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Portrait of Henrietta Maria de Bourbon, Queen of England (1609-1669), (detail), (1636-1638), by Sir Anthony van Dyck (Flemish, 1599 – 1641), oil on canvas, 105.8 cm (41.6 in) x 83.8 cm (32.9 in), The San Diego Museum of Art
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
'A mighty princess, clothed in orange garments, is pictured for us so closely guarded by jealous attendants as to be shut out altogether from the outside world. No harsh breath from the common air may touch the lady's cheek. The orphan and the widow are turned from her gates in order that she may not look upon the face of sorrow. Not willingly hard or callous is this prisoner of a luxurious place, only oblivious from force of circumstances. … '
Author's Note: This is for @the-blind-assassin-12 A picture is worth 1000 words Challenge and the picture I got is posted below. Thank you for hosting sweets! This was so fun! I can't wait to do another! Thank you alll so much for reading and sharing! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: soft and sweet fluff, reader is pregnant and Djarin is doting and really slightly obsessed...which we love, Grogu is super cute as always!
PS I don't know what it is about this photo but I find it so sexy...
“Where the heck…?”
Grogu cocks his head to the side, his dark eyes blinking as he watches you search for the small stool.
“I could have sworn it was here…”
You push aside a bag of weapons. “Ah ha!”
Grogu’s small squeak of surprise makes you laugh.
“If we make too much noise,” you whisper to Grogu. “We’ll get in trouble. We have to be quiet.”
Grogu’s ears fall back and he presses his lips together. “Don’t worry. It’ll be worth it. They’re finally ripe!”
You carefully free the stool of it’s hiding spot and tip toe toward the cabin door, peeking around the edge. “It looks like he might be asleep…”
Grogu stands between your legs, doing the same. You secure the stool against the side of your body, trying to hide it as much as possible before you walk out.
“Come on buddy, let’s go pick some oranges!”
He waddles out the door after you, both of you passing quietly by Djarin who’s seated comfortably against the side of the cabin, seemingly resting.
You don’t notice his helmet turn as his gaze follows or hear his exasperated sigh before he asks, “what are they up to now?”
You can smell the oranges before the tree comes into view and when you round the cabin to the back it sits nestled between some rocks, growing tall against the backdrop of the mountains beyond.
Once you find a flat spot on the ground you set the stool down, turning to Grogu with a smile.
“I can’t wait for you to try one!”
He coos and holds out his open hands. “Ok, let me just get up here….”
You’re just finding your balance on the stool when you feel a pair of strong, warm hands at your waist.
“If you’re trying to give me a heart attack, it just might work.”
His words are soft against the shell of your ear as he presses your back to his chest.
“I just wanted some oranges,” you pout, turning to face him and resting your hands on his wide shoulders.
“What did I tell you about climbing on things,” he replies, helping you off the stool. “And lifting…”
You place a palm on his armored chest. “I know, I know…lifting heavy things and carrying too much and not eating or drinking enough and making sure I rest…”
“I love you,” he whispers, his hand gently sliding along your hip to the soft curve of your stomach. “All three of you.”
He looks Grogu’s way, chuckling as he watches him study the oranges on the tree then focuses on you again, his hand caressing the gentle bump you’re growing.
The sweet moment is disrupted when you hear Grogu straining, his hand outstretched toward the top of the tree. With a disgruntled sound he falls back just before a bunch of oranges fall loose of the tree and onto the ground.
“He’s making me look bad,” Djarin grumbles.
You raise an eyebrow. “How?”
“I could have done that!” he says, hands resting on his hips.
“Not like that!” you tease.
Even though you can’t see his face you know he’s giving you a challenging glare.
“But I can do it like this,” he says and pulls out his blaster, masterfully aiming and shooting down three oranges in succession. Each one falls to the ground, not a spot singed and even a leaf or two intact.
Grogu’s ears fall and he looks at you with big eyes.
“Aww, you did great kid!” you say, patting his head softly. “Thanks!”
You start to reach for an orange but Djarin swoops in and grabs some before you can and you give him a pointed look. “I can bend down!”
“But you don’t have to,” he says in answer, ushering you back toward the cabin with his free hand splayed at your lower back.
Grogu follows behind already digging into an orange.
Once you’re seated comfortably just outside the cabin, cushioned by the blanket Djarin insisted you use, you show Grogu how to properly peel the orange.
“See,” you say, digging your thumb into the soft skin. “Just get it started like this then you can pull the off the rest.”
Grogu’s ears move up and down like antennae as he watches you, then he takes his own orange and sticks one of his fingers in. Some juice squirts out into his face, and he squeals before falling backward.
“Good start,” you giggle.
He tries again and stabs holes in the orange more than peels it before giving up and just biting into it, skin, and all.
“That works too” you smile.
Djarin comes back outside to join you, cup in hand.
“Freshly squeezed,” he says as he hands it to you.
Your eyes light up and you take a sip. “Delicious! How did you manage it?”
“Don’t ask,” he says and you hear the smile in his voice.
He sits down next to you then pulls the helmet from his head. You immediately run your fingers through his hair, tousling the already mussed curls. You pop an orange slice into your mouth, moaning around the juicy and sweet taste.
Feeling the weight of his gaze you turn your face his way, holding up a wedge of orange. His lips part and you feed him the piece, leaning closer when you notice some juice escape. You kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you.”
It’s a whisper against his lips and he kisses you, tasting of sweet orange.
“For?” he murmurs as his fingers trace the column of your neck before splaying along your cheek, thumb delicately brushing your bottom lip.
“Searching the galaxy for an orange tree,…” you murmur, kissing him again. “And bringing it here.” Another kiss. “And planting it and making sure it grew.”
His eyes close, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his smile meets your kisses.
“I told you,” he says softly. “I would give you the world. You simply have to ask.”
