#flowery sweets and teas

[del-sol-diminutives]

Flowery Sweets and Teas, Part 3

Well, this little counter sure is cute! And just about the right size. Buuuuut ….

They wanted me to put the door handles right on the flat of the cabinet? That doesn’t seem right. Let’s give that a little depth.

More coffee stirrers and Woodpile pieces, cut to fit and glued on. That’s pretty easy.

And here’s the finished piece. Much better!

[euesworld]

"Those beautiful eyes of yours have flower vibes like sweet tea sunshine.."

Every day is summer when you glance at me, all I can think are birds and bees - eUë

[churipu]

CALLING THEM "HUSBAND" IN PUBLIC 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, geto suguru x reader

warnings. none :)

note. this was based off the tiktok trend where you call your boyfriend "husband" in public, i forgot this trend existed until it appeared on my fyp again lmao.

GOJO SATORU. the first time he heard the word "husband" escape your throat when you were both standing in a line to order from a fast food chain, he thought he had heard wrong. but, frankly, he didn't really mind at all being called that — in fact, he felt delighted.

"i'll have the cheeseburger B set with no pickles," you tell the cashier before humming out softly, "and my husband will have the double cheeseburger C set, and an ice cream with extra chocolate syrup."

gojo was silent, he lets you speak and order for him. although his heart fluttered as he sways side to side behind you, a flowery aura surrounding him — gojo pays for the food, and grabbed the tray with one hand with no problem at all. happily guiding you to an empty table.

"so . . . what was that about, hm?" he sat across from you, his chin stuck to the palm of his hand. smiling widely.

"what was what about?" you questioned back, taking a spoonful of ice cream before plopping the fluffy texture into your mouth.

gojo eyed you, "oh, you know . . . me being your husband and all," he sings out, brushing the chocolate syrup that managed to tinge the corner of your lips with his thumb — the male brought his thumb towards his lips, swiping his tongue over the chocolate, "not that 'm complaining about it."

you chuckled softly, "'ts a tiktok trend, 'toru."

the male rolled his eyes, "no, it's not. i will marry you one day, i promise."

NANAMI KENTO. he's actually a bit surprised — and speechless at that. the both of you would be in a date, when you got a phone call from one of your friend. initially, you wanted to let the call ring, but you decided to brush that off your mind and answered the call with a thought in mind.

answering the call, you were immediately questioned with a "where are you?"

nonchalantly, you answered her, "me? 'm out with my husband, why?" and nanami who was sitting across from you with a cup of tea — almost choked when he heard your answer. swallowing down the lukewarm tea down his throat, nanami waited patiently until you ended the call to question you regarding it.

he had to wait for the next seven minutes for the call to end, and the moment your phone retracted from your ear, he was quick to follow you up on it, "husband?"

looking at him, you nodded, "is that a problem? would you like me to stop calling you that?"

nanami shook his head with a small smile, "no, no. i liked the sound of it," he mumbles softly, straining back his lips from up-warding by kissing the edge of his tea cup.

"the sound of what? being my husband?"

he nods, "yes. your husband."

GETO SUGURU. oh, believe me when he will be smug about being called "husband" by you. all smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkling lightly as he gazes at you — waiting for an explanation. geto won't say anything because he wanted you to be the one to explain it to him.

both you and geto were out. it was summer. hot, sweaty, and sticky. what else would be better than an ice cream about now?

geto went out his way to approach an ice cream truck, telling you to go find shade as he gets the sweet treat for you both to enjoy. but when he came back — there you were, sitting on a bench under a shade of a tree, with another boy by your side. someone who is not him.

as he confidently strides over to you, he saw you light up a bit and there you said, "ah, there's my husband."

smug. smug. smug.

he handed you your ice cream, eyeing the unknown male up and down before a slight smirk appeared on his face. that male was nothing compared to him.

"who's your friend, baby?" geto asks calmly, licking his ice cream. his gaze intent on the male's eyes, not breaking the contact. he didn't back down until the stranger walked away nervously, and geto turns to look at you, an arched brow.

"i was in a heap of moment, silly."

he shrugs, "even if you weren't, i'd like you to call me that every time."

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[writingoddess1125]

You tell the Old Men you're Pregnant + Extra

Shanks, Buggy, Mihawk

Just Fluffy Fluff!

Also to those who are saying "They aren't even old!" Blah Blah- I know. I'm using Old Ironically cause it's funny. Middle Aged just don't have the same ring to it and I would/could sub in DILF but I was trying to be good.

Anywho! Enjoy!!

Shanks

So drinking and unprotected sex can lead to pregnancy- who knew... Panicking yoh decide its best to just rip that bandage off.

"Shanks- I'm pregnant"

Shanks will stare at you for a while, before starting to laugh- Hard. He will bend over laughing as his panic response sets in-

"Shanks this isn't funny! I-"

He grabs your hand and pulls you close as he held you still laughing now much softer.

"You're the best things that has ever happened to me-" He will whisper in your ear and hold you close.

This man acts like he can shit gold and piss roses when he finds out your pregnant. Nothing can get him down or damper his mood.

Even though you are miserable and sick most of this pregnancy- for almost the whole length of your pregnancy you are vomiting or nauseous so Shanks has to make you eat and buys things to help you.

"Shanks I'm not hungry..." You grumble as you sit on the bed. Shanks hanging you a cup of tea and some soft bread.

"I know love- But you haven't had anything solid in 3 days. Let's get this bread a try?" He says softly, You nodding and eating what you could and sipping of the flowery tea.

He will eventually find something that you can eat without getting sick and buy as much of it as possible. He may grow tired of the smell but will never complain.

When you go into labor he is still a little too excited at the prospect of his child being brought into the world. Will comfort you the whole way through but is more interested in seeing his child.

Buggy

It was a complete accident- You blamed the trip to the hot springs two months previously.. being pregnant with Buggy's child was definitely not what you had planned for yourself or him.

"Buggy I'm pretty sure I'm um.. pregnant"

You beeak it to him after a good day and even set out his favorite sweets to try and make this as soft as possible. Buggy just stares at you, His face completely unreadable as he just stares at you.

"Buggy?..." You are now anxious as he stays silent and stone faced- However he walks over to you lightly and just wraps his arms around you. Not saying a word but you can feel how tense his body is- He's scared?...

"We will be fine.. All of us. How do you feel about it?..." He will mumbled- This being so different to how he normally is as he is feeling scared in a new way.

After the initial shock of it all he will be so over the top its not even funny. You might as well be made out of glass and carrying a paper child cause that's how he treats you. Infront of the crew while he is less likely to be as openly affectionate he is still just as protective.

Understands physical insecurities so will never insult or even bring up your appearance as your body goes through changes. Hell have mercy on the person who even accidently hints at your bigger weight since he will go ape-shit and throw the biggest tantrum of all temper tantrums before brutally killing whoever said it.

He is very Very touchy- his hand has to always be on you at all times and so his detached hand has been known to stay either on your lower back, or on your arm like some horror themed arm band.

In private he is very thoughtful especially as you get near the due date.

"Sorry pressure" You hissed in discomfort rolling to your side to receive some pressure from your back. Buggy getting up calmly and moving you to stand on your feet. Which was definently not something you wanted-

That was till Buggy stood behind you as his hand detached and went under your large belly gently listing it up which relived the pressure from your back. You sigh and lean against him as he does this. Will hold you stomach up for a solid hour ignoring the sorness in his hands for you-

Will feed you constantly any food he can find, Anything you want he has made for you. If a food makes you sick magically the plate seems to be thrown out to open sea.

Will also be an emotional wreck when his children are born- If you are angry at him or scream while in labor he will take it- if not give a few quips back. However all is forgotten once the kids arrive.

Mihawk

While you believe it was an accident- It was not by Mihawks standards. He has been planning this for months since you are the only one he sees worthy of officially carrying his children.

"Mihawk I'm pregnant" You say bracing for at least a level of irritation but instead he looked pleased. Reaching a hand out to caress your belly and stare at you fondly.

"I am happy to hear that"

Will take blame in saying he must have not been careful and that its too late now and will be happy to take full and total responsibility.

Is a textbook kind of man so will have book pages memorized on what you should be doing. How many more calories needed for the baby, stretches, the healthiest food. Aka he's fucking annoying-

You will be in the kitchen with a fork in a cake eating, feeling the wave of low blood sugar that has clouded your mind and tired of the veggies or fresh fruit that Mihawk had shoved down your throat- Mid bite the cake was pulled away by Mihawk.

"It is bad for you to have-" Will pause at your glare as you step very close to him, Grabbing his beard with iron clasp hands and yank him down to your level which make his eyes go wide.

"Mihawk... If you don't hand over that cake- I'm going to take your sword and shove it so far up your ass that the handle will be in your mouth" You all but hiss, Making Mihawk lower the cake down and hand it to you silently.

Will learn that maybe not everything has to go to textbook. Despite being a bit of a hardass for your safety he will give you massages, rub your feet help decorate to your liking. If you're sick will help you the entire time in getting better.

Rubs lotion on any tender spots or stretch marks and hums a tune you've never heard before.

Will be there with every step of the way during the labor. Supportive and comforting the whole time his child is being brought into the world, If complications will be a rock for you and will pick you if it came down to it.

[eraenaa]

The Prince and the Poet

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: It is established that Prince Aemond hates poems and sonnets; it was just a pity that you adored them. 

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Aemond Writes a Poem, Childhood Friends, Hidden Attraction, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,900

Inspired by my Original Fic on AO3, The Den of Dragons and Lions

Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as he watched you completely enthralled by the sonneteer who performed before you. It had been un-endless hours he had to suffer as the court was subjected to watching poets read their works for the day’s entertainment. It was all too boring, all too frivolous, it was an utter waste of time. Aemond could not understand why you would willingly subject yourself to these men's trite and untrue words— whose delusions and desires were projected in their works. Aemond strongly believed that those who write poems and epics are weaklings and cowards. They do not have the courage to go on great adventures and woo their loves, so they can only imagine and write them down on parchment. And you were the sweet, naive fool who brought into their words—declaring their works beautiful and unparalleled. Blinded by flowery verses and empty promises. 

You sigh longingly in your seat as the sonneteer before you recited your favorite sonnet of them all. Your lips silently move unconsciously as you recite your most favored work with him. Aemond, who sat by your side, sneered at the sigh that left your pillowy lips and the enchanted look in your eyes. His gaze traveled the court; every young maiden swooned by the words and looks of the sonnet who stood in the middle, reciting the work that you clung on to. When his torment finally ended, Aemond rolled his eye once more as you quickly stood and clapped your hands, an ovation for the young man who had finished his performance. Aemond did no such thing, only staring down the sonneteer who bowed and savored the praises given. 

“I hope he shall return soon— and with new material!” You exclaimed to Helaena as you two walked the halls, arms linked together, Aemond trailing behind you. It was an old scene, your actions instilled since childhood. You practically grew up in the Red Keep with the princes and princess, a lion fostered by dragons. 

You hear Aemond’s third scoff of the afternoon, making you glance behind only to see the consistent look of annoyance on his face. “I would take it you did not enjoy?” You say and face onward, feeling Aemond fasten his steps and now walking beside you and Helaena. “It is an utter waste of time; why must we spend hours on this frivolity when pressing matters could be attended to?” You roll your eyes at the Prince’s complaint. 

“Aemond, your attendance was not required. If you believe poetry is a waste of time, I do not understand why you came there.” You say simply, pausing in your tracks. Helaena, a silent audience as you and Aemond began your ceaseless squabbles once more. Aemond was silent for a moment; the truth of his actions may not be revealed. “We did not force you to sit there and listen to Sir Liam— if anything, I’d prefer if you did not come; your glares and scoffs were seen and heard, and are very much unappreciated,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he had no response that he’d like to share. His eye traveled to his sister, who had a knowing smirk on her lips whilst you waited for his response that would not come.“I’ll see you both at supper,” Aemond grumbled as his eye landed on you, who bit back her smirk, the prince stomping away as you finally let your smile slip your lips. 

“Must you really tease him? You perfectly know why he sat through the readings,” Helaena said as you and she sat in the gardens for tea. You picking at the candied lemons that you and Aemond would usually fight over. You smile as you lick your finger clean of the sugary syrup. “Yes, I know why he suffered through the readings. However, he is not aware that I am knowledgeable of his intent,” Helaena sighed, “How long will you make him suffer?” The princess asked, already impatient for the day her closest friend and brother would finally admit their attractions. 

“Suffer?” You ask in shock, “I do no such thing! He inflicts his suffering himself—“ Helaena shook her head and laughed. “You’ve known of Aemond’s attraction to you for years! Yet you still act so clueless with him!” She reasoned. “I am a lady! I am expected to act chase and reserve. I cannot just go up to Aemond and confront him with his secret attraction!” You exclaimed with a fake and exaggerated look of scandal on your face, making Helaena laugh. 

“If you are waiting for my brother to acknowledge and confess his attraction towards you, then you must wait— it might take him a lifetime.” Helaena mused, a hint of frustration and pity in her voice, for Aemond had wanted you since childhood; he was just afraid to let it be known. “Then I pity him… he could have had the golden beauty of the realm, but he chose to stay silent.” You say confidently— proud with the title bestowed upon you by lords and ladies, small and noble folk men who agreed that your beauty was as valuable and desirable as the gold your family was known for. Helaena hummed quietly and quickly prayed to the gods that her brother would soon admit his attraction, for Helaena knew that your pride would not subject you to confess your feelings first. 

“Just because you do not understand or care for poetry does not mean they are a waste!” You exclaimed as Aemond picked another fight with you. You were peacefully seated in Helaena’s chambers, stroking your cat's fur mindlessly as Aemond’s own pet lay beside you. You were in no mood to fight with him and battle his views of poetry. “They are! They’re pointless. If you must say something, then say it— why must they dance around the matter? Why must they go on and on about something that could be said in one sentence? Cowards, the likes of them are!” You let out an exasperated sigh, making Aemond smirk at your annoyance. 

He finds you quite endearing at the state, which is why he often takes time out of his day just to annoy you. Relishing at the roll of your enchanting eyes, the sighs that leave your plump, pink lips, and the furrow between your perfectly arched brows. If he were lucky and had annoyed you to quite an extent, you’d stomp your foot like a spoiled child. Or simply wave him off with your pampered hand because you no longer had a word of defense. 

“Because they are poets! They do not wish to come to the answer and their intentions all at once— they create beauty with their words. They are capable of making subjects so dire be of great interest that they, in turn, create spectacles upon it!” You defended but Aemond only rolled his eye and shook his head, the former action he had gotten from you. Ever since you two were young, you would always roll your eyes when you found something disagreeable; Aemond would mock you for it— would mimic your actions in hopes of getting more from you. However, in time, he managed to adopt the same mannerisms. 

“Archmaester Sisco believed that poetry is of great danger,” he said, taking a goblet to his lips. Your eyes followed the way the ball on his throat booed as you waited for him to continue his thought.  “He says they mislead and are obscure and false— that poets are seducers of the mind,” He finished, noting the way your eyes were on his throat. Guessing you’d want to strangle him out of annoyance, Aemond was amused with the thought of you thinking about strangling him. 

“The Archmaester’s proclamation and thinking is old— irrelevant in our times. Even his student, Archmaester Aristedes, disagrees with his views on poetry. He reasons that it is not harmful— it is a form of expression! Cathartic to those who read and write it!”Aemond let another scoff of derision slip his lips, pushing your annoyance into frustrated anger. 

“You would not understand the beauty of poetry because you keep everything you feel inside you! You do not know what great relief it is to say or even write what you desire and hope for!” You exclaimed, and Aemond tensed in his seat. Silence surrounded the room as Aemond could not work out a response. You saw him fisting the arm of his chair, the knuckles of slender fingers turning pink from his tight grip. 

You sighed heavily, “What I meant is… I understand that you do not like poetry and find it pointless and a waste— but I don’t. I am not forcing poetry onto you, nor am I trying to change your views upon it. I enjoy and adore poetry— I just wish you would stop discouraging me from enjoying it. 

“Why do you enjoy it?” Aemond asked after a short while. You try to hide your surprise at his question. “Because… I find it romantic. For someone to take time to depict you with such beautiful imagery and flattering words, to love and admire you enough to dedicate a work of literature to your name… for me, it is the best way to express to someone how much you truly love them.” You could not look at Aemond as you said the words. In truth, a part of you felt silly because your love for poetry was only solidified because you loved a boy who you knew would not subject himself to create such works. When you read your favorite epics and songs, you would humor yourself and imagine it was Aemond who wrote it for you, knowing he would never do such a thing. 

Days passed since your and Aemond’s interaction and you noticed that you had scarcely seen his presence. You would pass by him whilst in training and join him and his kin for supper— but other than that, you could not feel a trace of his presence. He would usually join you and Helaena for tea or would suddenly appear by your side as you walked along the keep. He didn’t even pick fights or tease you anymore. Him growing more silent and reserved. Now you regret speaking— wishing you had just held your tongue and let him continue to disparage the sacred thoughts of poems and songs. 

It was high night, and you sat silently in your chambers, staring at the fire, trying to find ways to approach Aemond. Already missing his teasing presence— the only presence you would muster the patience to endure. 

You furrowed your brows as you heard shuffling at your door. Your eyes catch the shadow of a figure outside. You cautiously and quietly stood, going to your door only to see a piece of parchment being slipped at the slit of the wooden door. Your confession only grew. You quickly took the parchment and opened the door, revealing its sender. Three eyes went wide as you were met with Aemond, who blended in the dark. However, his silver hair shined in the light of the moon. “What are you doing?” You ask and turn to the parchment he had slipped. 

“Nothing— I… this—“ Aemond fumbled for words; you had never seen him in such a state. He was usually composed and stoic. You thought seeing him bashful and embarrassed was a nice gift from the gods. “What is this?” You ask and unfold the parchment. “No! Don’t—“ Aemond bit his tongue as it was too late to hinder you. Your eyes already consuming what was written. 

I’ve known you for half of my life yet; you consume the whole of it I’ve had you near and close to me yet, I only gaze from afar

I do not know how to proclaim I’m not certain how to say it without blame, but you, my beauty, are the cause of my desire and, most of the time, my ire

I know I pick countless squabbles, but I do it because I love to hear you babble about things I have no care for but you just simply adore

We disagree for many reasons, but I’d rather fight you through the seasons You, my beauty, so lovely and carefree my heart could not help but love you, most ardently 

Aemond watched you bite your lip as a wide smile started to spread. Aemond felt heat all over his body— anticipation did not sit well with him. He was ready to meet your laughs at his attempt to make you a poem. Ready to face rejection, but instead of the pessimistic thoughts in his mind, he was met with your sweet, pillowy lips. You were so excited and thrilled that you could not help but kiss him. Show him how you adored him as well. 

What was supposed to be a short and chaste kiss turned deep with passion. Lips dancing and refusing to part. You and Aemond stumbled to your bed, uncaring and ignorant of the teachings of the gods, for you and him had long surpassed your desires, and they could no longer be denied. They were ready to claim without thought of consequences because both of you knew that you’d happily take all punishment that would be presented if it meant neither of you had to stop your actions. 

“Gods, I want you,” You uttered as his lips traveled to kiss your soft cheeks, then trailed downward to the side of your neck. His hands were on your waist and threading dangerously close to your bosom. “Say it again,” Aemond almost begged. Savoring your scent, delighting at the way you feel against him. “I want you, Aemond. I’ve wanted you for years— you, only you.” You sighed as he left marks on your necks, earning quiet moans from you at the new sensation.  

Aemond let a low moan rumble as his cock painfully strained against his trousers, throbbing at your admittance of want for him. It was all he wanted. He thought his deepest desire in life was to have a dragon, but that was wrong. He desired you more than claiming a dragon— his deepest desire was to claim a lioness.

Aemond tangled his hair in your hair, finally letting his other hand move from your waist and cup your breast. Your hand, in turn, went to palm him through his trousers, watching as his jaw clenched and the ball of throat bobbed once more. “We… we must not lay until we are married,” Aemond said, voice pained and filled with impatience. Yet, he still did not move atop you; he kept his hold, but you relinquished yours. “We don’t have to,” You said, trying to push away your need for him to touch you. Aemond sighed and hurried his face in your neck, his lips and breath tickling your skin. “Then how…” Aemond trailed, and a thought passed your mind. “We must not touch each other….yet. However, I do not recall teaching forbidding us to touch ourselves,” You whisper, Aemond’s lilac eye flying to you, dark and filled with lust, mirroring yours. 

Aemond moved to remove his weight from you. You keep your eyes locked as you back away to the back of your bed, resting yourself on the pillows as Aemond kneels by the edge of your feathered bed, watching each move you make with his glazed, lone eye. 

You bit your lip harshly as your hand threaded a path that it threaded plenty of times, the thought you had as you did the actions now watching you. You slipped your hands, and you resisted moaning as your fingers brushed over the pearl of your cunt. Aemond admired the way your breasts peaked and traced through your silk nightgown. The way your eyes were hooded and how your plump lips finally parted and moaned his name. 

Aemond could no longer resist. Slipping his hand into his trousers just like he did every night, the image of you no longer in his mind but now sitting before him, calling out his name.“A-Aemond,” You stuttered as you felt the familiar cold within you. How desperately you wanted it to be, him to make you feel such a way. Aemond groaned and tilted his head to the heavens as he felt his cock twitch; he was quick to reach his peak; just the way you called for his name was enough for him to spill so quickly. 

Aemond closed the space between the two of you, each of your hands still pleasuring yourselves while lips met and wanted to be together when both of you reached your peaks. “You will be mine soon, my heart… mine to pleasure and please, all mine,” Aemond swore against your lips. You nod your head as you fasten your pace. “I’ve always been yours, Aemond.” You said truthfully, the final push for Aemond to come undone; you quickly followed as his moans spurred your peak. Aemond kissed your lips once more and boldly prayed for patience, patience, and restraint to not take you that night.

It was not enough for Aemond; pleasuring himself as he watched you pleasure yourself was not enough, but it had to be for now. Because when morning comes, he’ll demand that you shall be his, just as it ought to be.

If you enjoyed the premise of this story, you might like the inspiration for it!

[silkspiderrr]

Feedist kinktober #5: Witch's brew

You lean back into the pillows as she puts the heavy flask to your lips.

"Don't worry, you just stop drinking when you're happy with your weight."

she reassures you with a sly smile.

"Pretty simple, right?"

You fail to be completely reassured, but it's too late now.

She tilts the bottle ever so slightly.

You twinge a bit when it suddenly hits your mouth, heavy and thick but perfectly smooth. You let it pool in your mouth while you work up the courage to swallow, and once you do the full experience begins to hit you.

Intense flavours unfold in the back of your throat and work their way forward; creamy, honey-sweet, nutty, flowery is what you think as you try to describe it. An unusual warm tingling sensation spreads through your mouth and throat. Intoxicating.

The next gulp is instinctual and you shiver as the flavours seem to intensify and get more complicated: hints of tea, chocolate, pine, nougat... folding in on themselves and tingling your senses. The thick, velvety substance fills your mouth and plays with your tongue. You pick up the rythm and swallow another large mouthful.

"It's good isn't it?"

Good is a laughable understatement.

You drink the liquid down with a fervor bordering on desperation. It's thick in your throat, and tingles all the way down, landing heavily in your stomach like concrete. You feel the skin of your belly brush against the fabric of your clothes and you notice how full you are. Unable to look down you feel it with your hands; round and taut, somehow already fuller than you've ever been.

"Very good" she coos.

You drink deeply and sheepishly.

The weight in your belly feels good.

The flavours seems to grow and climb, up your spine, clouding your mind, tethering on the edge of overstimulation.

"You're taking it very well."

She tilts the flask further.

An uneasiness washes over you.

You have no idea how much is too much and the heaviness in your stomach is beginning to turn unpleasant. Suddenly the sweetness is sickening and overwhelming.

You slow down as you start to feel queasy, holding your protesting abdomen for comfort. It's so much and it's so heavy and you feel like you're going to be sick.

"Don't worry, you can take a bit more."

Your stomach growls and trembles under your fingers, you briefly feel like you're going to be unwell; then with a sudden loud gurgle your mind goes briefly blank as a feeling of deep relief washes over you.

"Theeere it is..."

It's as if somebody removed a plug from your stomach and a pleasant warm feeling begins to spread throughout your whole body.

Instantly, once again the sickly sweet becomes good, the heaviness becomes comforting, and drinking becomes irresistable.

"Good, good..." She coos.

"You're doing wonderfully."

Each gulp sends a shockwave of pleasure throughout your entire body. You can't help but let your hands wander.

Your clothes are beginning to feel uncomfortable. At first you think it's the heat, but then you start to realize how tight they are.

You place your hands on your hips.

You can feel the flesh pulse with every mouthful, noticeably bulging, swelling under your fingers.

Your eyes roll back as the sensations flood your mind.

The witch laughs.

"Does it feel good?"

It does.

Tight fabric digging into warm, growing meat. You eagerly trace the roundness of your now luxurious curves, you bob the plump flesh of your developing gut, and you marvel at the unexpected heft of your body as you shift it around to get more comfortable.

"My my, don't you just look delicious!"

You keep on drinking.

You are definitely beyond the body you set out to attain but you never want this feeling to stop.

You hazily note the seams of your once loose clothes coming apart. The painful constriction of the fabric giving way to relief as buttons begin to pop and your body spills out victoriously.

"So eager and greedy!"

The witch climbs over you, resting her body on your pillowy gut to better hold the flask.

"Careful now, I don't think they make clothes upwards of this size." She teases, prodding you with her leg.

As if you could ever stop.

You wonder how much could possibly be in that bottle, it feels like an impossible amount. Could it be infinite? Could you be stuck like this forever?

You feel her pointy elbows digging into your swelling flesh, so sensitive now.

"Such a good fat plum pudding."

You feel yourself spilling out amongst the pillows, your entire body a playground for new sensations.

Wave after wave of delicious fat washes over you, each one bringing a new level of ecstacy building onto the last, swelling into a gluttonous crescendo of physical pleasures.

Suddenly your mouth is empty.

"Wow! I can't believe you finished the whole bottle." The witch says with feigned surprise.

You lick the rim to catch the last droplets.

The witch bites her lower lip and traces circles along your belly.

"Very nice..."

She grabs and squeezes your lovehandles.

"Are you satisfied?" She smirks.

You manage a modest burp before desperately blurting out the only coherent word your dopamine riddled brain can deign to conjure up at the moment:

"More?"

[angelitaby]

my random donatello headcanons. . !

── he's awkward in nature, but that doesn't stop donatello from calling you fascinating. the touch of your fingertips tracing the creases of his hands as he rambles on about your differences and familiarities. embarrassed, donatello stops his mumblings if he realizes what he's saying

── when donatello has feelings for someone, he might just be...softer, partially because he's confused about what he's feeling. he doesn't really want to feel it either. he might isolate himself more so it goes away. it however, doesn't.

── two words. parallel play. sitting together in the same room doing your own tasks. donatello at his desk as you do your own enjoyments beside him. some days it's a comfortable silence, other times you'll ramble, he likes to hear idle chatter. he might not know what you're talking about, but he loves the noise.

── donatello likes the way your heart beats against your chest. it’s never the same every time he lays his head on your chest, but there’s the same sense of relief he gets from it.

── donatello gets easily irritated/overstimulated by strong, bad smells. even with the ones he doesn’t actively dislike, he’s very picky with the scents he does like. however, one particular night while you were looking over his shoulder, he caught a grasp of your scent. whether you prefer the flowery kisses of roses and fresh cut daisies, or the earthy tone of left over raindrops on blades of grass. he found that it was a... pleasant surprise.

── future!donatello smells like cigarettes and metal rust—but in the smoke and sterile way. he'd try to cover it with eucalyptus. when he stresses out, he turns to cigarettes. he tends to wallow in his own sleepless pity.

── yandere!donatello who's mind had gone blank. his heart pounding within the bony confines of his chest, unable to move as your laugh replayed in his head multiple times. and what a scary feeling, terrifying to experience something so.. conflicting. his heart aches, but it feels good. he wants—no needs to know why?

── yandere!donatello likes to experiment on you. mentally, physically. you're so fascinating. your biology is different. desires are different. needs are different. there are many ways to make someone delirious, and he intends to explore each and every one.

── donatello listens to weird al yankovic because i said so.

── donatello likes someone who will understand his boundaries. he likes someone who listens. he likes it when someone seems interested in him or what he's talking about. donatello likes someone who will be quiet with him.

── i can definitely see donatello as a gray ace. (i mean he's purple he's literally asexual core/hj) i do project a bit of myself onto him in having anxieties about other people and myself that's stopping me from getting in relationships. "i'm busy. i have other things to do. i don't need to worry about it." and while true, that doesn't mean it's not nice. it's him using his hobbies and work as an excuse to not be with people even though, deep down, i think he wants it.

── donatello says he prefers his coffee black, but he enjoys it with creamer. french vanilla baby! something to keep in mind for the early mornings, the quiet yet comfortable silence of the fresh day as you press the palm of your hand on his shoulder or between his shoulder blades for a second as you set down a coffee you made for him. it's a small gesture, but it's domestic. it's sweet, he appreciates it.

── donatello really loves the little things because it feels mundane and human to him.

── donatello prefers black teas. april introduced him to a strong one with cane sugar and mint once. but he also likes pure green tea, lemon with ginger, and a special rose-strawberry tea on the occasion. but it has to be a subtle taste, not to sweet, spicy or heavy.

── donatello likes all sorts of dumplings and is not a fan of overly sweet food + most desserts.

── donatello would be willing to watch greys anatomy with you because he's a bitch and likes to point out inaccuracies which is hilarious coming from some bitch who doesn't have a medical license. however he does have respects for dr. gregory house, so he's decent enough when watching house.

── donatello's favorite body part of yours? "whichever parts are the farthest away from me, thank you." your hands. your palms which press against his plastron, your fingertips that send shudders down his spine when you trace over his shell. every crevice, every knuckle, every detail. need i say more?

[melanges]

Waking up to cold but sunny mornings. Doing my lab prep while listening to subtle piano music in the background. Soaking in the sun during study breaks. Sweet fruity tea. Soft cushion of reading chair. Coffee shops selling flowery sweet, brightly colored drinks.

Spring is slowly making its way to the year.

[ltsokaylove]

Chocolate?

A !young! Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: Your not feeling well, and Remus takes care of you ^^

Major fluff, no trigger warnings :))

Gender neutral reader :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Its almost lunchtime and you still haven't left your bed, well except to run to the bathroom when you got nauseous. But other that that, you got no other exercise. Unfortunately, that means you also hadn't left your room, which left you absolutely starving.

You were just turning over in bed, trying to get comfy even in your restless state, when a worried Remus (gently) busted through the door.

His face immediately softened once his eyes rested on your pale, sickly looking state. "Oh honey, what happened?" he slowly sits on the edge of your bed, feeling your forehead with the back of his hand.

Most of the tension in your body dissipates as you feel the softness and gentle warmth of his skin on your forehead. "M' sick," was the only reply you could muster in your sweaty, hungry, pain filled state.

He chuckles softly, "I really couldn't tell," he hands you a thermos cup from the messenger bag at his side. "Hot tea, I figured you were sick when you weren't at breakfast, its waffle day, your favorite," he kisses your head gently before helping you sit up.

You slowly sip the tea praying it will help rid you of your blaring headache and incredibly sore throat. While you were slightly disappointed about waffle day, you knew you probably wouldn't be able to keep it down anyways.

"Thanks," you reply softly as you sip the tea. There's a perfect combination of the flowery taste of the tea itself and sweetness of the honey he no doubt mixed in.

He grins standing as he begins to take stuff out of his bag and set it on the wide nightstand sitting next to your bed. He sets cough drops, water, ibuprofen and your favorite chocolate on your nightstand.

You have to clamp your jaw shut so it doesn't fall open at the genuine kindness of your boyfriend. "Remmy..."

He smiles, "Want some chocolate? I absolutely know you haven't eaten all day and that's not good, especially when your sick and dehydrate," he adds emphasis on 'not good' and 'dehydrated', to show how much he's worried.

"Alright," you gingerly try to take it from his hands but he grins mischievously before breaking off a piece and lifting it up to your lips. You roll your eyes and try not to smile as you bite into the chocolate, the lovely flavor of it spreading across your tongue.

He takes everything back from your hands and returns it to the nightstand before flipping the light off and climbing into bed with you.

"Remus, you have classes," but your words are muffled as he pulls you into his chest.

"Shh you're sick, I could care less about classes. Plus I'll get the homework from James later".

You eventually sigh, and lovingly roll your eyes at his antics before leaning into him, your arms wrapping around his waist. You're genuinely surprised that the chocolate didn't make you sicker. But in his arms you feel completely content. Maybe you'll get some sleep after all?

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 7

First things first. A THOUSAND APOLOGIES for being so late with getting this next part out. Holidays are definitely a struggle, and my will to write kinda abandoned me like a dad going out to get milk. Anyway! I hope you all enjoy this next part!

Warnings! Kissing some drinking and nipple play. It's still pretty tame. Vomit too! Reader gets sick

Masterlist

Dracule licks his lips, wanting to surge forward to devour you. He wants you, every drop that you would gladly give him. However, the warlord isn't ignorant and knows that if he were to dive in and open up to you about everything he wants, you would never allow him back on your island. So, he clears his throat and takes a step back once he stands from his kneel, “I think that's enough for now,” Mihawk rumbles and turns to go take the wine glasses back to the kitchen.

You surprise yourself by snapping your hand out and wrapping it around his wrist. You tug gently, face on fire as you give him a shy smile, “I would like another glass, please,” you whisper and look up at Hawkeye through your lashes. You like the way the wine has made you feel. Shoulders slumped and head feeking a little airy. You wanted to know how else it would make you feel.

Mihawk watches you, golden eyes tracing a scorching path from where you hold on to his wrist all the way to your face. A smirk tilts his lips and Dracule lets out a put upon sigh, “I suppose one more wouldn't hurt, Darling,” he murmurs and twists his wrist so that he can catch your hand in his and dip to press his lips to your knuckles.

You shiver at the press of those sinful lips against your skin. You aren't ignorant, not entirely, at least. Your books have prepared you for what goes in between a man and a woman, but to experience it? Just the thought of thinking about Dracule in that way has your face exploding in a blush.

Mihawk ticks a brow up at your reddening face, “Something wrong, dear?” He murmurs, tone a touch concerned when he watches you suck your bottom lip between your teeth and chew nervously. He hums and takes your face in his warm hands, and despite your current embarrassment, you still find yourself sagging in his hold.

“I'm fine. You're just… really pretty,” you find yourself admitting, and Dracule cortles at your innocent admission. You want to duck away from his laughter, but the pirate steps close enough to gently pressing his lips to your brow.

“I am glad you think so, sweet thing,” Mihawk rumbles, and you can hear the muted delight in his tone, “Though your beauty far outweighs my own. Despite your snowy devil fruit, you shine brighter than the Sun.”

Butterflies break out in your stomach, and your hands find his wrists and tighten around them. You have no idea what to say to his kind, flowery words, but Dracule doesn't seem to mind. He presses one last kiss to your brow and then recedes, taking the wine glasses to the kitchen to refill them.

Mihawk takes a moment once he is away from you. His hands grip the counter, and he breathes deeply through his nose. Dracule doesn't understand the sway you have him under. His heart thuds at even the smallest hint of affection, hands sweating like some preteen who haven't even kissed a girl yet.

“Fool,” Dracule hisses under his breath. There was no need to be overthinking his feelings for his dear one. She was his, and that was that.

That settled, Mihawk filled the glasses and loped back to the living room. A smile flits across his lips when he sees that you've stood from your seat and have taken his hat from where he'd placed it on the mantle of the fireplace. He can't help the huff of amusement that leaves him when you carefully place the massive hat in your head and examine yourself in the small mirror off to the side in your cluttered living room.

“You know, Pirate Captains consider it rude and unwise for another to wear their hat,” Dracule comments casually And smirks at the way you jump in shock, flurries scattering about in a puff as you swipe his hat down from its perch.

“Sorry!” You squeak and shuffle back to the fireplace to hook his hat back on the mantle.

“Don't apologize, Dear One,” Mihawk dismisses and walks over to hand you the glass of red. You examine it with a critical eye and then take a careful sip, smiling when you find that it tastes even better than before.

“Why is it rude?” You ask and settle back on your couch, pulling your legs up and under you. You are glad that Mihawk isn't upset at your curiosity.

“For some, their hat is their staple, their symbol of who they are. I've had mine for well over two decades now, and it would be like losing a part of myself if something were to happen to it,” Dracule hums and fingers the cross necklace that hangs around his necklace, “Just like my ship and my sword.”

You find yourself nodding along, fascinated by this way of life you know little about. The only pirates you've ever had the misfortune of meeting have been little more than barbarians.

As the night goes on, one glass turns into three more. Dracule had sat beside you on the couch, and as the bottle emptied, you had grown bolder. Scooting close to your friend and cuddling into his chest. Mihawk tightens the arm he has wrapped around you, and you happily allow him to move you so that you sit in his lap, legs on either side of his own. Dracule collects the empty glasses with one hand and sets them on a side table for later. Your head lolls to the side, vision shimmy and head stuffed with clouds. You are well and truly drunk, but you feel good, and you know that Dracule can make you feel even better.

You rise, and Mihawk is subjugated to the most lust filled look he's seen so far, and it makes him shift under you, hands moving to settle on your hips to keep you steady Your hands curl in the ruffle of his shirt, and you gasp when Dracule drags you close by the hips, blushing when you realize that Mihawk can definitely feel how hot you are between your legs.

You aren't sure who started kissing who first. All you know is that you adore the feeling of Dracule's tongue in your mouth. Mihawk explores in an unhurried manner, taking his time to catalog the meek whines and breathy whimpers you let out when he does something you like. His tongue curls around your own, and he gently sucks your slick muscle into his mouth. It's slick and wet and exactly what you want. You whine into the kiss, and Dracule takes pity on you, moving his hands up and under your shirt to rest his burning palms against your freezing skin.

The temperature chance has you breaking the kiss to hiss at the unexpected touch. Mihawk slides his hands up your sides, leaving a fiery trail that leaves you shaking in his hold. Everything feels tingly, like when you step into the ocean and feel the calm waves sap your strength. You drop your head to rest on his shoulder, but Mihawk gently pushes you back, and you are suddenly caught in his demanding gaze.

“Put your arms above your head, dear,” Mihawk orders, and you raise your arms up without a thought. He hooks your shirt and lifts it up and over your head, and then toss it to the floor. He sucks in a sharp breath when your breasts are exposed to him, and he makes a mental note that you did not wear any kind of chest wrap under your clothes.

Reverently, Dracule cups one of your glorious mounds, thumbs swiping over a peaked nipple and sighing in rapture when you moan for him. He does it again, playing with your tits to his enjoyment until you are a squirming mess in his lap.

“Dracule,” you whine, and glance down at him, eyes half lidded and full of heat. You don't know what you're asking for, only knowing that the man below you can provide it.

With a growl, Mihawk tips the two of you, shifting so that you land on your back and end up staring up at him. The warlord dips down, lips latching around a hard nipple and swirling his tongue around the bud. You curse, back bowing off the couch, but Mihawk holds you down, hand coming up to tweak and roll the only nub. Pleasure zings through you, body heating up as Mihawk laves your chest with attention. He leaves your nipple long enough to gently bite the soft skin of your breast, teeth digging in just enough to leave an imprint.

Your hands dig into his dark hair, pulling him down and closer to your heated body. Your hips jump on their own violation, and Dracule groans when you accidentally rut against his growing erection. He doesn't stop, wanting to every breathy moan you make for him.

Everything is perfect until it suddenly isn't. The multiple glasses of wine and your overheating body have made a bad combination. You grimace when you feel your stomach twist, eyes opening a crack, and the flickering light of the fire just makes the feeling worse.

“Mi-Mihawk,” you stutter out, and Dracule's sharp ears easily pick up on the panic in your voice. He raises up, and then he scrambles to stand when he notices the vaguely green tint you have going on. The warlord slides his arms under your body, lifting you bridal style as he speed walks to the bathroom. He gets you there just in time, knees hitting the ground and wine coming up to splash into the toilet.

You're crying by the time it's all over, fat tears rolling down your face, and you know you look pitiful. Mihawk strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, cleaning your face of any more tears, “I'm sorry,” you say, and wince at the roughness of your voice.

Dracule huffs at you and gently clears your hair away from your face, “No harm, Dear One. Let's just keep your wine intake to just one glass for now. How about that?”

You nod easily and sniff, wiping your face as your lips pull into a pout. You feel horrible, physically, and for ruining the mood from earlier. Mihawk opens his arms, and you gladly fall into him, shoving your face in the crook of his neck as he holds you. You silently promise yourself to never drink so much again.

Mihawk sighs to himself as he adjusts the precious bundle of blankets in his arms. You had fallen asleep within seconds of him holding you, leaving Dracule to once again pick you up and tuck you into bed. Hank gives him a big puppy smile when he enters your bedroom, and Dracule makes sure to pat his head a couple of times after tucking you in. He leans in and presses a kiss to your brow before leaving the room. Looks like it would be the couch again tonight.

@writingmysanity @foggyturtleknightangel @kenkenmaaa @browneyedhufflepuff @goth-mami-writer @djbumblebee

[del-sol-diminutives]

Flowery Sweets and Teas, part 2

The chairs in this kit are adorable, but they’re going to be way too small for my Critters. Time to see what we can do about that!

After measuring the original pieces, and comparing them to a Critter-sized chair’s measurements, I built new pieces from craft wood. Critter chairs are about 1.6x the size of the Robotime chairs. A little fudging is okay here, as long as the pieces fit together.

Here are the fully-assembled and painted Robotime chairs, and some of the up-scaled pieces. I had to adjust my smaller set of legs because like a fool, I didn’t measure that piece before I cut. Luckily it was too big, and I was able to cut it smaller.

The seats are made of a flat piece of wood, with trimmed-and-sanded coffee stirrers to make the slats. They’re a bit sturdier than the originals, which are only one laser-cut piece.

I hand-drilled some tiny holes to indicate where the screws would be on the back, if it had them.

And voilá! Critter-sized chairs!

I’ll paint them to match later; I’m not sure how much of the original paint I’ll need for the kit, so I may have to mix my own.

[aethes-bookshelf]

a taste this bitter || solas/inquisitor

Something possessed me to write this. Gods above, I don't know what it was, but I pumped this out in an hour. I haven't written fic since February, I can't believe this man is the one to get me to do it again. I thought it'd be Alistair or Zevran, or Fenris, but you'll get the egg instead.

I love me some angsty pining and unresolved feelings and since Solas is Solas, he's perfect for this scene concept.

Pairing: solas/inquisitor (can be read as self-insert as well)

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, unresolved romantic tension, made to fit any inky, not just fem!lavellan

Wordcount: 1k

Summary: For a moment he missed the way their fingers wrapped themselves around their teacup, holding it like something precious, something worth touching; he missed the way he longed to be held by them just so.

Solas hates tea, but he promised he'd never forget them.

[Written to fit an Inky of any gender/race, not just fem!Lavellan.]

ao3 link

The scent of tea was not the problem to Solas — it was its taste. It didn't matter how fragrant its smell, how earthy or flowery the flavor's undertone, tea was always far too bitter. Bitter enough to twist his face with disgust, bitter enough to burn his tongue. Sugar made it a sickly kind of sweet, but the bitterness never really went away. It would spread inside his mouth like a disease, and each time he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it, to replace it with a taste that actually agreed with his palette.

The cup he was holding was nothing like the one the Inquisitor had used in years past, back when the sun seemed brighter and his purpose didn't weigh so heavy on his shoulders. Theirs was small and light, made of fine porcelain, and his was heavy, thick and tall.

For a moment he missed the way their fingers wrapped themselves around their teacup, holding it like something precious, something worth touching; he missed the way he longed to be held by them just so.

He pushed that longing down just as he had so many times before, the same way he did it over and over again as the years passed and the light of their soul grew brighter. He'd allow himself just this one sign of weakness, just this one moment of despair and not one more. It was for the best.

---

The sun outside was setting and the entire sky was on fire with it.

The Inquisitor was sitting in Skyhold's rotunda, a dainty porcelain teacup cradled in their hands. The tea was still steaming, its aroma filling the space around them. It was rich, fruity and sweet. They took a deep breath, enjoying the fragrance, before taking a tiny sip.

Solas stood nearby, a brush in his hand. He'd spend the past few days working on another one of his murals and was about to add the first layer of color. The Inquisitor usually accompanied him while he worked. Sometimes they'd talk — about the Fade, about the Inqusition's next move, about a book they'd both been reading. Sometimes they'd sit in silence, the Inqusitor watching and Solas quietly enjoying the attention. But almost always, they'd bring with them a cup of hot tea.

‘Inquisitor, if I may,' said Solas, adding a big pass of a bright, vivid red to the wall.

‘You may,' said the Inquisitor, tone light.

Solas' smile was small; it was gone before they could see it. ‘I couldn't help but notice how you always bring tea with you, yet you don't seem to enjoy it, not really.'

‘Ah,' they made a quiet, startled sound, clearly caught off guard.

‘I don't mean to pry, but I find it a little curious that you keep drinking it despite that. I assume you have a reason.' Solas turned away from his painting to look at his Inquisitor. His eyes were drawn to their hands and the cup in them; a sudden burst of feeling in his chest made him catch his breath.

Foolish, foolish man, he thought. He didn't let it show.

They, too, took a long look at the cup in their hands before taking another tiny sip. A mostly hidden look of disgust passed their face, but Solas caught it anyway.

‘It's a reminder.'

It was Solas' turn to be caught of guard. Of all possible answers. ‘How come?'

The Inquisitor carefully lowered the cup down to the floor and left it right by their seat. They cleared their throat as they straightened, looking a mixture of solemn and bashfull.

‘I never really liked tea, you see.'

‘You are not alone in that.' He let his nose wrinkle a bit for emphasis. Not too much, but just enough to be noticeable.

‘Oh, I know, don't worry.' They chuckled. ‘I never liked tea, but my mother always had. She had this big tea and cup collection she was very proud of, you know?'

They looked at the wall opposite to them, but it was like they weren't looking anywhere at all. ‘And she knew I didn't really like it, but she'd make me drink it with her anyway.'

Was there a shine to their eyes?

‘We'd pick a flavor, and she'd make me pick the cups we'd be drinking from.' Their next chuckle was wet; they must have realised this — they cleared their throat again. ‘At the time I found it rather annoying, but now, well…' They turned to look at Solas. ‘It's my way of remembering her, I suppose. Her and all the happier times.'

He was silent for a moment. The air all around them smelled of fruit.

‘I see. I'm sorry for your loss, Inquisitor.'

---

The drink in his cup smelled of fruit, but the scent wasn't quite right. He didn't know nearly enough about teas to pin-point what was missing, but he knew something was. A certain note in the smell, so familiar he could almost taste it.

No matter. This one would have to do.

The cup warmed his hands as sweet-smelling steam filled the air with an aroma that, to him, smelled like paint and sunsets, and a sky on fire. His eyes burned with tears he wouldn't, couldn't let himself shed over memories he had no right to grieve. Not after he had left, not before he was about to do something unforgivable and yet, to him, necessary. Something he wouldn't be able to take back. He wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing.

He took a sip of his tea and grimaced.

It was so, so bitter.

[the-kr8tor]

Hai bestie! I'm here to request a coffee shop r x ghost story! Him coming in and looking like he'd order just a black coffee or tea and actually getting some of the sweetest drinks that actually sound and taste really good(you had to try after his 2 or 3 time coming in).

He's a regular now and you happen to be growing a crush that isn't totally obvious. I'd say you get caught gushing about him being the morally Grey man of your dreams to your coworker (r is on register today) when he came up to ask for a remake because only you seem to make his drinks right 🤭

Hi bestie!! Sorry this took ages, hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn! Reader

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW food mention, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Simon walks towards the familiar streets towards the cute hole in the wall coffee shop. Black face mask snug on his face, hood up to hide the rest of his skin. His glare, huge form and large heavy strides make people steer away from him on the street, some stumble out of his way. He smiles under his mask when a man almost trips over himself after seeing him stride in his direction.

With the simple face mask and comfortable civilian clothes, he's just Simon, not Ghost or Lieutenant Riley, just Simon, and as he enters the doors to the coffee shop, he's now ‘the’ Simon who orders the most complicated and sweetest drink you've ever made.

“Why this place, LT?” Soap once asked him when he noticed that he always has the same cup carrying the cafe's logo on it every morning. Simon answers back gruffly, “none of your business, Johnny.” Truthfully, it's the only place that could get his drink right, and it's the only place that has you.

No one in your small café knows Simon, not even you who he always asks for to make his order. But you would love to know him despite his intimidating gaze and deep voice that could split mountains. You would like to know him more, more than the casual talk and more than the lingering touches when you give him his awfully sweet drink. You would love to know Simon who always drops something in the tip jar. He enters the establishment quietly, not stalking, no, it's just a habit of his that he can't shake. Your back is turned away from the counter and the door, a smile evident on your face based on your excited tone of voice. While Simon walks over to you, none the wiser to your awful crush on him.

And while he listens to you gush to your coworker that he refuses to believe that he's the current subject of, (refuses because compared to him, you're sweeter than his usual order of drink) His name rolls off your tongue like the honey you put in his saccharine coffee. Simon still thinks it's a different Simon even after you described him in detail, words flowery and affectionate.

“He's so mysterious, I think he's one of those guys who have so much lore in them y’know? Someone who's full of stories to tell. I think I'd like to know him.”

Your back is still turned away from the register, he thinks you'd be dead already if you're one of the unfortunate ones who he happens to run into the battlefield. Simon shakes the thought away. It's a slow day, customers sparse and tip jar lacking, so Simon lets you chat away to your friend. Not because he's too embarrassed to interrupt you, nope, not all.

Simon’s palms are uncharacteristically sweaty, breath shuddering with every compliment you unknowingly throw at him. He would like to get to know you too if you would permit him. He gives himself a mission, ‘operation: get to know the cute barista before the end of the day.’

“He's so nice too! And those eyes— oh I could get lost in them.” You don't notice your friend signaling to you about said man waiting patiently behind you. Her face suddenly turns flat, smile disappearing and her eyes flitting between you and something behind the other side of the counter. You think it's another customer so you end your story while you turn around. “Him being fit helps too. Sorry, what can I do for you—” Caught red handed, you turn into stone, eyes widening at the large form staring intensely at you. You're dead, oh so dead. “Shit balls.” You say under your breath.

“Is that a new pastry on the menu?” Simon asks flatly, the dry joke making you nervously chuckle. You think it's hilarious though, if not for the world shattering embarrassment you're currently in.

“No, but I can make it happen if you want.” You try to save face with your equally dry joke. Snorting at your own jape, you cringe at yourself, embarrassment blankets your entire being, insides turning all over. You expect him to roll his eyes, instead he chuckles lowly, a deep laugh that rumbles his chest. You smile nervously, noticing the slight crinkle of his brown eyes brings you at ease. “Sorry, what can I do for you?”

Simon takes his hood off, blonde tufts of hair in full display. That's when you notice the blush on the shell of his ears and you swear your simple crush on the man has increased tenfold. He leans on the glass counter, putting on his best charm. As Soap once told him, “shame that you don't use what god has blessed you with.” Simon still has no idea if he meant showing off his ‘assets’ or to use his charm, albeit that charm is as dry as his humour.

“The usual,” He says it without stuttering despite the deep crimson on his ears. Your eyes are glued to the red hue on the shell of his ears, with every second that passes, the shade seems to turn darker.

Simon's been around the cafe so many times (definitely not because of you) that you have his order memorized and perfected just like how he likes it. You don't mind how complicated it is or how much sugar is in it, just seeing his satisfied face after he takes a sip makes it all worth it. His generous tips are an added bonus too.

You beam up at him genuinely, not your polite customer service smile, but your smile that you only reserve for people you actually like.

Composing yourself, you joke like usual. “So no on the shit balls?” ringing him up, he gives you the exact amount you need, warm calloused hands brushing along your palms briefly. It's enough to deepen the blush on his ears. If that was even possible considering that he looks like he's about to detonate on the spot.

“Maybe next time, ‘m on a diet.”

You giggle, the sound making him smile, he's glad he's wearing a mask.

“I'll keep that in mind.” He gazes softly at you, hands balling into fists in an attempt to keep his composure. “I saved your usual seat,” You glance at the table in the corner, the ‘reserved’ sign written in your own handwriting is placed on top of it. “as always.”

“Good, thank you.” He might as well marry you on the spot.

“Enjoy your coffee, Simon.” Your smile seems to single handedly brighten the entire store.

Sitting down, he slyly watches you in the corner of his eyes. ‘you're bein’ a fuckin' creep’ he thinks to himself, so he watches the pedestrians outside instead. If he didn't look away he would've seen you gaze at him back. And he would've seen you spilling milk on your apron. You're glad he's looking away or you'd drown yourself in milk.

After making his honeyed drink, (and cleaning yourself up) you personally deliver it to him. He notices your smaller strides, and how your hands slightly tremble while holding his coffee cup. You swallow thickly, placing his order gingerly on the table.

“Three pumps of caramel right?” You try to make conversation even though you already know the answer to your question like it's the back of your hand. Simon sees you flick your eyes towards his cup, his mind tells him of danger. But knowing you, you wouldn't hurt him, right?

“Yes, thank you.”

You nod, a shy smile creeping up on your lips. “Of course, Simon. Anything else?” Stretching your time, you avoid eye contact, eyes once again moving to the steaming cup.

“Nothin' else, for now.” Simon feels the awkwardness in the air. He curses himself at how you could make him nervous just by standing in his proximity.

“Okie dokie.” You crumble away the second you let out your words. Turning around, you beat yourself up for being too nervous to tell him about your number carefully written on his cup, right beside his name. You hope you're not being too straightforward, hell, you only got the courage to write it because of your co-worker who keeps telling you to bite the bullet.

“Wait,” Simon's voice cuts through the quiet and the classic music softly playing in the store speakers. You turn around, anxious of what he's going to say to you. Did he finally see the numbers? “I—” Simon starts but he gets sidetracked by the loud ringing of his phone. He curses under his breath while you wait.

Taking the phone from his pocket, he sees Price's name in the caller ID. It rings twice before cutting off on his superior's side. A signal that he should immediately go back to base. ‘Operation: get to know the cute barista before the end of the day’ has to wait, for now. This is why he always asks you to put his drink in a to-go cup even though he's going to have it inside, he never knows when he'll be called.

“Duty calls?” You read the room and how his eyebrows knit together in frustration. Nodding, you give him extra napkins to hold his hot coffee with. “Here, take care, Simon.”

Simon stands up, eyes searching for something, anything on your face that would indicate that he should stay, or at least fancy him back. You turn around before he could get a good reading on you, “right, thank you, Y/N.”

“No problem, as always.” You look over your shoulder, just as he was about to leave. Coffee cup in his large hands. Ears no longer red. You give one last small smile, and he smiles back unbeknownst to you.

You hear the door open and close, your co-worker looks at you with an apologetic face. “Maybe next time?”

“Sure, maybe.”

A few minutes tick by, you tend to a new customer, taking her order when the door opens with a bang. The sound was so loud that everyone in the café jumped in their skin. You thought the hinges were broken from the harshness. You don't expect the person on the other side though.

Simon heaves in the doorway, hands bracing on the side, sweat dribbling on his brows. Even his mask is lopsided.

“Simon?” You ask, concerned. “What happened? Are you okay?” The other patrons looked on, weirded out, some were worried.

He inhales loudly, straightening up, he opens his fist to reveal a crumpled piece of the cup. Your number is still written on the paper.

“Is this your number?”

“Yeah?” You think you're fucked, absolutely, royally, fucked. You've made a mistake, that you read all your friendly interactions as something more when it was just that, friendly. You think he's going to your manager to complain, and that you're going to be fired all because you decided to take a leap—

“Can I keep it?” Simon's voice puts a stop to your frantic thoughts.

“What?” You blink, trying to decipher what he meant even though it's as straightforward as pouring coffee into a cup.

“It's for me, innit?” Now he's the one who thinks it was all a mistake, that maybe, just maybe that you've given him the wrong order, that another customer ordered his exact drink.

“Yeah, d-do you want it?”

Simon raises a brow in understanding, finally, you're both on the same page. “Yeah, can I text you?”

You would have laughed if not for the door hinges creaking weirdly. “Of course, Simon.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Simon clears his throat, eyes roaming around the people's faces. “I'll pay for the door.” He says before nodding at you, the second he turns around, a wind blows right at his face, taking his hoodie off. His entire neck and ears are as bright as a tomato.

You tamp down a chuckle whilst he desperately tries to fix his hoodie back on.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[actuallysaiyan]

Kinktober Day 28: Dirty Talking(Baby, talk dirty to me...)

warnings/kinks: injuries/wounds, smut, dirty talking, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, vulgarity word count: 1.1k pairings: V x Fem!Reader teaser: “Fuck I…I love fucking this pussy,” taglist: @beneathstarryskies @loki-love @witchofcustom @dreadsuitsamus @pyrofanatic

V was interesting to you. He intrigued you like no other. He wasn’t cocky and sassy like Dante, nor did he use profanity as much as Nero did. But the way that the black haired man used poetry and flowery language to speak to you, it made your heart flutter every single time.

You understood the circumstances of how he got here, and while you didn’t know Vergil personally, you were very much enjoying his humanity. V was a breath of fresh air in your life and he made you so happy. You two were so close that Dante and Lady often enjoyed poking fun at you. It never bothers you because you feel like for the first time in your life, you may have actually fallen in love.

V likes to recite poetry to you and to make you feel like you’re being wooed and courted. Things haven’t gotten too intimate yet, but you begin to wonder what he might sound like if he were to talk dirty to you. 

You invite him over one day during all the chaos. It’s mostly just to talk over some battle plans and also to tend to some of the wounds he’s obtained. You often worry about him, even though he tends to pretend it’s nothing serious. When he arrives, you have some tea brewed for the both of you and your first aid kit all laid out in front of you on the coffee table. He smirks at your hospitality but you know he’s not going to complain or protest.

“It’s always a pleasure to be in your company, my dear.” V says as he sits down in your comfortable chair.

“Pleasure is all mine, darling.”

You begin cleaning up some of the wounds on his hands and arms, then you move up to some of them on his chest. It’s not long before that’s all forgotten and you’re kissing him so sweetly.

Everytime you kiss him, he just melts. V swears he’s never felt anything like this before. He thinks about how you might affect Vergil if he were whole once more, but he also likes to push those thoughts away in favor of being a little selfish and to keep you all to himself for as long as he can.

“Such a pretty darling…such soft lips, like the petals of a rose.”

This makes you smirk, and you take his hands and guide them to your breasts. His cheeks turn pink but he starts to knead the tender flesh.

“There are other lips on my body that are like rose petals.”

Your words make him stop in his tracks. He knows he’s not always one to be vulgar, but your vulgarity excites him in ways he never knew existed. He’s more than happy to continue this intimacy. So with a few more heated kisses, you lead him into your bedroom.

Between making out and exploring each other’s bodies, you and V are finally naked. He kneels between your thighs, his long fingers pumping into you. You mewl his name, making his cock throb at the sexual sounds you’re making.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Please V, I need you to fuck me…”

He blushes once more. It’s not that he doesn’t want to fuck you, because he very much does want to. But he’s just worried that maybe he won’t be able to perform in the way you’d want him to. He’s afraid to disappoint you.

“I want to make love to you,” he says as he presses a kiss to your lips.

“V…”

Your sweet voice hits him hard, making him long for you even more than before. He spreads your legs, and guides his aching cock to your tight hole. It’s so wet and slick, and your walls are like velvet as he slowly slides into you. His eyes roll back once he bottoms out, and he’s panting and moaning so cutely.

“Does it feel good, baby?”

V nods his head, “Oh my dear…it’s exquisite…”

You giggle softly, making his eyes snap open. You reassure him by caressing his cheek lovingly with your thumb. Then you bring him closer for a kiss.

“Let’s hear you get dirty, V. Tell me how much you love fucking this pussy.”

He can’t believe his ears. How is going to be able to do this? He’s a little nervous but most definitely excited about all of this. He stammers a few words, then he looks down to where you’re connected.

“Fuck I…I love fucking this pussy,”

The words make you clench around him, and he moans at the sensation. He starts to rock his hips, making you both whine. It’s all so sensual but there’s a bit of vulgarity coming through. V then leans in to kiss you, and you bite his bottom lip.

“You like fucking this little pussy don’t you?” You ask him, kissing him again.

“Love fucking this little pussy. My little pussy to fuck, isn’t it?” He sounds even more possessive right now.

You whine as he begins slamming into you now, and you can feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten. V watches you carefully as he fucks you with expertise. It’s almost like he’s known how to do this the entire time he’s met you, he just was a little too shy about bringing out this side of him.

“You gonna cum on my cock, huh? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

This is the moment where you feel yourself becoming so aroused. He’s taking the lead on the dirty talk, no longer taking your cues. It’s such a sexy thing for you to be witnessing. It’s almost like he knows exactly what to say to get your motor running.

You let out a cute moan when he shifts the position just a bit, and V takes this opportunity to shove his fingers into your mouth. You happily suck on them, drooling all over them.

“You’ve got such a pretty little mouth…and you were right, it matches that pretty little pussy of yours. Perfect rose petals.”

You clench around him, feeling your orgasm coming quick. You desperately try to warn him that you’re about to cum, but with his fingers shoved so deep in your mouth, it just comes out as choked out babbles. V finds himself enjoying the dirty side of sex, and he knows he’s going to continue fucking you like this for as long as he can.

He shoves his fingers even deeper into your mouth, and with just a few more thrusts, you choke out some moans as you cum hard all over his cock. The entire time, he’s coaxing you through it with the filthiest words. You’ve never cum quite like this before.

V pulls his fingers from your mouth, strings of saliva coating them. He brings them down to your aching clit and begins rubbing it in time with his thrusts.

“Now,” he starts. “Are you going to be my good little slut and take my seed?”

[evansbby]

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝒑𝒐𝒚𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: noncon, dubcon, somnophilia, daddy kink, dark Steve, lactation kink, breeding kink, a/b/o dynamics, some feet stuff, oral (female receiving), 18+ minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve is horny but you’re asleep. That doesn’t mean he won’t have his fun...

(𝑨/𝑵): This is heavy with the somno, so please beware of that! If it isn’t your cup of tea, feel free to ignore and move on! 

It’s only 11 at night when Steve walks back into his house. Sam and Bucky are still at the party, but Steve had grown bored within an hour. The truth was, parties didn’t hit the same anymore. Just a bunch of drunk assholes and slutty cheerleaders grinding against each other in a dark haze of alcohol and weed. And as much as Steve tried to enjoy himself, his mind would always drift back to you.

His little omega, perfectly quiet and shy. Safe and sound in his bedroom (he’d locked the doors of the house before he’d left, lest you sneak out. Not that you ever would). Sometimes, he drags you along to these parties only because you look so deliciously uncomfortable and cling to him in the sexiest way. He also likes showing you off from time to time, knowing that the other alphas would kill to have you.

But mostly, Steve likes keeping you safe in his bedroom. He likes walking in to you studying on his desk or his bed, with your little Steve Junior under your arm. Wearing Steve’s old football jersey that completely dwarfs you, his mark on your neck peeking out from under your hair and reminding him of his complete and utter ownership over you.

Fuck, now Steve’s hard. He hopes you’re not asleep, because he can’t wait to sink into your tight little snatch, feel you squeeze around his cock like it’s your job. You’re always so ready for him, so needy for his dick and so snug around it, all weepy and grabby as your feral desire overtakes your shyness. Jesus fucking Christ, his dick is harder than a rock, and he all but sprints up to his bedroom.

You’re asleep. And goddamit, you look so fucking cute. Wrapped up in the comforter like a little burrito in the middle of his king-sized bed. Your head resting on Steve’s pillow rather than your own, and your Steve Junior teddy cuddled up in your arms. Steve feels his mouth quirk up into a smile before he stops himself – he’s no pussy simp! But you do look cute as fuck, so sweet and innocent. So different from all the other sluts he’s used to.

Slowly, Steve peels the comforter off your body before rolling his eyes because underneath that, you’ve covered yourself even further with your little fuzzy blanket that’s more ratty than it is fuzzy. Omegas and their damn nesting tendencies. Steve makes a mental note to order you a new blanket as he sheds this one off of you, only to be greeted by a host of stuffed animals covering your body in yet another layer that he has to get past.

“Fucking asshole toys.” He mutters, before shoving all your toys (except Steve Junior) into a haphazard heap on the floor, making sure to give one or two of them a hard punch in the face for being annoying.

And sure, Steve realises that his room is a lot more feminine now ever since you moved in – flowery bedsheets and stuffed animals everywhere and your beautiful perfumey scent covering everything he owns. But he doesn’t mind as much as he initially thought he would. When Sharon was his girlfriend, he never let her live with him but she would spend the night and try to mess with his stuff by putting her own things on his desk. Best believe, Steve would chuck her random shit in the trash, but you? You’re different.

“So fucking cute…” He murmurs to himself, watching you shiver and hold on tightly to Steve Junior, your nose digging into his fur and a sweet little frown on your face at the loss of warmth from the lack of comforter. He can’t help but stroke your cheek with his knuckles, loving how soft you are. So sweet and pretty and perfect. And most importantly, all his. Every inch of your body belongs to Steve, and it makes him so fucking hard.

“Baby, you have no idea how horny I am right now.” He tells you, continuing to stroke your face while you lay asleep on his pillow. He casually palms his dick with his other hand, already feeling like he’ll blow his load just from looking at you sleeping. “And look at you, fast asleep when you’re the one who gets daddy all riled up in the first place.”

“Steve?” You mumble, scrunching your nose cutely, and it looks like you’re stirring. But you only toss and turn a bit before getting comfortable again, and Steve resumes stroking your cheek for a while before his hand starts slipping down. Down past your delicate neck which bares not only his mark, but often also the imprints of his fingers after he’s choked you during a particularly rough fuck. Down to your chest, covered in his old jersey filled with holes.

He pushes the jersey up over your breasts, watching, almost hypnotised, as your nipples harden in the cool air. God, he loves your tits so fucking much, and you look so pretty all nude and bathing in the moonlight.

It reminds him of the early days, before he’d claimed you. Sometimes, he’d follow you home. Well, that ratty dorm room you called home. And it was all too easy to stand outside your window, watch you change because you were too dumb to draw your curtains. And those moments when you were bare, the moonlight painting you a pretty silver and you being completely unaware that Steve was watching you… Fuck, how beautiful you’d looked. And how hard Steve would cum every time he’d jack off to the memory.

Except not anymore, because now he has you in his bed. His own personal omega to do with as he pleases. Awake or asleep, it doesn’t matter to Steve – he owns you after all. In fact, you should thank him for being thoughtful and not waking you up. And a part of him does want to wake you up so he can fuck the living daylights out of you while you whine and cry all sleepily. But there’s just something about you, asleep and innocent, not knowing he’s watching you and touching you.

Fuck, he can’t help but lean down to suck your nipple. You’re practically begging for it, after all! Lying there with your nipples so hard they could cut glass. And you let out the cutest little whimper when his mouth latches onto one of your breasts, almost as if you’re having a dirty dream about him. Steve really hopes you are, because he has sex dreams about you all the time. He has ever since he first saw you.

“God, your tits are so sexy, baby.” He tells you as he squeezes and sucks. And Steve loves sucking your nipples, he could do it for hours if it was feasible. He loves how you card your fingers through his hair (when you’re awake, that is) and press his face more into your breasts while you whine like a baby. Sometimes, he likes to pretend you’re pregnant and he’s sucking your milk as you let him feed from you. God, that would be so fucking sexy – he can’t wait till he knocks you up.

“Mmhmm.” You mumble in your sleep, and Steve smirks against your nipple, licking and biting and grazing his teeth against it, sucking your whole breast into his mouth obscenely, wishing he had set his camera up so he could’ve got all of this on tape. And then he’d make you watch it tomorrow morning and threaten to post it online. (Not that he ever would, but he loves making you cry and beg).

“Daddy knows,” He tells you when he glances up to see you still asleep but your lips have formed the shape of an ‘o’ and there’s a tell-tale furrow between your brow. “Daddy knows what a dirty girl you are, how you like it when I use your body while you sleep.” He switches to your other breast, wanting to bite down hard but knowing you’d wake up if he did. He squeezes and pushes your tits together as he sucks obscenely, his hard dick poking against your leg through his jeans as he hovers over you. Damn, he can’t wait till you’re pregnant and lactating, and your tits would be so fucking huge and heavy when you’d breastfeed him.

“God, you’re teasing me, aren’t you, baby omega?” Steve lets go of your nipple with a pop, admiring his saliva shining all over your bare breasts. “You just had to look all sexy while you slept, didn’t you? It’s all your fault that I have to use you like this, baby. All your fault. But that’s okay, because daddy’s gonna make you feel good too.”

And with that, he continues exploring your body. Stroking and fondling and licking his way down your stomach, making sure to poke his tongue into your belly button. You shuffle a bit at that, but Steve holds your body in place and watches intently as you mumble something unintelligible before relaxing into deep sleep once more.

“Let’s see how wet your little baby pussy is, shall we?” Steve asks, and he can feel his excitement because his blood is rushing straight down to his dick. If he was hard before, he can’t even describe how uncomfortable his boner is now. Quickly, he undoes his fly and pulls his dick out, hissing in relief once his throbbing length bobs up against his abs.

He grabs your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate how soft you feel, before prying your legs apart. And he knows you’re not wearing any panties because he forbade you from doing so in bed. (He needs easy access at night and in the morning when he fucks you). And your bare pussy glistens in the moonlight and fuck, Steve feels like a salivating animal. He gets the sudden feral urge to mount you and fuck you so hard, fill you up over and over again with his seed while you scream for him to stop because he’s being too rough.

Instead, Steve closes his eyes for a second and savours your sweet scent. God, your pussy smells so good. It’s like your scent but amplified. And the best part? You’re completely soaked. He can’t believe just how wet you are, your pussy glistening in the moonlight as you lay all spread out before him. You’ve even dripped down onto his sheets, leaving a damp patch underneath you and Steve is utterly transfixed.

“Naughty little baby, look at the mess you’ve made,” he scolds, giving your thigh a gentle slap. He wants to hit you harder but he knows you’ll wake up if he does. “Look how fucking soaked you are for daddy.” He glances down at his dick which he’s slowly pumping with his other hand. Instinctively, he swipes the bead of precum from the head of his cock and looks up at your face wickedly, “Daddy’s hard for you too, omega.”

He rubs his precum on your lower lip, breath hitching at the sexiness of it all. And you look so pretty and sleepy, immediately licking your lips and moaning softly while he stares at you with wide eyes. “Mmm,” you whimper, and it’s the sexiest little whimper ever. And, as if things couldn’t get any hotter, your lips latch onto his thumb, sucking his digit while Steve swears under his breath.

“You’re a little freak in the sheets even when you’re asleep, aren’t you?” He marvels, letting you suckle his thumb while his dick throbs with need. “God, none of the guys would believe what a slutty little thing you are behind closed doors. Sucking on daddy’s thumb like a little slut? And after I’ve fed you my cum? Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking sexy and you have no fucking idea, do you?”

You don’t answer, of course, but you pout in your sleep when he removes his thumb from your mouth. He gives your cheek a few condescending pats before refocusing on your pussy. Fuck, Steve’s practically salivating at your sweet little cunt all splayed out for him, and you’re none the wiser while you sleep, clutching that damned Steve Junior in your arms.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to dig in like he’s a starved man. His lips immediately latch around your clit, which is puffy and swollen and so cute. He sucks hard, eyes widening when you let out the loudest moan yet. But then you settle back down, still asleep, and Steve continues as if he’s famished and about to start a five-course-meal.

“Your cute little button’s all puffy, baby.” Steve tells you, “I wonder what you’re dreaming about that’s got you all worked up.” He puffs his chest out, “Well, I know it’s me. And tomorrow you’ll act all innocent like you always do, and stutter all cutely as if you aren’t acting like a little whore in heat right now.”

And sure enough, you’re steadily grinding down on Steve’s face, unconscious as ever but he just loves the feel of your wet cunt against his face. Half of him wants to flip both of you over so that you’re sitting on his face, completely smothering him with your sweet folds while he bites and sucks and probes and brings you to one orgasm after another.

Instead, he continues licking you, loving how your thrusts meet his licks, and how your quivering thighs limply wrap around his head. He spits, watching his saliva pool around your engorged clit before he gives it another hearty suck. And fuck, he knows your body so well, he knows you’re about to orgasm because of the way you start panting, and how your knees try to lock around his head.

And Steve pulls away, because you’re his and he’ll decide when (or if) you cum tonight. And he loves the little pout your lips form into, and how you frown in your sleep and clutch Steve Junior harder. “Slutty little omega…” Steve murmurs before trailing sloppy kisses down your thigh. Stroking the smooth skin of your calf before he grabs your ankle, and his gaze shifts and eyes grow darker.

He’s still jacking off with one hand, the other holding your leg as he carefully examines the anklet he’d gifted you a few days ago. It’s a dainty gold chain with charms that spell out his name. Steve Rogers. He’d instructed you to put it on and absolutely never take it off unless he told you to. It’s another reminder that you are completely and irrevocably his, an omega who is claimed property, and his first before anything else.

The anklet is amongst the many different ways he plans to own you. First was his mark on your neck, of course. Then this anklet that spells out his name. And then what? Maybe a necklace with his initials? Or a tattoo above your pussy that firmly states: “S.G.R”? God, his dick twitches at the very thought.

But the anklet looks so dainty around your ankle, and he gets the sudden urge to nuzzle your foot up against his face, the feeling going straight to his dick. He can’t help but admire your pretty feet, how he’d paid for you to get a pedicure and they’d painted your toes a pretty white colour. Fuck, so fucking sexy. He presses a kiss on each toe before his lips trail downwards, leaving wet kisses on the pad of your foot before licking a tantalising stripe down the instep of your heel.

Your entire body jolts, and Steve can practically sense your pussy clenching and releasing more of your wetness to drip down on the sheets below. Your sweet fucking cream staining his sheets because your baby pussy is getting turned on by your alpha kissing your feet. Steve can’t help but smirk, and wonders how he’ll tell you this tomorrow.

He takes his phone out and clicks on the camera, recording while grabbing your other foot and repeating the same actions. Pressing little butterfly kisses on each toe while you wiggle and squirm in your sleep. And then he licks up your foot, gently sucking on your toes while he tries not to groan at how sexy this is.

He lets go with a pop, throwing his phone aside while he smirks down at you, “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that, baby. I know you did because I know what a slutty little girl you are.” He strokes your leg, “Don’t worry, daddy filmed it for my private collection. I’m sure you’ll love to see it tomorrow.”

He can just imagine how distraught and shy you’d be when he showed you the video, how you’d beg him to delete it. But he wouldn’t. He has almost hundreds of videos and pictures of you already taking up half the storage on his phone. He’s just so addicted to capturing you on film, addicted to how your naked body moves and responds to him. It’s fascinating, beautiful, so sexy and incredibly hot. And he can’t get enough.

Now, Steve crawls back up your body. And he knows he’s acting like a total creep, and that he could just wake you up and fuck you like how he usually does. But there’s something so vulnerable about you being fast asleep, and he’s nowhere near done playing with you.

You’re on your back, snoring softly into Steve Junior’s fur. But Steve gently manhandles you till you’re facedown, your stomach against the sheets and his favourite part of your body facing him. And he almost salivates at the sight of your bare ass, all cute and round and poking out at him as if you’re teasing him. As if you’re begging to be touched and groped and violated. (Not that it would be a violation, since Steve owns your body and can do with it what he pleases, and when he pleases).

He can’t help but give your ass cheek a firm little slap, watching with baited breath as you mumble something under your breath. Still asleep. He pinches and prods and squeezes to his heart’s desire, like your ass is his own personal toy. Which, in a way, it is. Under the dim moonlight, he can see his teeth-marks on your flesh where he’d bit you the last time he’d spanked you. He just couldn’t help it then, and his chest fills with pride now, hoping the mark will permanently mar your ass and remind you of who you belong to.

“Your sexy little ass is just begging to be fucked, omega.” Steve breathes, imagining how tight and sexy it would feel if he just shoved his dick up your ass. But instead, he leans down to give your smooth skin a light kiss, before turning you onto your back once more. And it’s crazy how deep of a sleeper you are, unperturbed by how he’s playing with your unconscious body which he jacks off.

“Steve…mhm…please…” You breathe softly, and the delicate sound goes straight to his dick. You were begging for his dick, even in your sleep. If that wasn’t the sexiest thing Steve had ever witnessed, he didn’t know what was.

“Oh. So you want me to take advantage of you while you sleep?” He tsks, giving your cheek another condescending pat. “What a naughty little girl you are, but I already knew that. You may be all innocent but that doesn’t mean you’re not a cock-hungry little slut when you’re under me.” He pinches your cheek and chuckles under his breath when you pout.

He carefully straddles your chest, making sure not to crush you with his weight. But now, he’s got his dick right above your sweet, sleeping face. He cant help but rub it against your cheeks and nose and forehead, making sure his scent and his precum is smeared all over your face. And fuck, he’s so ready to just blow his load.

“Slutty little omega…” Steve breathes, tracing the tip of his dick against your soft lips. And, as if on cue and by some fucking miracle, your lips part. Steve can’t believe it, “Good girl. That’s such a good little girl…” He praises you, inserting his tip into your mouth and watching in awe as you suckle it in your sleep.

“Mhm, daddy…” You moan sleepily, like a fucking porn-star or an actress at least. Steve is in complete awe at how whiny and needy you sound and it goes straight to his dick.

“That’s right, baby. Suck daddy’s dick like the obedient little slut you are.” He commands you, wanting to shove his whole length into your mouth but knowing he’d choke you if he did that. Instead, he lets you suck on his tip while he continues to jack off at the sight. With his other hand, he grabs yours and squeezes it, not really knowing why apart from the fact that he felt the need to do it.

He cums fast, and it’s no surprise since he’s been edging himself all this time whilst fondling your body. And he’s so used to cumming down your throat, that it takes all his willpower to pull out before he blows his load all over your face. And fuck, if it isn’t the sexiest thing in the world, your face coated in his cum, and you still don’t wake up.

“Fuckin’ cockslut.” Steve mutters under his breath, stopping to marvel at how beautiful you look before he gathers the cum on your cheek with his finger and slips it into your mouth, smirking when you suck it off obediently. Fuck, even in your sleep you’re obedient. He continues to feed you his cum until your face is somewhat clean (he leaves a bit of residue, something for you to wonder about in the morning). And then he climbs off you, something inside him compelling him to give you a soft kiss on the cheek for being such a good girl for him.

He takes a quick trip to the bathroom to piss and wash off before changing into a pair of sweats and returning. You’re still asleep, of course. It’s slightly alarming, what a deep sleeper you are, but you still look cute as fuck. You’re on his side of the bed, head resting on his pillow, and so he has to gently scoop you up and slip in underneath you before placing you down on his chest and covering the two of you with the heavy comforter.

“Steve? You’re home?” You say sleepily, cuddling up into his chest as his arms wrap around you. Your eyes are still shut and you seem to be half asleep still, and unaware of everything that’s just taken place in the past few minutes, but he can’t help but respond.

“Yeah. The party was boring.”

“Missed you.” You mumble softly into the hardness of his chest, and Steve feels a certain stirring deep down.

He yawns, “Oh yeah? I was only gone for a few hours.”

“Always miss you.”

And then you’re snoring softly once more, and Steve’s left to stare at the ceiling in pitch darkness. You’re still and content, cuddled up on his side and practically on top of him, with Steve Junior in your arms. Sound asleep. And Steve can’t help but hold you just a little bit tighter, and give you a soft kiss on your forehead, before he follows suit.

THE END! 

Please do let me know what you think! I know this is a drabble but technically it isn’t bc it’s like 3.9k words!! So please do give feedback and tell me what you think and reblog and all that good stuff! Love you guys and I love writing for this pairing!!! I was hesitant to write more in Steve’s POV but I just focused on his horniness and not on any emotional stuff!!! THANK YOU FOR READING BYE

[mizunoyouni]

ੈ♡₊˚•. Pale Blue Melody

· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Pairing - Kamisato Ayato x fem! Reader

₊˚♡⋆˚ Summary - After months of hard work and endless meetings, you and Ayato finally find some quiet time to relax together over some tea and sweets; courtesy of Thoma. It's in that moment you are reminded what it is exactly about your husband that makes your heart swell.

.°˖✧˚ Content - 3.1k fluffy + flowery words, Reader is referred to as "wife" and "my lady" + established relationship. Suggestiveness towards the end, but nothing explicit. Thoma + Ayaka cameo/mentioned. Lots of teasing and banter.

"Let's see... sakura mochi, tricolour dango, berry mizu manjuu..."

Thoma listed each item as he carefully set the plates of food onto the low table in front of you with a smile on his lips. Spring had descended upon Inazuma, dusting the lands in soft pink petals while conducting a symphony of chirps and hums from the wildlife that served as your morning wake up call and nightly lullaby. But with a new season came new responsibilities and tasks to be fulfilled, and you soon found your daily schedule each day was packed tighter than the adorable bento boxes Thoma sent along with you for lunch in between your meetings.

Which had led you to the position you were in currently— sitting comfortably outside, enjoying the sunlight and perfect blue sky as Thoma set up a table full of sweets and refreshments before you. He kept insisting that you sit back and relax while he meticulously adjusted each plate, teacup, and napkin as if this occasion was something akin to his latest magnum opus. Such a display laid out on the veranda was something that had become an uncommon sight in the Kamisato estate, especially with the combined hectic schedules of both you and Ayato often keeping the two of you away from home for days and sometimes weeks at a time as you each tended to your own separate duties. In a way, you were like two birds leaving the nest early each morning to go their own way, only returning home in the dead of night for rest and a quick meal. And needless to say, the change of pace hadn't gone unnoticed by Thoma's watchful eyes.

"Oh, and I can't forget the butterfly pea tea!" The blond housekeeper proudly announced, grinning widely, and you couldn't help but smile along with his contagious happiness.

"It's the new trend in Inazuma City to serve this tea with edible flowers. I thought both my lady and my lord would enjoy it, seeing that you've both been working so hard recently," he explained, clearly invested in the beautiful blue beverage he presented to you in a dainty glass teacup.

And so continued his happy ramblings detailing the herbal properties of said beverage, his search for the specific tea, his failed attempts in brewing just the right shade of pale blue, and his long journey of seeking out the perfect pearly flowers that would adorn your cups of liquid sky. Part of you wanted to suggest that Thoma sell his tea adventure story to the Yae publishing house as an idea for a new light novel, but you decided against it for Thoma’s sake.

"Is that so? Well, I'm glad you're so enthusiastic about it. It seems almost like you've been planning this for weeks," you say, trying not to laugh at Thoma's slightly startled expression upon hearing your words. He was like a surprised puppy— his posture straightening up immediately, his eyes widening, and the tips of his ears turning the faintest shade of red at the realization that he had been caught.

"Ah, well, I just thought that ever since last month, the two of you haven’t been home very often! Even if you both insist that work comes first, sometimes you need a break!" came his hurried response as he shifted in his seat beside you, quickly placing the last of the flowers into your cup in a feeble attempt to distract your attention.

“So you have been planning this for weeks.”

The sound of amused chuckling caught the attention of the two of you, and you both turned to see Ayato in all his prim and proper attire approaching with a smirk gracing his lips as he overheard the admission.

"My lord!" Thoma quickly jumped to his feet and bowed in greeting while Ayato continued grinning at the housekeeper smugly. "I-I... suppose you could say that..."

"I see, so that’s why you kept asking about our weekly schedules lately. You were trying to squeeze in an afternoon tea break for us," you laughed along with your husband, who also found the situation to be quite entertaining in his eyes, much to the blond’s embarrassment.

“We must thank you for this fine arrangement,” Ayato smiled, taking his seat across from you at the low table. “Will you join us for a few bites before returning to your duties?”

Thoma shook his head, his face still tinged with the slightest bit of red. “I’m afraid not. I’m scheduled to accompany Lady Ayaka to Ritou later today, so I’ll need to leave soon in order to escort her there.”

“Ah, a pity, but duty calls. We won’t keep you any longer then.”

And with that, the blond head of your trustworthy housekeeper quickly disappeared from the veranda where you and Ayato comfortably sat in the cool shade of spring, basking in the fresh floral notes and sweet aroma of the generous foods laid out before you. Thoma had truly outdone himself this time, not only in the visual presentation of everything, but also in pairing such flavors together to ensure an enjoyable time leisurely snacking and chatting. It was commendable, the way he had brewed the tea to just the right shade of blue that it seemed to rival the tranquility of the calm blue sky, or the way he had prepared the sakura mochi and tricolour dango that left you wondering if in another life, was Thoma perhaps a sakura blossom spirit? Because how else was he able to capture that soft, delicate hue of pink?

“Quite the dependable housekeeper, isn’t he?” Ayato finally asked after a few moments of watching you observe the fruits of Thoma’s labor.

“He’s always been. Although, I think he’s surpassed any, if not all expectations at this point,” you say with a smile before you take a tiny sip of the pale blue tea that had captivated you from the moment Thoma poured the sparkling liquid into your cup.

“Oh, don’t fall for him now. I might have to fire him if he causes my wife to stray away from me.” There wasn’t a single hint of malice in Ayato’s voice as he teased you lightheartedly. After years of being married to the man, it was evident that he loved to gently poke fun and share hushed laughs with you, rain or shine.

“We both know the Kamisato estate would fall into ruins if anything happens to Thoma,” you quip back, trying to bite back a smile, although your attempt proved rather futile and Ayato was able to catch your wide smile while he leisurely chewed on a piece of sakura mochi.

“Hm… perhaps you’re right. He does end up taking on more responsibilities than your typical housekeeper,” he agrees, feigning deep thought over the topic before he quickly let it dissolve away like powdered sugar on his tongue. “But enough talk about our wonderful housekeeper. How have you been fairing lately? Any personal plans you have scheduled? I could use another self indulgent activity as a palate cleanser from my countless meetings, you know.”

“Sounds like you just want to skip out on meetings,” you point out and you watch in amusement as Ayato throws you a pout before returning to his plate of sweets.

“Would it be such a crime for me to want to spend time with my lovely wife?” came his witty response. His lavender eyes narrowed at you, practically daring you to throw another playful remark his way.

Relenting, you sigh in defeat, your smile still on your lips as you carefully observe the floating flowers in your teacup for a few moments. The slightly translucent petals shimmered and dipped below the surface, dancing in your cup as they performed a private show, just for you. And you had half the mind to just sit and admire its beauty, finding it almost too dazzling to waste on the arbitrary act of drinking.

“I suppose not,” you finally say while Ayato wears a look of triumph on his face. “But if you insist, then I’d like you to accompany me tomorrow as I shop for a new kimono for the Irodori Festival in a few weeks. I want to look my best standing next to you.”

To that, he slightly perked up, interested in your proposal. “Shopping for a new kimono? And you want me to come along?”

“Well, I wouldn’t dream of wearing one my husband finds unflattering,” you laugh, and his lips mirror the smile on your lips.

“We can’t have you wearing a kimono that doesn’t highlight your beauty, can we? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let that happen,” he chuckles.

“Hm, you’re almost making me feel like I’m a doll that's to be dressed up and made pretty by you.”

“Doll or not, you are my beautiful doll. And don’t take this as an empty act of lip service, but you could choose to wear a burlap sack and you would still be the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” Ayato proclaimed proudly, leaning his face against the palm of his hand. If you looked closely, you could see the twinkling in his lavender eyes.

A stuttered breath left your lips as his honeyed words filled you with warmth— the same warmth that had enveloped all of Inazuma for the past month as the seasons shifted and the days grew longer. It’s the warmth that lives inside your chest, keeping you warm and wrapping you in a protective embrace during the nights when Ayato cannot return to your shared bed and lay next to you while you sleep. It’s warmth that gives you confidence and strength on days where it seems that all hope has been drained from your body, lifting up your spirits from the depths of despair. But most importantly, it’s the warmth that fuels your soul, touching your heart and painting it a brilliant blue— proof of your attachment to your other half.

You shake your head at his overly affectionate words, wondering when he found the time to practice such romantic lines in his head.

“And there you go again being so sickly sweet to me…” you mutter as you shake your head.

“As if you’d prefer any other treatment,” he says with a smirk, and his gloved hand holds out his teacup to yours in a mock toast, the dainty glass clinking against each other softly, singing of the bond between the two of you.

“You know me too well,” you admit, and his smirk only grows wider.

“And if I didn’t? The thought alone is too horrid to imagine.”

Ayato chuckles as you smile along with him in silent agreement, not having a single comment to dispute his word. And as a quiet, comfortable silence drapes over the two of you like a soft blanket, you think to yourself that there is hardly any other place in the world you’d like to be in. If only you could have more days like this— a lazy afternoon sipping on liquid sky, enveloped by the sweet aroma of spring, and kissed with honeyed words as they blossom from your husband’s lips. But alas, you knew that this peaceful moment would soon come to an end, as all things would, and your life would return to days consisting of endless meetings you would be stuck in, sleeping next to the ghost of your husband, and longing for spring to return once again. That is, at least until the end of this busy period.

“You know, I really love these back and forths we have,” Ayato finally says after a few moments in a noticeably softer tone. It was the voice he only used when he was alone with you, usually in the comfort of your shared bedroom, away from all eyes except for the moonlight peeking through the window as the only witness to your nightly conversations.

“Because nobody else dares to challenge your word?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as his attention turns to the butterfly pea tea in his teacup.

Swirling the shimmering blue liquid, his eyes darted to the surface of the drink, refusing to make eye contact with you. 

“Truthfully, I’m not a man who is often denied what he wishes for,” he starts. “Even when I became the head of the Kamisato clan at a young age, hardly any of my servants ever told me ‘no.’ If anything, it was more pressure than I could imagine. Because even if I made a bad proposal, many wouldn’t even dare to advise against it.”

Slowly, he lifted his cup and took a sip of the tea, his eyes locked on you the whole time before his lips finally parted from the edge of his teacup and he set it back down gently on the table. 

“So you can imagine my delight to find a wife who can stand confidently beside me. I love that you are your own person. It’s what drew me to you, and I’ll never wish for that aspect of you to change.”

Ayato’s gloved hand found yours and he gently brought your knuckles to his smooth lips, kissing your hand slowly and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when he playfully winked at you, clearly noticing how his words had affected you. Years of marriage to this man, and he always caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter. It made you wonder if by the time the two of you had grown old and wrinkly, would he still be teasing you lovingly in such a lovesick manner?

A soft sigh escaped your lips as Ayato released your hand and chuckled softly at your sheepish expression from his sudden burst of flowery words that threatened to suffocate you. 

“Such sweet words from a man of such high position would cause any onlooker to doubt your image,” you say at last, trying desperately to direct his attention away from the bubbling feeling that was brewing in your chest. 

But to your dismay, his smile only grew as he leaned forward, looking mischievously at you with a smug expression gracing his features before he held your chin between his fingers. You knew that expression all too well— it was the same face he wore during hot pot nights right before he put in an odd array of ingredients, a misfortune that you and Thoma often found yourselves the victims of. Trouble was brewing, you were sure of it.

“And I’d think that if anyone heard of the words that leave your lips while we are in private, oh that would certainly stir up some gossip,” he purred.

“Ayato!” you blurt out and quickly swat his hand away, watching as he bathed in your startled expression as if it was his favorite pastime.

“Oh, don’t deny it, my love. You’re certainly no saint behind closed doors.”

You groan softly at your husband's antics and with shaky hands, you lift your teacup to your lips, desperately hoping a sip of the herbal tea would calm your beating heart and remedy the red that you were sure was dusting your face by now. 

“A-and neither are you. Considering the amount of filthy words that leave your mouth when we are behind said closed doors, the shrine maidens should wash your mouth out with holy water…” you say, willing your voice to remain calm in order to deny your husband of any teasing comments he might think up.

Nervously, you watch as he tilts his head in mock innocence, giving you an amused look that does all but scream that he is up to no good.

“And what of when I do not use words?”

You can hear his hearty laugh as you choke on your tea, spilling a few pale blue drops onto the table before you’re sent into a coughing fit, all red faced and short of breath from his relentless teasing and the bits of liquid sky entering your lungs. You swear your heart stutters, and you see stars for just a fraction of a second, before you resist the urge to reach over and shove more sakura mochi into your husband's mouth to put an end to his teasing barrage that threatened to plant a garden of flowers where your heart should be.

When you finally recover from your coughing spell, you shift your gaze from your teacup to Ayato’s smiling face. He’s resting his chin on his palm now, his pale blue hair framing his face nicely as it always does. His lavender eyes had been trained on you the whole time, watching you with soft admiration. His lips were no longer held in the smirk that was plastered on his face moments before, but rather, they were softly painted with a smile that reminded you of the first snow of winter— gentle, soft, and kind.

In the shade of the veranda, and in the warm spring afternoon, you wonder if maybe you were dreaming— dreaming of the man sitting in front of you, dreaming of the delicious sweets prepared for the two of you by your housekeeper, dreaming of the life you were currently living. And after a few more moments of staring into your husband’s eyes, you wonder what exactly it is about him that makes your heart beat out of tune, skipping around as if it were singing acapella despite the perfectly timed chords resonating inside you. You blink, and he flashes you a closed eyed smile, and suddenly, it hits you all at once. 

It’s the combination of the blue of your husband’s hair, the blue of the Inazuman sky, and the blue of your spilled tea that all string together to form that heart stopping pale blue melody that echoes in your head and guides your heart. It’s those blues that silently put you at ease whenever you feel restless, swaddling you like a child and rocking you back and forth comfortingly. And it’s the same blues that keep you company whenever you are away from Ayato, giving you ghostly kisses in his place until he can return to your side. It’s that specific shade of blue that you always look for in crowds, hoping to find his tall figure somewhere in the sea of faces. Blue— that’s the colour you’ve decided for your new kimono. It’s the colour of the skies that grace your beloved nation, the shade of your husband’s soft hair, the hue of your spilled tea, and the colour that has evidently painted your heart, signaling to anyone and everyone around you that you are a person deeply, helplessly in love.

Yes, that’s it. It’s that pale blue melody that sings of your love for Kamisato Ayato. To others, he is the Yashiro commissioner, or even simply a brother, or a lord, but to you, he is your husband, your lover, and the man who constantly threatens to drown you in his bed of soft blue flowers that he has molded perfectly to the shape of your body. And for better or for worse, you hope deep down inside that this pale blue melody never stops playing as long as you continue to breathe. Because it's one thing to hold your lover's heart close to yours, and other to have both of them beating to the same rhythm during every waking and dreaming moment.

୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Author's note - Can you tell that I'm hopelessly in love with this man? My first fic, so I hope I've portrayed Ayato accurately... if not, then this is all just my silly little delusion.