on the lawn, only a few snowflakes drifting down behind her. On cat-like reflexes, she ran in a low crouch along the perimeter wall, staying to the shadows.  The shutters that hung from the wall, along with the iron-cast gutters made a simple ladder she used to scale the building.  Balancing on a third floor window ledge, she drew one of her twin blades that she kept in her sleeves, and popped the latch open. Her fingertips burned as she wriggled them under the window frame and slid it open enough for her to climb inside.  The third floor of the manor  was dark, and most likely off limits to the guests downstairs.  She stepped hastily away from the window, pressing her back against the wall; the last thing she wanted was to be outlined in the moonlight and easily visible. She knelt behind a dresser and waited for her eyes to adjust. She slipped off her gloves, feeling her heart pound. A cold sweat formed on her brow, which she wiped away, frowning at the perspiration.  The burning sensation in her fingers traveled further up towards her hands, and she balled them into fists trying to stop the feeling. 

#tag game #I used to worry so much about describing every single detail #but have since learned to show not tell #well...i'm still learning that

[randomoranges]

pseudo ish companion piece to an art i did yesterday inspired by the tags @allbeendonebefore left because that is how i roll at times. it's a bit different, but i like how it turned out?

Crop Top

October 2023

“God,” Edward’s voice is whisper light as his fingers trail up and up on exposed skin that has taunted him for a lifetime it seems. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” He murmurs in the crook of Étienne’s ear. He feels Étienne shiver against him even if he tries to step back from his touch, skittish but trapped against Edward and the wall he’s backed into.

“Had I known…” Étienne offers with a soft murmur of his own, silky smooth to the point where Edward has to remind himself that he is technically supposed to have the upper hand here and be in charge.

“What would you have done had you known?”

Étienne looks into his eyes and manages a grin that makes Edward want to wipe it off his face – preferably with his mouth, or maybe even his hands, but instead he waits and leaves his fingers on Étienne’s warm skin, reminding him still that he’s one breath away from being merciless.

“Would have dug out these old tops ages ago. Would have worn them around for you as well…”

Edward bites back a groan and instead buries his face in Étienne’s neck, the warmth of soft skin sending a small current through his body.

“You should have.” He says instead and thinks back to all those times he’d kept his hands as still as possible by his side, those years and years ago, afraid to touch and feel and explore and caress when Étienne had flaunted stretches of skin that may have been behind a glass wall with a sign telling him to keep as far back as possible. He knows and realises that it had been of his own doing, but still – he had never known for sure how much was too much and what would be okay in their strange little song and dance of an arrangement.

“Then, it’s an even better thing that I found these; don’t you think?”

Edward takes a small step back to admire the sight before him of Étienne splayed out in the high cut crop top. He basks in Étienne’s sure inviting smile and still lets his hands dance precariously close to Étienne’s skin, his fingers going off on their own accord, tracing the patterns and lines that Étienne has permanently etched into his skin. He thinks of the other changes as well; to Étienne’s fuller figure and the fact that it means that Étienne is in a good place now. He likes that as much as he likes the way goosebumps appear on Étienne’s stomach when he rucks up the shirt just a little bit higher.

He wants, and craves, for more but still holds back for some absurd little reason he can’t quite settle on, as if now that he has the thing he’s always wanted, he’s unsure how to proceed, despite the voice in the back of his mind telling him that he’d like nothing more but to put his tongue to Étienne’s skin and taste the very expanse of exposed skin that has titillated him for so very long. Teasing back as he has been teased.

Instead, his fingers keep dancing, feather light, and he feels Étienne shiver and squirm and hears him gasp and – giggle?

He pauses in his movements and focuses on Étienne’s face; the pinks of his cheeks and the green of his eyes. It would be so very easy to get distracted by how lovely he looks, but what gets him really is the little edge of skittishness on his face and that’s when he remembers something buried deep in the back of his mind.

Étienne is quite very ticklish.

His own grin goes from amused to most likely predatory and he can tell Étienne has noticed the change by the way his eyes widen just so. It’s a gorgeous look on him, really and it’s finally what makes Edward put his hands properly on all that wonderful warm and exposed skin, letting the blunt of his nails rack up Étienne’s sides.

Étienne shrieks and only half-heartedly tries to squirm away, but he’s still very much trapped between Edward’s body and the wall.

It’s music to his ears, to hear Étienne laugh and laugh against his body. It’s maybe in the top three of his favourite sounds that can come out of Étienne’s mouth, nestled close between Étienne’s moans when he pleasures him and the way Étienne says Édouard all deep and wrecked and sensual like when they’re together.

“Pl-please, mercy!” Étienne begs, tears of laughter gathered at the corner of his pretty green eyes.

Edward lets his hands pause for a moment and lets Étienne catch his breath. He looks at the tableau before him and thinks he can do even better – that Étienne can look even more lovely and flushed and debauched. He decides then and there to be clement and grant the mercy Étienne oh so desires in the only appropriate way he can think of and that’s to finally pull off the teasing bit of fabric that had been covering up the upper part of Étienne’s chest.

Étienne lets him and continues playing along with Edward’s little game. They’re both well versed in its rules and Étienne still remains a very enthusiastic participant.

Satisfied with the change, Edward then proceeds with the next step of his master plan and lavishes Étienne’s body with a different kind of attention, allowing him all the things he had held back on for so very long.

FIN

#pc: montreal #étienne maisonneuve #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #fic #projocanondoko

[harps-for-days]

Word Find Tag Game (fire, water, air, stone)

Thanks for the tag @thegreatobsesso! I feel like I lucked out cuz apparently these words come up a LOT in my draft lol *passages are from my book 2 first draft*

Fire and Stone

"To be frank, Cenric," Arabesque said flatly, "I could not care less about what you choose to do. I am leaving for Maelifelldar tomorrow, you have no bearing on my decision."

Cenric, for a moment, prepared to explain his point further because Arabesque was not hearing him properly. But after glancing at a silent Ludivine and Leon, who shook his head and glared as if to say "no more, leave it", he just nodded and sat back in his chair.

The fire danced in Nelda's fireplace as the night drew on. She stared deep into it, words clamoring in her mind, too loud and incoherent to share as Arabesque paced about the room, deep in thought. While Ludivine and Leo conversed, he was silent and determined, but just as stuck as everyone else.

"I'm...sorry." Nelda managed to spit out, her focus now fixed on him who, for the first time that night, stopped pacing, "I, of course will help you with whatever you need but -"

"I know," he finally sat next to her, barely settling, but allowing his stone demeanor finally crack slightly, "I know. I can't stop it. I have to lose my family all over again."

Air and Water

The halls were empty, grey, and covered in dust; a stark contrast to the halls that lived in Leon's memory. The glistening and glassy mosaics of deep yellows, reds, and teals that lined the large windows were chipped and dull with bits and pieces laying at their feet mixed in with the broken glass. Dirtied white walls, bare and disgraced, remained where striking panels of etched gold and amber once stood.

When he and Ludivine entered Corarei about an hour ago, it was quiet. The spring songs of birds and insects, that were once constant in the seasons of the past, were now gone from the air. Most of the city was stripped of its former brilliance, and inhabitants reduced to the likes of frightened strays whose first instincts were to flee at the sound of footsteps. But the palace, the place that was a fixture of his family's memory, was a much different sight.

The stagnant air in the palace made their legs stop almost automatically as they approached the throne room, the same way that stagnant water signaled danger. And much like stagnant water, the air carried the wretched scent of something like rotting eggs, cabbage, and flesh. Ludivine couldn't help but turn her head and gag. Leon's lungs screamed to leave, and his legs refused to take him any further. It was the smell that war left. It jumped down their throats and choked them incessantly. This was not a palace anymore. It was a glorified mausoleum.

They dared not speak, as their footsteps were the only acceptable disruption of the hallowed silence.

I'm gonna tag @did-i-do-this-write @dontjudgemeimawriter @the-finch-address @daisywords @cilly-the-writer if yall feel like it lol. Your words are wild, art, figure, and offer (idk I'm bad at coming up for words for these lmao)

#wip #fantasy #writing #☆ #the fall #writeblr #ask game #tag game #thanks for the tag!

[makethatelevenrings]

For All the Light that I Shut Out - ch. 1

This is just chapter one, but all further chapters will be posted on AO3 HERE unless you want me to crosspost to both tumblr and ao3

Rating: M

Tag (please read!): Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Discussion of Abortion, Canon-Typical Violence, Background Case, Gun Violence, Slow Burn, Angst, Romance, Wayne Gala (DCU), Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, more tags will be added as story progresses

The train rocked back and forth in a false sense of lulling comfort. The rush hour passengers were silent, their eyes downcast and focused on their shoes. Some people took eye contact to mean a challenge and no one had the time or energy to get into a brawl on the monorail at eight in the morning.

She gripped her messenger bag a little tighter as the familiar feeling of being watched washed over her. Her fingers enclosed around the pepper spray in her left hand but she refused to raise her head to meet the eyes of whoever stared at her.

The monorail came to a screeching stop and she hurried off. Her sneakers squeaked against the platform steps as she descended onto the bustling streets of Gotham. A pair of heels was tucked into her bag for when she got into work, but the walk from her apartment to the closest monorail station required comfy shoes.

Wayne Enterprises loomed over the city, the sun glinting off of its silvery metallic facade. Men and women in suits bustled in and out of the revolving doors at the front and she fell in line with the rest of the crowd pushing to get in before the work day began.

“Good morning Ernie,” she greeted the security guard behind the counter.

“Mornin’ Lily,” he replied. The dark haired woman stepped up closer and reached into her bag. She extracted a small paper bag and held it out for him.

“I had time to swing by that bakery on Fifth that you like. Grabbed the last danish for you.”

“You’re a godsend. An actual angel.” Ernie clasped his hands together and sent a look up to the sky before he grabbed a copy of the morning newspaper off of his desk and passed it to her.

“Thanks, Ernie. Have a good day. Don’t let any troublemakers in, alright?”

“Just you,” he teased. Lily grinned and rejoined the steady stream of employees as they swiped their badges to gain access to the building. While most people ascended to higher levels in order to join meetings, create spreadsheets, and slack off at their jobs, Lily entered an elevator all on her own and pressed the down arrow.

Wayne Enterprises - Applied Sciences was etched into the walls of the hall she entered. She swiped her badge and the door buzzed before unlocking. Lily flipped on the lights to the main sector of the floor and made a beeline towards the radio propped up against the wall.

There were no windows in this underground sector. The only light they got was artificial and that did little to liven up the drab concrete walls, floors, and ceiling. Lily had added cheesy motivational posters and random pieces of art here and there, but the oppressive dreariness of the Applied Sciences sector got to her some days. Her boss acquiesced to her request for a radio and she played it quietly in the background as they worked. Today’s tunes were some classic 80s.

She set about getting ready for the day. Lily laid the newspaper and another paper bag on the main desk tucked behind one of the columns. She started up a pot of coffee on their aging machine. It sputtered to life and coughed out a thin stream of shit brown liquid. She would doctor it up with powder creamer and sugar, but that was the best she could do.

At promptly 8:58 in the morning, the door opened once more just as Lily was setting a mug of steaming coffee next to the newspaper, a stack of files, and a book on white collar crime that she had seen in a passing bookstore and felt was a little too on the nose not to pick up.

“Good morning, sir,” she greeted her boss.

“Good morning, Lily.” Lucius Fox set his briefcase down next to his desk and turned to face his assistant. “No trouble coming in today?”

“None, sir. I even had time to grab breakfast today. Bagel sandwiches, of course. You have a meeting with compliance at three today to go over our recent expenditure reports and that’s it. Another slow day it seems.”

He smirked at her quip and sighed. “I wish it were a little more exciting around here. I know this isn’t what you expected when I offered you the job.”

She held her hand up to cut him off and shook her head. “I have a decent paying job in Gotham, sir. That’s more than a girl could ask for. Besides, you and I know I’m not just an assistant. I’m your top research specialist as well.”

“You’re my only research specialist. And my only assistant.”

He remembered the day he recruited her. He had been walking through the Gotham University campus after a few disappointing meetings. After being greenlit for an intern, Lucius was hoping to find someone who would actually put in the effort to work instead of just slapping a Wayne Enterprises label on their resume and playing solitaire on their computer thanks to their rich parents getting them the job.

And it was in the Engineering building that he quite literally ran into a very stressed Liliana Amapola. He offered to buy her coffee and discuss her senior capstone research, which is how he found out that she was not only smart, but a certifiable genius. Double majoring in biomedical engineering and chemistry, Lily made for the ideal candidate. She wasn’t from money and was born and bred in the East End of Gotham. On top of her book smarts, she had a quick wit and a sharp tongue.

He offered her an internship and an opportunity to complete her capstone with Wayne Enterprise materials. She agreed instantly.

Two years later and she now had her masters in biomedical engineering, but she stuck around as his secretary. No one would hire a girl from the Bowery, even if her academic resume was excellent. Lily merely turned away from their prejudice and stuck with Lucius, knowing that he would always value her and give her opportunities to try out her skills.

“Earle is pushing for the company to go public,” he said. “What are your thoughts on that?”

Her dark eyes flashed with mirth and she shrugged. “I am not inclined to present my opinions on the state of Wayne Enterprises.”

“Ah, but this lovely text on securities fraud would have nothing to do with that?”

Her lips slowly curled back into a sly grin. “I have no idea how that ended up on your desk, sir.”

Lily turned back to her desk so she could eat her own breakfast and drink shitty lukewarm coffee that no amount of creamer and cinnamon could help. Her eyes read over the latest research that Wayne Enterprises had their eyes on, but her focus was waning. She never told Lucius but Gotham University had reached out to her with expressed interest in recruiting her as a doctoral student. A PhD, fully funded. That’s something she had never considered. But she didn’t want to leave the man who had been such a good friend and mentor over the past two years. Could she balance both? Figure out a way to stay at Wayne Enterprises as her research hub?

A buzz at the door indicated someone needed to be let in. She slid on her heels and stood, adjusting a few stray curls that had escaped from the low bun she wore it in. Lily tugged on the hem of her faded blue dress and finally approached the door, plastering on a sickly sweet smile.

“Welcome to Applied Sciences, do you have an appointment?” she asked as she opened the door. A tall, well-built man turned to face her and she stopped still for just a second. Strong jaw, sun-kissed skin, blue eyes, neatly gelled black hair… holy shit. It was a face anyone in Gotham could recognize.

“Mr. Wayne,” she exclaimed. After seven years of silence from Bruce Wayne, he was back in Gotham. Standing before her. Alive. When he had been declared dead years before.

“Bill Earle sent me down here. I was hoping to talk to Lucius Fox.” He flashed her an easy-going grin, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other adorned with a watch that probably cost more than her monthly rent for the apartment she shared with two others.

“Yes, sir, of course. Right this way, sir.”

Lily ushered him in and shut the door behind him before spinning on her heel and leading him towards Lucius’ desk.

“Mr. Fox, Mr. Wayne is here to see you.”

Lucius removed his glasses as if that would help him hear her better. He blinked up in surprise at the sight of the man behind her and quickly stood. Lily stepped back from his desk and instead pressed herself against the wall as the two men greeted each other. They spoke for a moment before Lucius extended a hand towards Lily. She nervously stepped forward and extended her hand towards Bruce Wayne.

“My assistant, Lily Amapola,” Lucius introduced. She quickly realized that no billionaire would want to shake her hand and was about to retract it when Bruce Wayne’s large palm wrapped around hers.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Amapola.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Wayne.” She let her hand fall back to her side but kept her dark eyes locked on his. He inclined his head, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips when he realized that she wouldn’t back down from his gaze.

“Let’s give you a tour of the sector, why don’t we?”

Mr. Wayne followed Lucius further into the basement, leaving Lily behind at her desk. She glanced back at the two men one last time before she sat down once again.

Bruce Wayne was back. Bruce Wayne was standing in her workplace. Bruce Wayne knew her name.

Lily chewed on the end of her pen cap and hesitated for a moment.

What brought Bruce Wayne all the way down to the basement?

#bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne x oc #batman x oc #dc fanfiction #lilyfic