#a scone and bits of cake or something

[patriciavetinari]

My problematic bourgeois red flag is that I unfortunately enjoy the meal format that is afternoon tea. I'm really sorry but it's a terminal disease of mine that I would like all my meals to come in a mosaic of small bits arranged into a neat tower of plates. I will take the guillotine yes.

#ALTHOUGH #i think it's mostly overpriced massively and that's why associated with the rich #like prawns or lobster or cereal that used to be poor people food until the rich got wind of that #essentially you're having a couple of sandwiches #a scone and bits of cake or something #and sipping tea over a few hours #and the tiered plates don't cost that much #so afternoon tea can be very working class #communist even

[evergreenfields]

Tea for Two

Part 2 of Yours Truly, A Hostage (Part 1).

After rescuing you in Piccadilly Circus, the Captain takes you up on your invite. Naturally you make tea, scones and sexual tension.

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!reader

CW: explicit smut, piv sex, penetration, fingering, descriptions of a male body and female body (reader). MDNI.

Words: 3.5k

A/n: Let me know what you think! Also, I love how reader can afford to live on her own.

——

You honestly didn’t mean to be folded in half and speared so deliciously by John’s cock. It was only supposed to be tea and scones.

He arrived promptly, not giving you a chance to worry you had been ghosted.

You open the door to find him standing with his hands clasped at his front.

“Hello.” He says, it’s a rumble, heat fills you.

“Hi! Come in! Let me take your jacket.” You wave him into your tiny flat.

“Thanks, love.” You don’t watch as he shrugs it off. He’s wearing a green plaid shirt that hugs his broad chest. He looks different to yesterday, you thought he may look smaller as he wouldn’t be encumbered by all the gear and harnesses. But he was still huge, tall and broad. He’s not wearing a hat so you see his hair is neat and kind of side parted with a lot of grey. He’s in dark blue jeans and boots which probably added another 2 inches to his hulking frame.

“How did you know I love a tea party?” he marvels at the teacups while rolling up his sleeves revealing strong bulky forearms covered in dark hair.

“My third eye.” You point mysteriously between your eyebrows, trying to be nonchalant even though you feel flustered as he essentially started the foreplay by revealing his muscled forearms.

“What else does that third eye see?” He looks at you, it's strange how such icy blue eyes can show heat.

“It sees you behaving yourself.” You say with more gumption than you actually felt. You carry over the teapot and he waits to seat you. You can’t help but laugh awkwardly as he gently tucks your chair in.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” He says with mirth, the delicate teacup in his large hand was making you feel a certain way. You try not to stare.

“It’s a bit much.” You say quietly, “but so was yesterday.” Your thighs bounce up and down nervously. “How’s your friend, teammate, the younger guy, Gaz?”

“He’s alright, he sends his best,” Price didn’t want to reveal the full conversation they had when he told Gaz he got your phone number. Things like “but sir she’s closer to my age” and “no sir, she wasn’t complimenting my facial hair.”

“Oh bless him,” you say, touched.

“Are you okay? What you went through yesterday was no cake walk.” His brows knit together.

“It’s not really hit me yet, to be honest.” You admit, feeling conflicted because you were absolutely sidetracked with getting ready for a date with an SAS captain. You had left your statement at the police station earlier in the morning.

“If you need to talk, I’m here. And there’s no shame in speaking to a professional. A proper professional.” When he smiles, his lips disappear into his moustache and you find it was so endearing, smiling unintentionally along with him.

“Are you always like this with… rescued hostages?” You say earnestly, you’re not sure where you’re going with it.

“Definitely not.” He sits back, ramrod straight, “especially as you were so subtle.”

You feel mortified at how eager you were yesterday and it must show because he leans forward with a concerned hand out, as if to say ‘wait’.

“I’m glad you weren’t subtle,” he says quietly, “I was really taken by you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” It feels weird hearing something so vulnerable, it doesn’t feel real. You feel flushed.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, “I know it’s your job but… it must be such a weight on your shoulders.” You reach out without thinking and squeeze his hand, it’s hot while yours is cold.

“You’re sweet,” he whispers “I’ve been doing this a long time, love.” He turns his hand over and envelopes your fingers, you feel patches of rougher skin.

You nod feverishly “I’m sorry I - it’s another world. I just sit behind a desk.” You’re in uncharted territory, he operates in another world, a dangerous one, one that collided with yours yesterday.

“You don’t need to apologise, it’s an important desk.”

You’re not satisfied with that. Trying to find the right words, caressing circles with your thumb into his hand, you blurt out “you were really brave.” You speak through the embarrassment.

“I couldn’t see you but I could hear you.” Your heart rate climbs. “It was…” you breathe out “so decisive and final.” He squeezes your hand. “I knew I was safe.”

He smiles warmly and covers your small hand with his. You sit like this for a moment, in the moment. You were sure the events of the last 48 hours would dawn on you heavily but right now you felt grounded.

“You’re wondering what to do with your other hand now, aren’t you?” He chuckles, breaking the silence.

“Am I that readable?”

“You’re an open book.” He smiles warmly, crows feet etching into his skin.

You reach over and tentatively cup his cheek, his beard tickles your palm, your thumb caresses his cheekbones, he has bags under his eyes, you sense you were right about him carrying unspoken weight. “Am I?” Vulnerability seeps from your pores.

You breathe from your mouth and on your second intake, John has a hand on the back of your neck. His azure eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. You didn’t realise how your hands got to his shoulders and on the back of his neck.

He pulls you in slowly and you engulf him, the band has snapped, the kiss is deep and forceful. He controls the pace which is deliberate and slow. He bleeds into you and you feel dizzy with the intensity. His mouth is molten on yours.

You both break away with a pant, the table shakes and the cutlery clinks.

“You alright, love?” Both of his hands are back on the table, palms down, unthreatening. His voice is no longer suggestive, but clipped. You search each other’s eyes.

“I’m good.” You nod frantically.

“We can go as far as you want, we can stop right here, you’re in charge alright?” Your heart and stomach flips.

“I-.” You laugh, shaking your head, all you can feel is the wetness growing in your knickers.

“Talk to me, love.” He flips his hands so his palms are facing up.

“I’m not usually like this.” You say, standing up, “but then yesterday wasn’t usual either.”

Pushing your chair back abruptly with a squeak, you climb into his lap and straddle him. You hear a quiet vibration from his throat, a delectable groan.

“If it makes you feel better, neither am I.” He feels just like you imagined but better, harder, expanses of muscle and a layer of mass. Your dress barely covers your ass as you seat yourself on his lap. His hands move along your waist and down to the swell of your hips. You can smell his cologne and see his eyelashes flutter again as his gaze roams over your chest and neck.

He looks up at you and you can’t look back, his gaze is too intense, you want the floor to swallow you up. You look up to your left, feeling goosebumps as he explores your exposed thighs. He presses them, sighing.

He kisses your neck. You feel tickled by his beard hairs and flexing thigh muscles. In response to his kiss, you do what any respectable woman would do on top of a man, you push against his hardening cock. The chair creaks as he bucks his hips up to meet yours, both of your heavy breathes filling the room.

When he hears the moan that tears from your throat, he is undone. He imagined what you sounded like while he got dressed for the date, and this didn’t hold a candle to it. With one swift motion he pushes his seat back and lifts you up. He squeezes your ass which causes your cunt to flutter and twitch, your knickers fall into your folds.

“My bedroom’s out there to the right.” You wrap your legs around him and you feel something hard.

“Fffuck!” You gasp and grind into him, unashamed.

“That’s my belt buckle.”

You whine in response.

“In time, in time.” he kneads your ass while minding your knees through the tight corridor. He gently lays you on the bed and pushes you into the mattress, manoeuvring so his growing manhood is against your throbbing cunt.

“This is a nice room.” He says seriously while only looking at your eyes and pushing his erection against the juncture of your spread legs, waiting for your reaction.

You gasp, “oh it’s big” and push back against him. His eyes roll and you feel emboldened at the sight of this burly man, a captain no less, lost in how your body feels. You reach up under his shirt to feel the mass of his pectorals, you’re electric with need. His bulky arms on either side of your head frame your vision.

“Darlin’ you are beautiful.” He unbuttons his shirt with one hand while still hovering over you. He likes the blush that falls across your features when he opens his shirt. He kisses you deeply before quickly taking the shirt off his shoulders, pecs flexing and skin shining with sweat. You catch that narrow waist and a happy trail of hair disappearing into his jeans which you resented were still on.

You didn’t realise you said “fuck” out loud again and his laugh hits you in your core.

“Your dress is really pretty, can I take it off?” John drawls, you nod and smile dumbly at his flattery, he’s clearly enjoying your fucked out brain working overtime.

You wriggle out from under the dress and let him pull it over your head. His hands claim your breasts in your lacy bra, fitting perfectly in his palms. You think you heard him groan “s’soft” before pressing his lips to yours.

“Did you wear this for me?” He pushes the lace to either side of your swollen breasts and sucks on your nipples. He teases them gently, pleased to feel they were hard and ready for him. The rough pads of his fingers give you much needed friction.

You look up at him doe eyed and then say “I did. Why are your jeans still on?” with a hard tug of his belt.

You see him laugh silently, shaking his head. He gets up from the bed. The loss of his weight makes you bounce up slightly. You pant and touch yourself, mewling at the ceiling.

A wry smile appears on his face as he bends to take off his boots, watching you intently as you draw circles on your clit through your knickers. He drops his boots next to your slippers, they are massive in comparison and you find yourself breathing in sharply.

Finally the zipper comes down and he shucks his jeans. You watch his bulge intently as he moves.

“Are those boxers regulation?” Your mouth is dry. He laughs and you feel that same flash of affirmation you felt when you first met.

“Are you always like this?” He doesn’t climb on top of you, instead he lays beside you and places his hand on top of yours, taking over the job of drawing circles into your bud. He then slides his middle finger down and up your wet slit, collecting your dew in your knickers.

“Definitely not.” You manage to say before you moan and shudder at his touch, you feel a tightening coil and the pleasure spreads through your body like shattered glass, instant and permanent. His fingers are deft and the movement precise.

“Y/n, you’re so wet.” John’s breathing is heavy against your cheek. You look at him as if to say something but when you meet his eyes, you’re speechless. Only a moan comes out and you snap your eyes shut as waves of electricity hit you. You don’t realise your hands are on your breasts.

“Tell me what you want.” He grits against your temple, hot and humid.

You open your mouth but you can only moan while he teases your clit with fleeting strokes.

“Tell me,” John slides your knickers to the side, eyes down at your glistening sex, “what you want, love.”

You arch your back and turn your face away from him, shy and overwhelmed. You really were in charge of the pace.

“I want you inside me.” Your voice muffled by the back of your hand.

His thick fingers followed the curve of your mound and down to the dip of your entrance. Slick with your juices, it doesn’t take much for his index and middle fingers to push through. John’s cock twitches at the sensation of your tight, hot cunt. You hear him take a sharp inhale.

“Tha’s it.” He begins pumping and you’re embarrassed to already feel an orgasm building. God he’s good at this you manage to think. His fingers curl up to your g-spot and you start to see specks of light behind your closed eyelids. John revels in the sounds of your wet pussy around his fingers and your moans. He adjusts himself, mindful of the undeniable tent in his boxers.

“John I’m- I’m- gonna!” You pant in time with his pumps. You can see his massive forearm and bicep moving between your smaller by comparison legs, his once parted hair now messy and his dark gaze on you - you’re pretty sure that’s why you came so suddenly.

“Oh god fuck!” You call out, the orgasm pulsing through you violently. Your stomach involuntarily convulses and you writhe, one hand knotted in the duvet and the other one clutching his free arm. John watches as you ride out the orgasm, the broken pants and small whines short circuit his brain.

“Fucking hell.” He breathes. You look up at him, neatly groomed beard, a strong dimpled chin and a smirk that could kill. He’s stroking his hand over your thigh and up to your stomach, his eyes are hooded.

“I’m not on birth control,” you say with a parched mouth. You roll over to a drawer and pull out protection. You tear one from the packet, you know it can be a deal breaker for men but it sorted the riff from the raff.

“I had no idea you wanted to have sex.” He says dryly, a prominent bulge in his boxers. You chuckle and slap him playfully in the chest, leaving the packet against him.

You trail your hand down his chest.

“It’s all yours.” He muttered as you pushed past his waistband to find his heavy cock. He breathed out with a guttural groan, calling you darling. You bite your lip and ignore the redness in your face, he’s well endowed and you’re almost afraid to see it. You remove your hands and pull at his waistband so his reddened cock springs out.

“Of course it’s huge.” You mewl, pulling back on his foreskin gently to reveal a pretty pink and leaking tip. John tenses at your needy touch, restraining himself.

You slink to the floor and manoeuvre yourself between his legs. John's heavy breathing fills the room. You reach behind your back and unhook your bra. You shuffle closer and the tip of John’s cock smears precum on your breast.

“Oh love, you already said thanks,” he laughs, bucking his hips so his cock is nestled in your cleavage. You press your breasts together around his manhood and bounce on your haunches. The Captain grunts, his hands pushing your hair out of your face. You stare at his engorged cock appearing and disappearing between your breasts.

Soon he gently pulls you toward him and peels your knickers off. He makes quick work of putting on the condom, you like that he does it in front of you.

“Let me take care of you now.” You climb onto him and rub your slit along his cock, coating it with your wetness.

“You’re perfect.” He groans in response, fingers digging into your hips. You grind faster and faster, moaning with abandon.

“Are you always such a gentleman?” You stutter, rolling your hips, your hands splayed across his muscled chest, your cunt quivering around nothing.

He laughs and flips you over, his arms on either side of you. You giggle in surprise and then choke out a groan when he pushes his cock against your core.

“Please fuck me” is all it takes for his resolve to crumble, on top of your supine and smooth body, smelling like flowers and white musk. You moan in unison when he pushes his tip against your core, his hips shifting closer and closer. Your pussy clenches around his girth.

“Oh god - is it all in?” You stutter, blood rushing to your face, your cunt pulsing at his sheer size.

“Just half way, love.” You hear the smirk. “I’ll slow down.” He pushes himself deeper tantalisingly slowly. You pant when his hips are flush with yours, eyes fluttering. You wonder how you looked stretched around him.

“You alright?” He checks.

When you nod, John sets a steady pace, pulling mostly out and then plunging back into your heat, down to the hilt.

“Oh god,” you shudder, hands gripping his shoulders. His stomach connects flatly with your clit.

“You like that?” His voice distorted with the movement.

“Yes! Yes!” He speeds up and your world is a flurry of motion. His thrusts are fast and sharp and they push you into the mattress.

You feebly try to bring your legs up onto his shoulders.

“Deeper?” He snarls, his day couldn’t get better. He easily swings your legs onto his shoulders, the backs of your knees wet with sweat against his chest. You’re folded into a mating press and speared by his cock. The friction melts you, you’re surrounded by his mass, his scent, his strength.

You thank the stars for his training because his stamina is unwavering. The bed frame creaking, mattress thumping and lewd noises from your wet cunt hits his ears, he’s not going to let this be a 1 and done.

“I think I’m gonna-”

“Do it darlin’, cum on my cock.”

“No no - I think I’m gonna wet myself.” You shudder, a palm to his chest.

“You won’t, trust me.” He grits out while maintaining fevered eye contact, “let go.”

And with that, your orgasm tears through you and you cover both your nethers in liquid.

“Oh f-uck!” You writhe and roll your hips, John slows down to languid thrusts, whispering into your ear “tha’s it, good girl.” The aftershocks spasm through your body, your toes tingle and you babble incoherently, having never squirted before.

“Mmm, y/n,” the Captain hovers over you and looks from eye to eye. He unsheathes himself from you which is met with a whine from your parted lips. He plunges himself back in. You’re wide eyed and breathless at the motion.

“Yes John!” Your nails dig into his shoulders and your calves and feet flop uselessly over his back as he thrusts quickly and deeply, slamming into your sex.

Soon his hands are under your knees and you're folded further, the angle causing him to connect with your tender spot. You feel a fizzle build in your stomach again.

With unnatural speed and precision, John gets you on the precipice again. You begin to feel him quiver, his muscles coiled and tense as he pistons in and out of you. One of his hands squeezes your right breast and the other is on the mattress.

“Please Captain, please,” you coo, trying his rank on for size with a broken moan. With that, John erupts inside you with a violent shudder, his member pulsing stripes of white hot seed. His orgasm is sharp and absolute.

“Ah love, fuck,” He grunts, his thrusts turning sloppy and his grip loosening on your tender breast. “You’re something else.” He barely manages to grit out. You stay entwined for a few moments, savouring the afterglow between kisses.

“Let me clean this up.” He climbs off of you, a finger trailing down your left breast. You’re too fucked-out to respond.

“To the- to the um left.” You call out to him but he’s already found your bathroom. He catches his reflection in the mirror, his sweaty and hairy chest heaving, face flushed red, hair falling onto his forehead, his softening cock hangs between his sweaty heavy thighs, with a full condom.

He swings by the kitchen for two glasses of water, still naked. He likes how your face softens when he passes you a glass, he doesn’t know if he’s flattered that you only looked at his eyes when he appeared.

He joins you in bed, both of you gulping water.

“Tell me,” your voice is hoarse, you add a pause, “what you want.”

John peers at you as if you’ve grown another head. Then a suppressed smile grows across his face as he realises. You are secretly proud of how you copied his accent.

There’s a pause and you patiently give him some grace, he drains the glass and places it on the bed side table.

Finally he turns to face you with softness in his eyes and says, “you. Asleep on my chest, love.”

#captain price x female reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #john price x female reader #cod fanfic #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price #john price fluff #john price smut #captain price smut

[coqxettee]

Coquette Summer

Bucket List: ☀️🧺🌸

Some ideas for your summer 2023 bucket list. Coquette activities, trips, days out and things you can do with friends or alone. Write these ideas in your journal and make your own bucket list if you like! <3

Go on a picnic ~ You can do this with friends or on your own! Take an aesthetic picnic blanket and basket, pack fruit, sandwiches, salad, cookies, cupcakes (whatever you like!) and have a Coquette picnic. Dress cute for the occasion and make sure to take lots of pictures <3

Host a Tea Party ~ Invite friends over and decorate your dining table with a pretty tablecloth. Grab fancy cups and saucers (you can find these in antique stores, or better yet a whole tea set complete with a tea pot!) and have a tea party. Drink rose or jasmine tea, have scones, bread & jam, miniature sandwiches, cookies/biscuits, cake. You could even do it Marie Antoinette, high-tea inspired. Dress all regency and cute and make it the fanciest, coquette, tea party ever! <3

Beach day ~ Grab your heart shaped sunnies and have a beach day! Bring a pink towel with you, a large pretty sun-hat, and make sure you pack all the pretty-girl beach essentials. Tanning lotion, a romance novel, fresh fruit, a blanket to sit on (if you don’t have a deck chair) sun cream (spf) lipgloss, a hair brush, and your camera to snap some cute beach shots! Walk down the boardwalk, listen to Lana and grab an ice cream, wear pink flip flops and a cute pink and white gingham bikini <3

Berry picking ~ Wear the most dreamy, float cottage-core, princess dress, a large sun hat and take a wicker basket with you to go berry picking. You can book a slot online and go into a local field. Take pictures and pick ripe berries to take home with you, ready to use for baking later on in the week <3

Baking day ~ Wear a cute little apron, put Lana on your record player in the kitchen and have a baking day! Bake cherry pie, heart-shaped cookies, jam cookies, chocolate-chip cookies, scones, cupcakes, an actual cake… anything and everything! Take cute photos when you bake, it can be great to make memories with friends. Once you’ve baked all your sweet treats, package them up and choose some to give to friends and family, some for later occasions (picnics & tea-parties) and most importantly… some for you! <3

Go to a market ~ If you live in the country there are loads of cute farmers markets on in summer. Keep some money back with you, wear a long, flowing style skirt and a bow in your hair and take a cute tote-bag to keep everything you buy in. Look for small Coquette trinkets on some of the handmade stalls, buy fresh fruit and lemonade for lunch and have a slow, relaxing day at the market <3

Antique shopping ~ Go antique shipping. For your room or house. You can find so many beautiful, Coquette homeware items, clothes, trinkets, jewelry and much more in antique shops. Google the best ones in your area, set aside a day, and go <3

Try out new café’s in your area - Google fancy café’s or even café’s that do afternoon tea. You could go with friends or have a solo cafe trip. Bring a book with you if you go on your own, to read. Or a sketchbook to sketch the world around you. Try something new on the menu! <3

Coquette movie day ~ Plump out your bedroom or living room with pink pillows, fairy lights, candles and lavender room spray. Put on the comfiest pair of pajamas you have Grab snacks, popcorn, anything you baked earlier in the week, fresh fruit (anything you like!) And have a whole day of watching JUST coquette movies. Disney princess films, any period drama’s, any mystical and magical movies, romance movies. Movies that are super light-hearted and make you feel like the princess you are inside. This is really fun to do with friends too! <3

Jewelry making ~ Learn how to make prettt, coquette jewelry. I always see such cute jewelry online and want to know if I can make it myself. The kits might be a bit pricy to buy, but once you’ve built up a jewelry making collection your all set! Make some summer earrings, necklaces, and bracelets <3

Learn to Crochet ~ Something I have wanted to learn for ages! There are tons of tutorials on YouTube and you can pick up pretty colored yarn from the market. If you are really good you can crochet things for the summer like tank tops, bikini sets and headbands! <3

Start a summer journal ~ Or just start journaling in general. I’m making a summer journal full of scrapbook pages I can add all of my coquette summer pictures too when summer is over. Decorate it with coquette stickers and really make it your own. Get creative <3

Have a self care day ~ It’s not sunny everyday in Summer (usually) so set aside one of the cloudier or cooler days for a movie day, or self care day! Wake up early and have an everything shower, and take care of YOU! Do a face mask, manicure, pedicure, do every step to your skincare routine, wash and remake your bed, tidy your room. By the end of the day you will feel like a new person and trust me it’S WORTH IT! <3

Have a sleepover ~ You kinda need friends for this one. I’m sure everyone knows how to have one but do really coquette activities! Paint each others nails, style each others hair, Watch coquette movies, talk about boys. All the classic things you see in the girly movies that you feel never actually get done at sleepovers… do them! Order pizza, do face masks, bake things, and stay up as late as possible for a… midnight feast! <3

-HERE ARE SOME MORE IDEAS! <3 -

Re-decorate your room for summer <3

Go on vacation <3

Go bowling <3

Cute cinema trip (watch a romantic movie) <3

Go to a fancy restaurant <3

Make a summer scrapbook <3

Plan cute summer outfits for the weeks ahead <3

Try out new summer hairstyles <3

Go to a milkshake-bar/diner <3

Go roller-skating <3

Go to the arcade

Find some pretty summer walks in your area, take pictures of wildlife you spot etc <3

Go to a farm (farmers daughter vibes iykyk) <3

Go to the theatre and watch the ballet <3

Have a signature, coquette summer scent <3

Write in your daily summer diary every night and seal it with a lipstick kiss <3

I hope you found these ideas helpful, aesthetic and fun! Have the best summer ever darling’s ~

🌸☀️🧺🍦🎀

#baby pink #coquette #coquette aesthetic #lana del rey #girly pink #girly #girly aesthetic #girly girl #girly kei #girly stuff #summer #summer bucket list

[llamagoddessofficial]

biggest of brain energy re warm bread and beloved skeletons - so.... might i offer you .................. patisserie/baker au??

the boys are all rival(ish) bakers/pastry chefs on the same cute little side block of a quaint walkable downtown.

Sans has that extremely detailed, finicky pastry work down pat, on top of all the strange new versions that keep, somehow, making filo dough more difficult and yet structurally impressive. he's tried all those cool gastro-chef techniques, but just loves & excels at the fancy little pastries. absolutely the type to just close the shop when he's sold out of whatever he felt interested in making a lot of that day. surprisingly good-yet-bad social media presence. makes the jokiest videos and jankiest signs advertising when he's got a new batch of Something Tasty out, but the most beautiful shots of his pastries.

Red is one of those not-so-surprisingly charming excon-type (maybe never actually in prison, but y'know) bakers that looks intimidating but makes the best goddamn homey baked goods you ever had. pies, breads, big soft filled rolls, anything that feels ghibli as hell, frankly. has a not-so-secret love of making those really decorative lattice-style pie crusts; can absolutely make art you wouldn't want to eat if not for how damned good you know the pie is. always the most slammed during autumn, has spirited """debates""" with Sans (who is directly across the cobbled street) whenever they get deliveries at the same time, often about incredibly inane but opinionated baking nuances. accidentally best friends with all the local widows and grandmas. frequently propositioned by all genders.

Skull is a bit of the odd man out - he used to work at a little old cakeshop on the corner, but Something Happened one day and that corner store has frustratingly been turned into Insert Encroaching Soulless Chain Here. he now works at the back of the little pizzeria, making the best goddamn pizza dough anyone's ever had. seeing him flip and spin those pizzas is art in and of itself. rumor still had it that there was someone on staff at that cakeshop that could make the most dazzling wedding cakes you ever did see, but they also made the flavors involved so harmonious you could cry....

....... MC is a new arrival, perhaps opening up her own little shop - a little cafe maybe, specializing in warm drinks and a simple menu of baked goods like croissants and scones and cookies, some finger foods, and most importantly Cozy Vibes.

maybe she puts out an ad for a proper baker to help her out while she makes the teas and coffees and runs the front....

... and maybe some shenanigans ensue ✧∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

genius. absolutely genius. allow me to lose my fucking mind

Mc opens up her delightful little cafe. It's small, obviously, since she's technically the only employee- though she's great at coffee she struggles to make anything more complex than a cookie for cafe food. Her croissants melt and flatten, her pies collapse, her attempts at macarons just spread out into a sheet. So! She puts out an ad!

Sans: Ironically, his habit of only making what he's interested in and randomly closing shop without warning has made his desserts even more sought after. The incredible intricate and unique nature of his treats give them an element of scarcity, and people will come from all over to get to his next batch early. The sign out the front says 'open 10am to 5pm monday to wednesday. open some thursdays, depends how i feel. closed the second friday in the month, unless we were open thursday before. open saturday. closed sunday'.

He was a bit suspicious of her cafe, he'll admit it. He's suspicious of anything new on the street. Various chain brands have been infiltrating the previously majority monster-run area, and he hates the way his favourite place is slowly being subsumed by shitty corporate machine-made food. But it only took one visit (purely out of curiosity) for him to get love at first sight.

Since his store has such a reputation, he can afford to flunk whenever he likes to go sit in with her and chat for hours; he's a welcome presence. After noticing her difficulty with baking he starts giving her tips but quickly graduates to giving her some of his stock, instantly boosting her popularity. She thinks he's giving her leftover stock he doesn't need- she has no idea he's making stuff specifically for her.

Red: Red and Pap do have a tendency to treat their business like it's a mafia. The way they call it the 'family business' often makes people think it's a front for organised crime. And it was, once- the two of them only opened the store to cover up what was happening behind the scenes. But then they enjoyed running a bakery so much that they dropped the crime. He doesn't like the way Sans has turned baking into something snooty and highbrow; Red thinks food should be delicious and comforting, not a one-bite commodity people pay out of the nose for.

Red becomes a cafe regular, he goes during breaks and straight after work. He spends most of his time standing up at the counter flirting relentlessly, but he's so on the dot that she usually has his order ready for him. He offers to teach her to make a good pie- "payment? what're you talkin' about, doll? seein' yer pretty face is payment enough fer me." There would definitely be some scenes of him teaching her to bake... standing behind her with his hands over hers, showing her the technique to fold dough, though neither of them are really concentrating because he's grinning like an idiot and she can only feel how hot her face is.

(He'd probably ruin it with a 'wish you'd pound my dough like that'. A swift smack, and the magic of the moment is over)

Skull: He's the one that responds to her ad.

Though he didn't mind his job, per say, he misses being able to make his own stuff. Pizza tossing can only do so much to fill the baking-shaped hole in his heart. He wanted to apply anyway, it was just a stroke of luck that the cafe owner turned out to be the love of his life. Though he's a bit spooky and looks at her like he can't see anything else, she's quick to accept him, telling him he can make whatever he wants- and that's when he works his magic. All the stunning cakes lining the display case are his handiwork.

He's a man of few words, and he doesn't like being in public, so he's always in the back baking and cleaning. He wishes he had the confidence to talk to her more. She brings him coffee whenever she has time, as thanks for all his hard work... she leaves foam art, since it's one of the few things she can do. Though when she leaves a heart, the coffee usually ends up going cold. He tends to just stare at the heart until the foam is gone.

#llamagines #coffee shop au #fuck it we ballin #got us a coffee shop au

[foreverrandomwritings]

🍨Bowl of ice cream: rooster and peach

Just Peachy

Summary: Bradley visits you at work and stumbles upon you in a peach sized predicament.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x afab!Reader

Warnings:Super fluffy, brief mention of frisky business, one curse word, that's all?

Word count: 1105

Masterlist Taste of Twenty-Five Masterlist

The sweet smell of peach was the first thing Bradley noticed when he walked into the little bakery. He stood by the door scanning the shop as he tucked his aviators into his old academy shirt that was a bit too small on him but made his biceps look devine so he refused to part with it. He took in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes briefly the smell of all the different sweets overtaking his senses. 

“She’s in the back you weirdo.” The brass voice of your younger sister flew his way. His eyes snapped open glancing in the eighteen year olds direction. He felt the smirk coming upon his lips as he sauntered around the customers that were milling about the store. He lifted the counter top and slipped through the opening before speaking to her.

“You’re mighty bold today I see.” He and your sister had a nice back and forth relationship. The closest thing to a sibling bond he’s ever had. She had been working in your bakery for a couple months now, needing some money and a part time job while in college. 

“You were scaring off all the customers standing by the door with your creepy pornstache.” She kept her voice low and gestured towards the door of the shop with the hand that wasn’t writing on a small chalkboard sign. He glanced at the words briefly, noticing something about peaches but not really focusing on what it said. 

“Hey, you said the stache looked just fine.” He held a hand over his heart and she rolled her eyes dramatically. The dramatic eye roll was one of the things you both had in common. 

“Get out of here, I’m sick of looking at your face.” He scoffed but did as she said, turning around and finding his way into the kitchen. He spotted your form quickly, huddled over a cutting board, knife in hand. He was quiet as he snuck up behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle as he pressed himself into your back. 

“How are you doing today, hot stuff?” His nose was buried in your neck before you could respond. You giggled lightly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your neck. 

“I am just peachy.” You giggled at your own joke as you looked down at the peach in your hand. He peered over your shoulder and let out a small laugh as well. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you but I thought you were working late today.” You had set down the knife and the peach in your hand. You grabbed the towel tucked into your apron and wiped your hands off quickly. Bradley stepped back a foot letting you turn around. You leaned your back against the counter and gave him a sweet smile. 

“I did work late, it's already seven.” His eyes flicked to the clock hanging on the wall across the room. Your eyes got wide in return quickly flipping your wrist over to check the time on your watch. The bakery didn’t close for another hour and a half but you were still surprised at the time. 

“Oh my. I didn’t even realize it was getting so late. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with all these peaches for hours.” You gestured around the room and that’s when Bradley noticed the insane amount of peaches crowding the space. 

“This is an awful lot of peaches babe.” He held his lips together tightly trying to hold in a laugh at the bewildered look on your face. 

“I’ve already made like ten peach pies, a couple dozen muffins, two cakes and a dozen scones.” You threw your hands up in emphasis, eyes widening every so slightly.

“Is there a reason you have so many peaches?” He was genuinely curious, typically when you had a big order of anything you’d let him know. He however hadn’t heard of any big orders involving peaches from you recently. 

“If someone hadn’t distracted me while I was ordering produce last week I wouldn’t have ordered this many.” Your eyes narrowed at him, cheeks heating at the memory of last week, shifting on your feet. 

“You weren’t complaining last week.” He had a cheshire grin on his lips now. You had been in the office when he came in last week. Clad in his flight suit and a black t-shirt that hugged him in all the right ways. Things had gotten a little heated and had left you distracted while you were putting in your orders for the week. So instead of the twenty peaches you wanted to order for a few muffins and scones you had planned to bake you had received two hundred peaches. 

“Since you’re the one that put me into this mess you are gonna help me out of it.” It was your turn to have a large smile on your face. His eyebrows shoot up at the mischievous look in your eye. 

“Go wash your hands and grab an apron. You're gonna help me cut up some of these to freeze.” He groaned loudly as the words left your mouth. He didn’t actually mind helping however, it reminded him of all the times he would help his mom and grandmother in the kitchen growing up.

“Can I at least have a kiss first?” He puckered his lips at you and you looked as though you were contemplating whether or not you were gonna kiss him. He was about to complain before you stood on your tiptoes to land a quick kiss upon his lips. 

“Now get to work.” He gave a mock salute and made his way to grab an apron hung up by the sink. He tied it quickly before washing his hands and coming to stand beside you again. 

“How’d I get lucky enough to get such a take charge girlfriend?” The question was rhetorical and you both knew it but that didn’t stop you from answering him as you passed him his own cutting board, knife and bowl, the carton of peaches sat between you. 

“You have a really nice ass is all.” You shrugged at him nonchalantly giggling at the way his nose scrunched up. 

“Good to know that’s all you needed.” He looked at you however and instead of the smell of peaches taking over his senses it was the way you were looking at him. Your eyes held so much love and adoration it was all consuming. There would never be a day that he wouldn’t remind you just how lucky he was to call you his. 

A/N:This has taken forever to write and I am so sorry. I am hoping to get to the rest very soon. Thank you all for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @kmc1989 @eternallyvenus @loving-and-dreaming

#m's taste of twenty-five event #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw oneshot #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick oneshot #fluff

[sebsbarnes]

Hey I have an idea that you totally don't have to write but I wanted to tell you. Basically sequel to "the days you meet" where lemon goes to the cafe a few weeks later and talks with reader. they notice Lemon wearing Tangerine's necklace. surprise! Reader is also a contract killer and thinks that lemon killed tangerine. A very tense conversation and maybe a fight ensue. It ends with the reader giving Lemon and tangerine drizzle cake on the house.

Sorry if this is weird I thought it was kinda cute

it's not weird at all! thank you for the idea and i'm sorry it's late!

friend or foe

alternate continuation to 'the days you meet' read here for better understanding

lemon x platonic f!reader ; implied tangerine x reader

warnings: guns

word count: 1.1k+

masterlist

lemon wasn't sure what possessed him to finally leave the house after mourning for weeks since arriving back home from kyoto. a part of him died the day that tangerine passed away on the bullet train, but he needed to pick himself up and start living again. he knew tangerine would be screaming at him to do so.

so he found himself wandering down the streets and sidewalks, with no real destination in mind, just wandering until his feet could no longer move. he would walk until he could feel the ache in his feet and back and he would walk until his shins started to burn. he didn't care, any pain other than the pain of losing his brother and best friend was far more bearable and endurable.

lemon surprised himself when he found himself entering the small building. he had never been in it but he was familiar with the logo and the stories that were created behind these doors. it was empty and near closing time but he didn't plan on being here long. he eyed the bakery case looking for something in particular. the scone. tangerine's scone. the one he would get almost every day he could. the scone he would go out of his way for. the one he would be late to work for. but lemon didn't see it.

"oh, hello," a soft voice called out.

lemon looked up to see you approaching the counter. you looked tired like you hadn't slept in days but beautiful with a kind smile. lemon could see why tangerine fancied you.

"i was looking to see if you were selling scones?" lemon asked, glancing back down to the case.

you felt your throat dry up and the slight swelling of tears in your eyes that you had to force back, "sorry, i no longer bake scones anymore."

it was true. after tangerine stopped visiting you you couldn't bring yourself to bake the pastry anymore. it hurt. it hurt to think of the man you were beginning to become so fond of. you missed the way he smiled at you, the way he would call you darling and love, the way his eyes gazed over your face so lovingly, the sound of his voice, the smell of his cologne, and you could go on. on and on for hours about how you missed him and you didn't even know what happened. he simply vanished. maybe you were too naive and he didn't actually like you so he stopped coming in. you tried convincing yourself that that wasn't true, it couldn't be. you knew tangerine felt the same way about you.

he stepped towards you, wrapping one hand around your waist, "you've got something here," he whispered inches away from your face, bringing his handkerchief to your nose.

you were frozen in place. eyes wide staring directly into his. this couldn't be real. it was like a scene straight out of a movie. you swallowed harshly eyes flickering to his lips. he removed the handkerchief out of the way, arm still gripping your waist.

"that's a shame," lemon sighed, breaking you from your memory, "i had a dear friend who really enjoyed them."

you took note of the way he man before you sighed, his shoulders deflating. his eyes seemed distant like he was also distracted by a memory. he absently twirled the gold chain hanging from his neck. you squinted at it a bit and it felt painfully familiar. it was one of the first things you noticed about tangerine when he walked in that first day, his gold rings and the gold necklace that lay in the center of his chest. the same necklace that this man was wearing. your eyes trailed down his body looking for any other clues and that's when you noticed the bruised fists and recovering wounds. when you noticed the holster attached to his side you swallowed thickly.

you reached under the counter and slammed a loaded magazine clip down. the man looked panicked and took a step back before reaching for his gun. you quickly grabbed the handgun from below, slamming the handle down onto the magazine clip and pointing it at the man.

"who are you," you hissed, arm unwavering.

though he was holding onto the gun he held his left hand up in the air defensively, "my name is lemon."

"where did you get that necklace?" you gestured to it with a nod of your chin.

lemon pulled his eyebrows together before looking down at the necklace himself. his left hand now coming to pick the chain up off his chest, "this- this necklace is my brother's."

your finger hovered over the trigger, "prove it. and move slowly."

"so i assume you aren't just a baker?" lemon laughed nervously.

you gave lemon a disapproving look, "does it seem like it? doesn't seem like you have an ordinary job either, lemon."

"then how come you didn't realize my twin brother was an assassin?" lemon asked you, carefully pulling out a picture from his wallet. it was a small dated picture, lemon and tangerine seemed to be young teens. lemon pulled out another photo, one far more recent.

you hesitated before dropping the gun, "i didn't want to believe someone as good as him did something as horrible as i did."

lemon sighed, "does that change the way you view my brother?"

"no. not at all. i wish he told me though. i'm guessing that he..." you trailed off, not wanting to voice your fear of him being dead.

all lemon could do was nod. you gripped the counter and hung your head. for the last few weeks you've been wanting to know the answer but now hearing the truth about what happened to tangerine made it worse. you've been coming up with wild theories in your head but now you can't. you have the answer and tangerine was never coming back. no more days wishing he'd open those doors and smile good morning to you and leave you with a comforting hug.

"i know it can't change anything now but, my brother really liked you. he actually wouldn't shut up about you," lemon laughed sadly.

you gave lemon a soft smile, not really sure of what to say. it made your heart ache in a beautiful yet sorrowful way. you exhaled heavily before turning to the back of the building. you returned with a box lemon had become familiar with over time. you popped the lid, handing a fork to lemon and holding onto one for yourself.

"let's eat," you said with a small smile.

"what is this?" lemon looked puzzled at the pastry sitting neatly in the box.

"tangerine drizzle cake."

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x oc #tangerine x you #tangerine imagine #tangerine imagines #tangerine bullet train imagine #tangerine fic #tangerine fanfic #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine bullet train fanfic #tangerine fluff #tangerine angst #tangerine blurb #tangerine headcannon #tangerine oneshot #bullet train imagine #bullet train fanfic #bullet train oneshot #bullet train x reader #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson imagine #aaron taylor johnson x reader #sebsbarnes #lemon x reader #lemon x you #lemon x oc #lemon bullet train

[daydreamgoddess14]

Support System pt. 3

MASTERLIST

CH1 | CH 2

Roy Kent x Reader

Guys, I can't stop writing this. I cannot stop! Let's just whoooosh get it all out like a Roy Kent exorcism then I can move on... or something 😂 Thank you thank you thank you for reading/liking/reblogging/commenting - you're all aces 😘

Chapter 3

You’re not entirely sure how it happened, but Roy Kent was in your kitchen with a piping bag icing cupcakes. The table and just about every surface is covered in flour, batter and icing, the girls are on a sugar high and you’re fairly certain there’s purple frosting in your hair somewhere. At the park, Lexie had explained in great detail all of the baking you both intended on doing that afternoon, so the invitation for them to join you came naturally.

“Bit more there uncle Roy.” Phoebe instructs patiently.

“And there.” Lexie points. You pour from the kettle into two large cups and stir the coffee. While it rests for a minute, you get the next set of bakes out of the oven - chocolate chip cookies, and look for somewhere to set them down. While you’re surveying the chaos, you notice Roy has stopped icing cakes and is watching you. He points with the piping bag over your right shoulder.

“Space over there.” You put the pan down quickly, feeling the heat coming through the towel you used to get the hot tray out. You finish the coffees and put one in front of him as he finishes the last cake and you all sit back to observe your hard work. There’s a lemon drizzle cake for Phoebe to take to her nan’s house, a tray of scones for Lexie to take to her nan’s, vanilla cupcakes for Sara and chocolate for you and cookies to take to school. You reach forward to take a cupcake from the freshly frosted batch but Roy taps your hand away.

“Ouch!”

“Not that one, here.” He hands you one from further along the tray with extra icing. “Lexie said you’re obsessed with icing.” You smile and open up the paper case. Seeing you with a cake, the girls each take one.

“Can we eat it in the living room mum? I want to put Disney on.”

“P-?”

“Pleeeease?!”

“Go on then. You’re useless at cleaning up anyway.” The girls jump up and you soon hear the opening credits to Moana. Once you’ve finished your cake, you start at one end of the kitchen wiping surfaces and putting spoons and bowls into the sink. You’re a little surprised when Roy starts at the other end doing the same thing. At your third meeting at the sink, you notice the frosting on his cheek. “Oh, you’ve got a bit of-” without giving it a second thought, you reach up and swipe at his cheek with your thumb. He hums a little and you realise just how close you’re standing to one another. He takes a tiny step, placing one of his feet in between yours, a hand going to your hair,

“Yeah you’ve got a bit here.” The length of his body is not quite flush against yours, but there’s only millimetres to spare. His other hand goes to your hip, squeezing just a little and he leans down, his nose brushing against yours.

“Aagghhh mum!” A squeal from the living room interrupts you and you both spring apart. You’ve never been not kissed like that before in your life. Hell you’ve never been about to be kissed like that before. His lips hadn’t even touched yours but your skin was on fire, your heart racing. It takes a second for you to register Lexie calling you, but once you do you slip past him into the living room.

“What’s up?” You ask, breathless. How are you so breathless when nothing happened?!

“I dropped it.” Phoebe looked guiltily at the purple cupcake face down on the rug.

“Oh honey, don’t worry about it.” You drop to your knees to give her a hug. “Lexie drops food in here all the time, trust me, it’s no big deal.” You smile kindly and retrieve the cake. “Do you still want the cakey bit?” She nods so you get up to wipe off the excess frosting and take the cupcake back to her, then you clean up the little purple patch on the floor. 

“Sorry about that, I’ll get you a new rug.” Roy says from the kitchen doorway.

“Oh don’t, honestly. I’m waiting for Lexie to move out before I get anything nice for this house.” You joke, ruffling Lexie’s hair on your way back to the kitchen. The moment has passed so you carry on with the big clean up while the girls watch their film. Once it’s over, you say goodbye to Roy and Phoebe at the door, wishing them a happy weekend and watching Roy for slightly longer than is generally acceptable. The rest of the weekend is gone in a flash with a visit to your parents for Sunday dinner and the usual routine of preparing for the week ahead. Sara had replied to you late in the evening to thank you for the cakes, I’m on early again tomorrow but will probably see you after school on Tuesday if you guys want to come for dinner? You agree and take the opportunity to message Roy for the first time, offering to take Phoebe to school the following day, as you had the previous Monday. She’d like that. If you’re going to work on the train again, I’ll drop you at the station. You can’t help the butterflies that flutter knowing that you’ll see him again the next day. The key to a successful Monday morning appeared to be Lexie knowing that she’d be going to school with Phoebe. Again, she got washed and dressed without arguing with you and you were out the door in record time. This time, when he passed a cup across the counter, you passed a plastic box with two cupcakes inside.

“You forgot these.”

“I brought Sara’s?”

“Yeah but these are for you.” You smile. He nods and takes the box with a little grin.

“Thanks. How’s your week looking?”

“Not too bad. I’ve got Lex til Thursday and then she’s with her dad for the weekend. How about you?”

“We’re off to Amsterdam.”

“Oh, wow! That sounds… fun?” 

“It’s not like that. We’ve got a match.” You raise an eyebrow. Admittedly, your brain went straight to the very little you know about Amsterdam - women and drugs, rather than football and art.

“Yeah well, when in Rome and all that. Or Amsterdam.”

“No, not when in Rome. You wouldn’t catch me doing… anything like that.”

“Hmm. If you say so. I hear the women are all exhausted though.” You tease. 

“I don’t intend to find out.” He says pointedly. The girls pile into the car and you drop them off at school. At the train station, you turn to say goodbye.

“Have a safe trip.”

“Thanks. See you next week probably.”

“... Probably.” Your phone pings in the middle of the night a couple of days later with a selfie of Roy and Jamie in front of a huge windmill. Nice view x You reply sleepily and put your phone away. 

With no Lexie at the end of the week and into the weekend, you think more and more about what you and Sara had talked about in the weeks previously. As if she knew, a message arrived from Sara Phoebe is with her nan tonight. Fancy dinner out with wine and NO CHILDREN? You jump at the chance, confirming immediately and rushing to get showered and changed. You decide to stay in town and go to the new Italian in Paved Court, walking distance for the early evening, and just a short taxi ride home. You take out a dress you hadn’t worn before - when you’d tried it on, Andy had sneered at the deep, wrap front which hugged your breasts and the asymmetrical length which started at just above your knee but got longer in the back and grazed the back of your calves. The colour was a deep plum which brought out the auburn hints of your hair, the traces of red from your childhood were long gone. When you brought it, the dress had made you feel sexy - enhancing your curves and gently flowing over the imperfections. Andy’s comments had a lasting effect though and you were only wearing it now because everything else nice you owned was practically workwear. You really did have to stop wearing your nicer stuff to work. You met at the restaurant, going in, getting a table and ordering wine before Sara arrived.

“Started without me, love it!”

“Only half a glass, here.” You filled her glass and put the bottle back in the cooler.

“To a hot meal with no children.” You clink glasses happily. She tells you about her week, how Phoebe missed uncle Roy while he was away and the first bottle disappears quickly. You order another bottle and once you’ve finished your meals, you decide to get drinks around the corner at the Rose and Crown. The pub is bustling, but not too busy and you order drinks while Sara looks around for somewhere to sit. “Oh look! Roy’s here, let’s go annoy him.” She takes her drink from you and pulls you by the hand to the booth he’s sitting in with the other Richmond coaches. He watches you from the bar all the way to the booth but you can’t read his look at all, it’s not a familiar one. He introduces you to Coaches Beard and Lasso and they shuffle around to make space for you and Sara, one at either side of the booth. Sara is already standing next to the seat next to Coach Lasso which becomes spare, so you take the seat next to Roy. The seating is meant to be comfortable for four people so it’s a little snug with an extra person, you have to sit close to Roy to avoid falling off the seat but you don’t want to be presumptuous and sit too close either. He takes the decision away from you and slips an arm around your back, pulling your opposite hip further into the seat and closer to him. Your thigh presses against his and his hand doesn’t move from your hip where it’s just hidden by the knot of your wrap dress. You’ve had to turn your body slightly towards him so you can see and talk to the others, as you look down to get your drink, you realise that you’ve given him a front row seat to your cleavage. Your eyes shoot to the ceiling and you try firstly not to blush and secondly to act very nonchalantly about it. Sara however is the same two bottles of wine into the evening that you are and as she catches your eye, a giggle bursts from her and she’s suddenly laughing until there are tears in her eyes. Roy doesn’t say a word, just laughs at her and traces little circles into your hip with his thumb. You have a really great night - enjoying grown up company and conversation and not worrying about upsetting Andy when you get home, or waking Lexie. By the time last orders is called, you are probably the drunkest you’ve been in a long, long time. Roy says goodbye to coaches Beard and Lasso and takes both you and Sara by the arm to his car.

“Ha! Roy, you look like a right ladies man taking two women home!”

“Doesn’t count when you’re my sister.” He tells her affectionately.

“She’s not your sister.”

“Fucking good job, too.”

“What?” She asks loudly,

“Nevermind.” He tells her, she slides into the back seats and lies down, already half asleep. “Don’t go to sleep in my car, put your belt on.” He opens the passenger door for you and helps you up. The route he takes goes past Sara’s house first. He helps her out of the car and unlocks her front door. He’s gone for a few minutes while you fight the need for sleep in the car. “Sorry, just getting her water and painkillers.” The short drive to your house doesn't take long at all and he comes around to open your door for you and help you out. 

“‘m fine, you don’t need to see me to the door.”

“Course I do, come on.” He lets you attempt to unlock the door but then takes your key gently from you and slots it into the lock. You turn to thank him, your heels bring you closer to his height but still a way off. You make an entirely alcohol based decision and lean up onto your tiptoes, your lips brush softly against his, your eyes fluttering shut. His hand goes around your waist to steady you and you can’t help the little sigh you make when you’re pulled closer to him. But it doesn’t last. He steps back away from you, his hand moving to your elbow. You open your eyes again and all you see in return is pity. Horror rises inside you and you move out of his grip, ashamed and embarrassed.

“Oh god, fuck. I’m sorry, shit, I’m so fucking sorry, I shouldn’t have-, fucking fuck. I’m so fucking stupid, why on earth would I think-” You grab for the door handle and back up away from him.

“No wait, it’s not-”

“Please forget that ever happened. God, I’m so fucking stupid. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” You plead a final time, desperate not to cry in front of him. You slam the door shut and flick the lock, pressing your forehead against the cool wood. With the door safely shut, your tears fall and you choke back a sob. On the other side of the door, Roy hears and goes to knock, but the sound fades as you move further into the house.

“Fuuuuck.” He growls, going back to his car.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent fluff #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent x reader #roy kent

[sentientsky]

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Nina asked. “The poor guy probably just wants his space.” 

The other woman turned to look at her from up on the staircase. Maggie pushed a lock of blonde hair back behind her ear. “I mean,” she began, one foot positioned on the next step up. “We already have this.” She raised a travel cup of espresso in the air. “And after all, I think he could use some cheering up. It’s been like two months, right?” 

Maggie sighed resignedly and followed her up the stairs. “Okay, if you say so…”

They walked for a couple moments before coming to a stop in front of an apartment. All the other doors on the floor were painted a pleasant blue, she noted. This one, however, was a deep, rich black. Of course. 

From underneath the door, the women could hear music, something familiar and with a steady beat. Maggie raised her hand and knocked. 

Still, the music played on. And still no one answered the door. 

“He’s obviously busy, Mags,” Nina muttered. It didn’t escape her notice that the other woman flushed pale pink at the sound of the nickname. Nina’s heart spasmed a bit in response, and she had to force herself to focus. 

“I just—let me try once more, and then—” Maggie knocked again. 

A beat. 

Nina was ready to ask if they could leave when the lock on the door clicked open of its own accord. Well, alrighty then. They exchanged a look, and then Nina pushed open the door. 

Immediately, the onslaught of angsty pop music poured through the threshold. Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone,” Nina noted. She herself had played the same song more than once as a young adult, often in the throes of a breakup. 

The apartment itself was in complete disarray; papers and knickknacks strewn everywhere. Plants drooped sadly on the edges of the room. In the corner, a pile of CDs had been toppled over. Eccles cakes and half-chewed scones littered the floor. 

There, in the middle of the living room (which certainly looked lived in, Nina noted), Crowley was sat on the floor, legs all akimbo and arms thrown across the seat of a rather uncomfortable looking sofa. 

Maggie stiffened at the sight of him, holding the coffee cup between both hands now. The poor demon was dressed in boxer shorts and an ancient Queen t-shirt. His hair was bedraggled, brushing against his shoulders in loose scarlet waves. Juxtaposed to the devilishly cool “burnt out middle-aged rockstar” persona he embodied most  of the time, this new appearance came across as particularly disheveled. 

Nina hesitated, then took a step forward. The music still thrummed in her ears. “Crowley?” she asked, injecting as much kindness as she could into one little word. 

Head lolling, the demon looked up at the two women before him. For once, he wasn’t wearing his characteristic glasses. Maggie made a little sound of surprise at the sight of the demon’s golden snake eyes. They were a rich yellow—the same colour as Mr. Fell’s walls, Nina silently noted. It seemed Crowley hadn’t slept in a century, (did demons even need to sleep?) his undereyes tinged a pale purple. 

“Crowley?” Nina called out again. Maggie moved to stand beside her, leaning down closer to the demon’s level. 

Without warning, Crowley’s eyes began to flood with tears and he crumpled into himself. Oh. Oh no. They’d made it worse, they’d certainly made it worse. Nina had said that coming here was a bad idea. 

“That’s what Aziraphale used to call me!” he keened. His boxer shorts had ‘XO Gossip Girl’ emblazoned down the side. 

“I mean, that’s your na—” Nina began, but then reconsidered and dropped into a crouch to pat the demon’s shoulder, voice hushed and soothing. “There, there. I know. It’s going to be alright.” 

Maggie crouched beside her, and tried to offer Crowley the drink in her hand. He looked up for a moment, and there was a moment of recognition, his eyes scanning the takeaway cup. And then he burst into fresh tears once again. 

“That’s what I ordered the last—” he made a little hiccuping sound. “Ordered the last time he and I went to your café,” he wailed. The poor thing was inconsolable; Nina’s heart ached for him. In between ragged sobs, Crowley  extended his arm under the couch. There, it seemed, he had found a slightly droopy crepe that was…just shoved under the sofa. No plate, no nothing. Just crepe to floor. What the fuck. Don’t eat it, please don’t eat it, Nina chanted in her head. 

He ate it, of course, still crying. 

Kelly Clarkson finished singing, and the track switched. Now, a more upbeat tune rose through the apartment. 

It’s Britney, bitch. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you eat anything—” Maggie began, reaching down to pick up a crumpled twinkie wrapper from the floor. And then, without warning, Crowley brought a napkin to his mouth and spat out a congealed mass of saliva and half-chewed dough. He sniffed pathetically and bundled it into a tight ball in his hand before tossing it somewhere across the room.

“Oh…” Maggie murmured, placing the wrapper back where she had found it. “Oh no.” 

Crowley looked up at the two of them with ragged eyes, glinting pale gold in the dim light of his flat. “Don’t even like the taste. But he likes ‘em, so…Who else is gonna eat’em, anyway? While he’s gone, you know? ‘S up to me” He sniffed again, wiping his nose with his sleeve. 

“Are you—” Maggie began, and her worried eyes flickered to Nina. “Are you drunk, Crow—Anthony? Have you been drinking?”

“And wha makes you think that?” he muttered. Nina cast her eyes around the room. Wine bottles littered the floor. The counters. One sat on the pedestal of a statue of an angel and a demon…were they supposed to be fighting, or…?? 

When she turned back to face him, he was drinking out of a curly straw. His cup read ‘MAMA NEEDS SOME WINE’. She sighed, and reached to ease it out of his hand. He pulled it out of her reach immediately, a disgruntled look clear across his face.

“Nooo, Az—Azira—a stupid angel gave this to me,” he all but hissed. “‘S vintage. 2004.”

The track changed again. Something slower, with a steady piano backing. 

My lover’s got humour.

She’s the giggle at a funeral…

At this, tears began to form afresh in the corners of the demon’s eyes. Nina stood up, looking for the source of the music. She’d had her fair share of sad music wallowing, but this was becoming unhealthy, surely. Over in the corner, a fairly recent sound system stood sentinel. She pressed ‘pause’ and ejected the disk. “What’s with this music?” she called across the room. 

In sloping handwriting, the CD read ‘bad bitches cry perpendicular to the floor’. Oookay then. 

“‘S a playlist I made. But everything I play in that godforsaken thing,” he motioned to the stereo system, “eventually turns into music by this one Irish fellow.” 

Nina wrinkled her brow in confusion. 

“Jus’ like the Bentley. But more straightforward, I suppose.” He took another sip from his drink, and the two women watched on as dark red liquid carried up through the loops of the straw.

“This isn’t healthy,” Maggie began. “I know it’s hard, and it’s okay to be sad. But we can try baby steps, right? D’you fancy coming down to the café with us? Maybe sit and talk for a bit? Get some natural light?” 

Crowley scrunched his nose and spat a piece of red hair out of his mouth. “M’ fine, really. Never been better. More independent, less—” he waved his free hand around vaguely, “mmgh…yeah, I got nothin’” He toasted them with his ridiculous white suburban mom cup. 

“You’re crying right now. And how long have you been wearing that shirt?” Nina asked. The thing looked lived in. By a family of possums. 

He looked down, squinting at wine stains that speckled the collar. “This is my best shirt.” He looked back up at them. “And ‘m fiiiine.” He reached one gangly arm across the length of the sofa and pulled out a pair of circular sunglasses. Putting them on, he peered up at Nina and Maggie. “See? Can’t even see the tears.” He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. 

“Oh, hon. That’s not…” Maggie began.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Nina murmured. “Do you…” she looked around the room. Was that one of Mr. Fell’s sweaters hung over a chair? What had happened in that fucking bookshop? “Do you want to talk about it?” she finished. 

Three hours later, Nina realized her assistant’s shift was nearly finished. From what she understood, Mr. Fell had left (his husband? Boyfriend? Wife? Immortal life partner?) Crowley for a business promotion somewhere far away. Crowley, for his part, was perched on the edge of the couch, wrapped up in the angel’s sweater. He sniffled, and pressed on: 

“...And then it was 1967 and I was in my Beatles phase of course, because who wasn’t, honestly. And the bastard shows up in my car out of nowhere with a thermos. So I’m freaking out a little bit—in a very cool, suave kind of way, of course—cause this is one of the first times we’ve seen each other since the magic show,” he turned, looking between Maggie and Nina. “I told you about the magic show, yes?”

“Yes, you did,” Maggie muttered. 

“Several times. The one where he told you to shoot him in the face,” Nina interjected.

“Well,” he waved his hand around. “I didn’t actually shoot him. Scared the fuck outta me, but—oh, I still have the photograph, you wanna see?” He moved to stand up then. 

Maggie motioned for him to sit back down. “That’s alright. We’ll see it later—”

And he was off again, “So anyway it was 1967 and he’s in my car and he’s got a thermos and I’m all like ‘Are we gonna drink soup together? Is that tea? Cocoa?’ but noooo, he gives it to me and it’s fucking holy water. And he tells me he doesn’t want me risking myself. And—” his voice grew louder, more emphatic, “And he says ‘don’t go unscrewing the cap’. And by this point my stomach’s all in wobbly-wibbly fluttery knots and ‘m asking myself ‘what the bloody hell are we’ and I hate it ‘cause I’m a demon, right? And angels aren’t supposed to make you feel all—” he made a ‘pbttt’ sound and mimed a butterfly with his hands. Nina and Maggie exchanged a look. “Yeah. And then he says we should go on a picnic someday. Or to the Ritz or something. I’m losing my mind at this point, because is he asking me on a date? ‘M I out of my gourd? So, like any normal, reasonable person, I say I’ll drive him wherever he wants because then that means more time together which means more time to figure out this fluttery feeling or whatever. And guess what he says.” He looked at the two women seated on chairs in front of him.  “Go on, guess.” 

Maggie shrugged. “Sorry, no idea.” Nina shook her head.

“He says,” he leant forward on the couch. “He says ‘You go too fast for me, Crowley.” The poor demon let out an anguished groan and his head fell into his hands. Maggie reached forward to pat him on the shoulder. 

[It went on like this for some time. They eventually got him to go to the park where he inadvertently began a duck cult; that is, a cult whose members consisted solely of ducks. Not a cult of humans dedicated to worshipping ducks. That would be stupid.]

this silly little crack fic is brought to you by me and my good omens brainrot (neil im in your walls). if u want to read my more serious stuff, you can find me furiously scribbling away in this corner of the internet: x

(side note: this particular story was inspired by a hilarious post from @miss-americanbi)

#i wrote this pretty quickly so its not gonna be great but whatver #i finally remembered to take my adhd meds + instead of doing my work im doing this. i love having hyperfixations sm (<<< lies lies lies) #im love nina shes so pretty and cool #full disclosure this is not to glamourize or make light of depression #this is literally just me transcribing the aftermath of my own messy queer breakup #i also dyed my hair w/ horrible box dye :) that was like 2 yrs ago and it STILL hasnt faded. demipermanent my ass #i was a fucking mess for like a year :) #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziracrow #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #crowley #go2 #ineffable wives #azicrow #maggie good omens #nina good omens #crack fic #ao3 good omens #ao3 author #good omens crack #good omens fanfic #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen #gay #queer #gomens

[allfryam]

Sugarcoated

Andrew was an all star basketball player all through high school and he loved it. He worked out often and he had a slim body with a nice six pack.

andrew was always in shape. He loved playing sports and exercising so it was easy for him. When Andrew was almost finished with his senior year of high school, he had to pick his college classes. When Andrew was looking through the list he found a baking class. Andrew always wanted to step out of his comfort zone and maybe get into a new hobby. Besides, Andrew loved sweets so it would be free food. Andrew was always in for free food.

His whole life, Andrew loved eating. It was the only thing he liked more than working out. He had a crazy fast metabolism though so he would never gain a pound. Once, he ate an entire pizza all by himself. When he was finished he even drove out to get some ice cream. His mom always said his stomach was like a bottomless pit.

andrew’s first few weeks at college were great. His roommate was in a few of his classes including the baking class. With all of the homework and parties Andrew was going to, he almost never had time to work out. This was fine with him though because he couldn’t gain weight if he tried.

one day in his baking class, the teacher made Andrew and his roommate stay and talk to him after class. He told them he accidentally baked three times the amount of cookies he needed to bake. He was wondering if Andrew and his roommate could eat the extras so he wouldn’t have to throw any away.

Andrew thought this would be easy. How many cookies could it even be? 10? 12? “48”. Said the teacher. Andrew didn’t know what to say. 48 cookies was a lot. But he was definitely going to try.

The first few cookies were great. They were like sugar cookies but with a really rich icing on top. After about 10 cookies, Andrew’s roommate said he had to go, so he wished Andrew good luck and left.

Andrew ate the cookies two at a time, one in each hand. Eventually it came down to just two more. Andrew could barely eat another bite. With the encouragement of his teacher, he shoved the last two cookies down his throat and let out a massive burp of relief. And for the fist time in forever, Andrew could see his stomach just barely poking out from beneath his shirt.

over the next few months, Andrew started eating more and more desserts as the class got more intense. Pies, cakes, cookies, biscuits, pastries, bread, scones. And Andrew loved it. He started to notice that all of his shirts were starting to get tighter. There must have been a problem with the washing machine.

it eventually got to the point where Andrew found out he could take a lot of his classes online so he would even have to leave his dorm. Even the baking class would send him ingredients to make the pastries at home. Andrew loved this idea. And apparently so did his stomach.

andrew’s roommate eventually said something to Andrew about his weight gain. He pointed out how none of his shirts fit anymore and he could always see his new round jiggly belly bouncing around when he walked. He also told Andrew he loved it.

Andrew decided that his roommate was just playing a prank on him and he wasn’t gaining weight at all. But it got so bad that Andrew would only wear sweatpants, and he didn’t even bother trying to put on a shirt. Besides, he enjoyed the freedom of letting his belly do what it wanted.

Andrew’s roommate loved to bring home dessert for Andrew and he loved to watch Andrew eat it even more. One time he brought home an entire chocolate cake with rich, creamy icing and bits of Oreos drizzled on top. Andrew was eager to have a slice or two but his roommate wanted him to eat the whole thing.

Andrew started with the first slice. He didn’t even use a fork, just his chubby, greasy hands. He shoved the cake into his face, smearing chocolate all over his lips. He grabbed a second slice and did the same, his stomach began to stretch and expand, getting closer and closer to the counter. After the third slice, Andrew’s stomach was pressed up against the counter. Andrew was eager to finish this cake as he never gave up on a bet.

he moved to the couch and laid on his back with his expanding stomach in the air, wobbling as he laid down. He shoved the fourth piece into his mouth and was starting to feel full. He told his roommate to help him with the last two slices. He was happy to shove some more cake into his mouth. He climbed on top of Andrew’s stomach and began to push cake into his mouth like he was pushing coins into a slot machine.

by the end of the year, Andrew had completely changed. His sharp jawline now completely covered by a thick double chin. His muscular arms were more like flabby sausages now and the most significant change was his stomach. At the beginning of the year he had rock hard abs that looked like they had been carved from stone. But now, he had a large, round, hairy, ball of lard for a stomach. It completely hung over his belt and Andrew hadn’t seen his feet in months. Andrew didn’t plan on stopping either. After nearly 85 lbs of weight piled onto him, he finally realized that he was fat. And he loved it.

#exjock #fat belly #fatty #eating #chubby #wg #fat #fatty piggy #gaining #getting bigger #gaining fat #fat gut #gaining weight #gaining fiction

[absentcigarettes]

Whispers

Relationship: Rafe Adler/Samuel Drake

Word Count: 2988

Summary: Rafe raised a brow at the group of people giggling and looking his way. "Do you hear that?" "Yeah. Just ignore them." Sam said. The man had gotten used to this sort of treatment and paid no mind anymore. But it bothered Rafe so terribly, "Alright." He drank more wine but the whispers and giggles got more and more infuriating. basically just people talking shit about sam and rafe getting upset over it.

Note: I wrote this over a year ago on ao3 back in December and never beta'd it so ignore if there are mistakes. enjoy.

Sam tugged at his collar and finished another glass of wine as he pretended to care about what the lady in front of him rambled on about. "Oh! And then you wouldn't believe it!" She said in the poshest voice Sam had ever heard. "No, I wouldn't Mrs. Drevor. Do tell." Rafe laughed. He was the only thing keeping Sam from falling asleep. They were at another banquet and he despaired every second of it.

"Darling?" Rafe called, it wasn't 'till he put a hand on Sam's cheek did he realise he was calling him, "Are you alright? You look tired." The warmth of Rafe's hand on his cheek made him wake up immediately, "Mm, yes, well-" he took Rafe's hand and pressed it to his lips, "Just a bit tired from last night, but nothing you should worry about." The woman flushed, and chuckled. Even her laugh was posh. "If you're feeling unwell Mr. Drake, you should sit down. I should go find my husband. Excuse me."

Sam sighed watching the lady finally leave and turned around and saw Rafe unamused, "Really, Samuel?" He raised a brow and took his hand back, "You know if you really wanted to leave you could just make up an excuse instead of dozing off after every boring sentence that leaves her mouth." A server walked by and offered him more wine, Rafe took a glass and turned back to Sam, "And really? 'Tired from last night'?" It wasn't a lie. Hell- he was tired from the night before but not for the reasons he wanted. They'd left Nathan's house a few hours ago and had to take another flight just to attend the banquet. "Sorry, 'darling'," he took the glass from Rafe's hand, "I just can't help but show off my dear lover to everyone. Even Mrs- what's her name?"

"Drevor."

"Even Mrs. Drevor." He took a sip of wine.

Rafe took the glass back, "What a sweet-talker you are."

They both stood near the tables pretending to talk to each other and being madly in love so other people wouldn't approach them. They threw in a kiss, once or twice and always kept that loving gaze that couples in their honeymoon phase always had.

"And then what happened?" Sam took a cake from the trays and tossed it into his mouth. Despite how excruciatingly tiring these parties were, the pastries always made it worthwhile. He tossed a scone in his mouth, "Mm!" He interrupted Rafe, "These are really good! Have you tried them?" Rafe smirked, "No. No, I haven't." Sam picked another scone and held it in front of Rafe, "Here, try it."

Rafe looked at the scone and took the scone in his mouth, tasting a bit of salt from Sam's fingers. Sam licked his fingers and took another one, "So?"

It was buttery and it melted and crumbled in his mouth. It had a hint of cherry on it and it was terribly sweet. It was amazing. "Mm!"

"Right?" Sam laughed.

"It tastes so good!" Rafe laughed too and it was the first of the night that wasn't forced. Sam picked another scone and held it out to him, "More?" He took it, "Yes, please."

He put the scone in Rafe's mouth. He noticed crumbs on the corner of his mouth, "Oh wait, you've got something here."

"Hm?" Sam leaned in and pecked the crumbs off his lips. He swiped the corner of his lip with his thumb and licked it, "There we go."

Rafe smiled, "Well done, Mr Drake. I'm swooning for you now."

"Get in line. I have a boyfriend."

The night had finally gotten less dull and they kept laughing and talking and laughing more. They'd nearly eaten all the scones at the table and many guests had avoided their area due to their extremely public displays of affection and the fact that they were practically hoarding the pastries. "Stop it." Rafe smacked Sam's hand as he reached to grab another piece of cake, "Ow. Don't pretend like you don't want any." He did. "Just one." Sam smiled and fed Rafe the cake, "Just one."

Rafe's savouring of the cake had been interrupted when he heard a small group of people giggling and talking a bit too loudly. "Gosh, and his ratty hair. Does he even wash that nest?"

"He looks a decade older than him. Talk about daddy issues."

"He probably paid some poor lump from the streets to take on the role."

"Explains why he's hogging all the cake like he hasn't eaten in decades."

Rafe raised a brow and saw the group of people giggle and look his way. "Do you hear that?"

"Yeah. Just ignore them." He'd gotten used to this sort of treatment and paid no mind anymore. But it bothered Rafe so terribly, "Alright." He drank more wine but the whispers and giggles got more and more infuriating.

"Have you seen how much he smokes? Probably trying to kill himself from having to be stuck with daddy's boy."

"You know, it's pathetic how much they're constantly sucking faces. It's like they're trying to prove something."

Stay calm. He told himself. Relax. For Samuel's sake.

"He's so damn old, probably can't even last a minute in bed."

That was it.

He dropped the glass and red liquid spilled to the ground. "Rafe, what are you doing?" Samuel called. He marched up towards the last girl who'd spoken. He recognised her but didn't know how, "First of all, if you plan on talking shit about my boyfriend, at least say it straight to our damn faces."

The girl smirked and crossed her arms, "Why? I didn't say anything."

Rafe laughed, "Are you really such a coward that you can barely say it to my face?"

"Alright, so what? You're dating a man a decade older than you and he's really fucking ugly. Don't worry Rafe, I understand if you couldn't find anyone else to tolerate you. It's nothing to be ashamed about"

"You have no fucking idea what I can do to you."

"What, daddy's boy? Gonna run back to daddy the second someone insults you and one of your boytoys?"

God, did he hate that name and it took everything in his power not to strike the woman right there. "Fine." He smiled, "Tell me what it is you dislike about my relationship with Samuel."

"Oh, it's nothing personal. You just have really bad taste." She turned to the man behind her. Another familiar face. Rafe smiled, knowing now where he knew the girl from, "Isn't that right sweetheart?" The man behind her nodded. Funny, he'd been talking so much crap earlier and now he was sweating buckets and keeping his lips sealed.

Rafe smiled, "Bad taste. Such as?"

"You know. His hair. His face. His age. He's probably terrible in bed. Y'know, tiny dick, big mouth?"

Rafe gritted his teeth but kept smiling. "Oh. That's funny of you to say."

"Excuse me?"

"Talking from experience, sweetheart? You're making your boyfriend look bad."

"What are you talking about?"

"Hey," He couldn't remember the man's name, "Come here." He was visibly sweating as he stepped forward and next to his girlfriend. He remembers. "You see now," He dusted the man's shoulder, "It's funny how you talk about my boyfriend, because- mine actually loves me. He can actually hold his liquor, he doesn't get drunk and fuck every random stranger he sees."

"What're you talking about?"

"I fucked your boyfriend."

"What?"

"Yeah." He smirked, "And honestly I'd like to say it was fun for the sake of this pathetic excuse of an argument, but it wasn't. He was terrible, the worst experience I'd ever had."

"You're lying."

"Really? Because I vividly recall fucking on your bed, in your room." He grinned wider, "I also noticed that you both sleep in different rooms? What? Did you keep him for the pretty face but couldn't stand his tiny dick?"

"Also," Rafe tilted her chin up, "You laugh because I'm dating a man a decade older than me but you seem to have no problem playing with boys that just passed 21."

He dropped her chin and took Sam's arm. "And," He turned to leave, "At least my boyfriend can make me finish." He left. Leaving her sputtering and whining.

They went onto the balcony and Rafe was absolutely fuming. "God! Fucking hell- What's wrong with them?!"

"Hey, relax," Sam lit a cigarette and leaned on the railings, "I told you not to worry about them." But he did worry. Why wasn't Sam? And why was he so upset? "I know.." He walked next to Sam and leaned on the railings, "I know. It's just- Fuck, those posh assholes."

"Don't be so harsh on yourself."

"Samuel."

"Alright, alright." He took a puff of his cigarette, "Why're you so upset about them anyways?" Why was he upset? "It's just-" he sputtered, "Why did they say that shit about you? You're great, you're handsome, great job, great voice. And I like your hair, despite the fact that you never use conditioner- really, why don't you?"

"Makes it flat and I'll look like a hippie."

"Makes sense," Rafe groaned in frustration, "They're just- God! They piss me off so much!"

Sam shrugged and offered him a cigarette, knowing damn well how repulsed Rafe felt about them. But Rafe smiled. He took the cigarette from Sam's mouth and pressed it to his lips. He took a puff and blew it in Sam's face. He dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it, "That was hot." Sam grinned stupidly. Rafe smiled, "You say that like it's news."

Sam lit another cigarette, "Really. Why are you so worked up about them? It was just a couple of stupid remarks about me."

"That's the problem!"

"What's the problem?"

"It's about you!" Rafe sighed and turned around and leaned back on the railings. "It's always about me. It should be about me!"

"So basically you're jealous that people are talking about me and not you?"

"No! That's not it- I.. I don't like it when people talk about you like that."

"Like what?"

"Like-" Rafe was terrible at expressing himself and putting things into words. As a child his parents rarely had time for him and when they did spend time with him he wanted to make the most of it and didn't want to burden them with his problems. The servants in his house rarely cared and he spent most of his time practising to paint a smile on and responding to a 'how are you?' with a believable 'Good'. Now the result was barely being able to express anything as long as it harmed a little bit of his pride.

"Bad things. Only I can talk shit about you."

"Thanks?"

"I just- I hate what they said. Usually I'm the one people talk shit about. About being fake and a daddy's boy. Apparently I talk to a lot of older men, you included. And it's because of my 'daddy issues'. I'm used to them talking about me. But I hate hearing things like that about you."

Sam laughed and took the cigarette out of his mouth, "To be a daddy's boy with daddy issues, the stories just don't quite add up. But you should know," He put a hand on Rafe's cheek. Without realising, Rafe leaned into the touch. "I don't like it when people talk shit about you too. I'm also used to people seeing me as nothing more than a thief but I hated when they talked about you."

Rafe looked into Sam's eyes, searching for a hint of laughter, of foolery but he found none. He was genuine. He hoped he was. He'd hoped for many things. He hoped that he could finally lean into Sam and not end up falling. Finally figure out how to fix himself for Sam and not end up regretting it. Finally talk and laugh and smile because he wanted to talk, laugh and smile with him. Because he enjoyed his company and not because his reputation was on the line. But he'd hoped for many things in life hadn't he?

He leaned further back and placed a hand on the railings and another on Sam's shoulder. Sam dropped his hands and placed them on either side of the railings. "Samuel."

"What?"

"You don't have to worry about me. " He took his other hand off the railing and tilted Sam's chin downwards. He brushed his lips with his thumb, "Just worry about looking like a good boyfriend." He said jokingly, hoping to lighten up the mood.

But he did worry. Sam couldn't help but worry. Rafe was too used to bottling up his feelings and pretending that they were non-existent when Sam knew it was killing him. Sam wanted him to open up and tell him about his day without having to ask all the time. Sam wanted him to tell him if he was sad or angry instead of always trying to handle it himself and run away when the problem got too big. "I do worry."

Rafe stopped, staring at lips and looked back at his eyes, "Why?"

"Because it's you."

"Me?"

"Yeah."

Rafe was silent, he wasn't comfortable with.. emotions and was used to laughing it off and playing it off as a joke. Usually it worked but he didn't know why Sam was being so frustrating and bringing the topic back up again. Again, he laughed, "Samuel, it really is adorable that your trying you're hardest to be a good boyfriend but you're taking the role a bit too seriously. There's no one out here."

"I am serious." Damnit Sam. Why couldn't Rafe have found some other miserable sod who was terrible with feelings instead of perfect Sam? He dropped his hand from Sam's chin and placed it on his shoulder, "Samuel. Look- Can we not talk about this? So what if a few people talk crap about me? I can't go my entire life avoiding that- And why are we even talking about this? They talked about you, not me."

"We're talking about this because I don't like people talking about you like that. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't care before. Why're you starting to care so much now?"

"Because I didn't know about it before!"

"Oh, please. It's happened at every party we've been to. You're just always busy staring at girls and stuffing your face in the food."

"I've never stared at girls!"

Sam sighed and put a knuckle under Rafe's chin, "Look at me," Rafe continued to avoid his gaze. He tilted Rafe's chin up, "Hey." Rafe looked at him. "Look, I want you to talk to me about these things. Even if we aren't actually dating doesn't mean I don't care about you. I want to know if you're upset and I want to help you." He placed his hands on Rafe's cheeks and traced his cheekbones with his thumb, "I care about you. And I don't like it when you feel like you can't tell me things."

Rafe didn't know what to do. Should he cry? Hug him? Kiss him? He'd never practised for moments like these. He knew what to do when a rich man tells a joke or a lady tells a story but what was he supposed to do now?

"I.." he paused, "I don't know what to say." He really didn't. "Samuel I.. I'm sorry. It's just hard for me. I'm not used to- this. Normally when things like that happen people forget about it and pretend nothing happened." He paused, "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Sam brushed the corner of his eye, he hadn't realised there'd been tears. How embarrassing.

"Thank you for caring."

"It's okay. Just, talk to me. Okay?" Rafe laughed, "Okay."

"So," Sam placed his hands on Rafe's waist, "Is it true that you and that guy.."

Rafe laughed again and wrapped his hands around his neck, "Yeah.."

"Was it good?"

"God no. It was terrible. He didn't have a condom and couldn't even pull out right. And he was grunting like an adolescent teenager the entire time. He couldn't even last two minutes!" Sam swallowed. He definitely did not want to be one of Rafe's ex-lovers. He could already imagine Rafe ranting to his next boyfriend about how terrible he was when they haven't even done anything yet. "How'd it happen?"

"We were both drunk at a party that that woman had been hosting, we bumped into each other, started making out and ended up on the bed. I think the only reason I didn't leave was because he had a pretty face."

Sam huffed, he didn't like thinking about Rafe with another man. Rafe noticed and laughed, "Aw, Samuel are you jealous?" He held Sam's chin and shook his head, "Don't worry, I like your face more. Your devilish handsomeness is actually the only reason I let you keep your role as my boyfriend."

"What? So it's not the fact that you love me? Or that I tell amazing jokes?"

"You're way off, but feel free to keep dreaming." Sam huffed again, "Don't get so worked up, Samuel." He pulled Sam closer and leaned into him. Sam felt his breath on his lips, smelling of the pastries from earlier. "If it helps," he leaned closer to whisper in his ear, "I think you'd be far better in bed."

Sam was dumbfounded when Rafe took his hands off Sam and leaned back on the railing. Sam grinned again, that stupid grin, "What was that earlier about me being able to make you finish again?"

Rafe smirked, "Oh, nothing. I was thinking of my other boyfriend."

"Other boyfriend?" He gripped harder on Rafe's waist and pulled him closer. "I don't really like sharing things. Guess we'll just have to see who's the better boyfriend."

Rafe pulled him in, "Guess we will."

#uncharted #uncharted 4 #that sam/rafe fake dating au #uncharted fanfiction #uncharted 4 fanfic #samrafe #sam x rafe #sam drake #nathan drake #fake dating au #rafe adler

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

Muse -S.F.K

Author's Note: Wow, what a labor of love and anger this story has been for me. I took a bit of a break because holy shit life got real and crazy but it’s here! I wanna thank all of the Gresties that helped proof read this and also for their words of encouragement and support to help me get through writing this story @maverick-rose and @builtbymachine @jake-kiszkas-smirk I ended up really loving this story and I really hope you do too.

This is the 3 out of 4 of installment of my Royalty Series, go check out Whiplash J.M.K and Shining Armor D.R.W to read more of the Royalty Series (its not a connected series, but they are all period pieces!)

Synopsis: When you meet an artist that sweeps you off of your feet, you go to great lengths just to see the beautiful commoner again.

Word Count: 7.1K (it took 2 months it's gonna be long lol)

Pairing: Commoner!Sam x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Foul language, oral, slight voyeurism, light dom/sub (if you squint), raw sex (Wrap it before you tap your royal painter)

Muse -S.F.K

“There's just something not quite right.” You say, staring at the portrait before you, your father, the king, standing beside you, tea cup in hand as he admires the painting. “I just can’t put my finger on it…” You say, stepping closer to the canvas, hand touching quizzically over your face as you search your own portrait.

“I think it looks splendid, darling.” Your father chimes in, probably just trying to put your critical mind at ease. “I think it’s my nose? And my hair, I think the shading of it is a bit too light, and my hair doesn’t part that way, it’s more centered than that. I also think he forgot the freckle on my-” “This is the third painting you’ve requested be redone! Let that poor artist be done with it already.” Your father interrupts, making his way over to the table in the brightly lit tea room of the palace, searching for the perfect lemon tart. The elegant tea room was lit brightly by the afternoon sun from the floor to ceiling windows with long white flowing curtains that nearly make up the entire back wall overlooking the rose garden below. A table is set with many tea cakes, scones, seasonal pitted fruit and finger sandwiches, all for your afternoon tea, which had been a lovely time until one of the footmen had brought up your newly redone royal portrait. 

“It just has to be perfect. This is going to be the portrait that is to hang in the halls alongside our entire family line. Forgive me for wanting it to actually have my likeness.” You justify, crossing your arms agitatedly, eyes never leaving the portrait. “Shall I call for another painter? This one doesn’t seem to be the right fit-” “No!” You snap, your father looks confused as he stands frozen, dainty lemon tart in hand. You think quickly, worried your awkward response has given you away. “I mean, I like his art style, and I don’t want to audition another artist when we’re already so close to having a perfect portrait. I’ll just be sure to give him my notes for a better one, besides, I have a better dress to wear than this last one, not quite sure this one suits me.” You explain, eyes scanning the oil paints that make up your face. “If you insist. I’ll send for him tomorrow.” Your father relents with a shrug, you attempt to hide the smile behind your hand as you look over the brush strokes on the large canvas, admiring the smallest details. 

In all honesty, the portrait was perfect, in every way. The curl of your smile, the tinge of blush in your cheeks, the color of your eyes, it was all perfect. It had been perfect all three times. But you couldn't stop thinking of the painter himself, Sam. You hadn’t stopped thinking of that man since you laid eyes on him, a man with beautiful long hair, deep brown eyes and a stare that lit you absolutely ablaze. The way he would look at you while he painted, adjusting your pose ever so gently, his words soft, patient and full of praise as he worked, the only problem was that your time together was so limited. Sure it was hours at a time, but once he finished your portrait he would be gone, sending it to the palace once all the background portions were complete and he would be gone, so, you found yourself criticizing the smallest details for the sake of his company. You had to admit, you were enamored with his presence, but surely, he must think you frustrating by now, this was to be your fourth portrait, and you would be more than happy to hang any of the previous three alongside the rest of the royal families portraits that lined the halls, but something about Sam made you feel something different, a feeling you couldn’t quite pin down. One thing you knew for certain, tomorrow was going to be your last session. 

The anxiety to see the artist again has had your stomach in knots since tea time yesterday. Now here you are, desperately searching for the perfect gown for your portrait. You ask your ladies maids to find you your most elegant dresses, opting for a look that is regal and refined. After several displays of satin, silk and lace, you cannot help but be swept away by a deep crimson gown. Large sleeves that fall off your shoulders, lace that sweeps the edge of the fabric around the sleeves and your chest, tight in the waist and a grand skirt that is sure to impress. This is how you want to be remembered, both in your portrait and by the artist, utterly dripping in finery. Your hair is halfway swept up and pinned back to show off your bone structure and a fine diamond necklace graces your skin, along with dangling diamond earrings to complete the set.

A knock upon your bedchamber door brings you out of your daydreams, pulling you back into your anxious state of impatience, “The artist has arrived, your highness.” One of your many maids informs you upon her entrance. You give yourself one last glance into the mirror, “Let’s not keep him waiting then, shall we?” You respond with a smile.

The only sound besides your heels carrying you down the shining marble floors through the palace is the sound of your heartbeat slamming in your ears. You roll your eyes as you think, All this over a man? Now really. You scoff to yourself, taking in a deep breath as you make your way down the final hallway into the drawing room. Pausing just before entering to make any last adjustments to your hair and dress, you give your escorts a nod as they open the doors, “Her royal highness.” One of your personal guards announces your presence as you enter. Sam stands quickly from his stool by his easel.

The air is thick with a heavy pause as the two of you meet eyes from across the room. He looks even more beautiful than you remember, his hair is pulled back by the help of a dark blue ribbon loosely keeping his hair mostly out of his way, save for some strands that fall in front of his face just so. His deep brown eyes look wide and almost caught off guard, nervous perhaps? He’s dressed in a modest navy blue double vest that looks almost homemade and a high collared white shirt, his breeches tucked into boots that look like they’ve seen better days. Oh to be absolutely breath taken by a commoner of all things.

“Your majesty.” Sam speaks softly as he bows to you deeply, hand over his heart and all. You give him a deep curtsey to him in return with a gentle smile as the doors finally close, leaving the two of you alone. “I was surprised you had sent for me.” Sam says, “I am sorry to bother you once more-” “No, no your highness, I did not mean to offend, I am glad to see you again, it’s just that I was told there was something wrong with your portrait, that is what had taken me by surprise.” He explains quickly, hands wringing anxiously. “I hope I didn’t worry you too much, you’re a delightful painter, Sam. I just didn't care for the gown I had chosen to wear for my portrait. I wanted something more elegant, I suppose.” You reply with a smile, bringing the attention to the crimson fabric running under your fingertips as you smooth out the fabric. “It is quite a lovely dress…” Sam utters to himself as he takes in your silhouette, taking in your shape as he begins to plot out your portrait in his mind. 

“Shall we get started then?” Sam asks with a smile, you only respond with a timid nod. “Wonderful. Let me place you over here then.” Sam says as he offers you his hand to escort you towards the large white cloth backdrop, you wince at the fact that he must have painstakingly set all of this up alone, for the third time. The room is well lit by the afternoon sun that is coming through the windows and bouncing off of the marble floors that almost work like a mirror the way it helps to light up the room. The high ceilings and quiet of the palace makes this moment feel even more intense. His hand is gentle as he brings you to stand in the center of the backdrop, he gives your jewel covered hand a soft squeeze as he lets go. “Now stand tall for me,” He instructs kindly as he sets a hand on the small of your back to adjust your posture, “Pardon my touch, madam.” He smiles gentlemanly as he’s always said before touching you. It's killing you not to think of his large and talented hands on you as he continues to pose you in such a particular way. 

“Face your body more towards the wall to the left,” His hand shifts along your waist to aid in turning you, sure he did this dance last time, and the time before, but it’s just so sweet the way he moves you. Sam doesn’t meet your eyes as he works to situate you, too busy with the way your dress is laying just the right way and adjusting your frame. You watch his face intently, relishing in his touches and the way his face contorts in concentration, it's incredibly interesting to watch. 

You nearly jump when his eyes catch yours as he fixes the hem of your dress, those beautiful golden brown eyes make you lose your breath. He gives you a soft smile as he notices your gaze, “Is this alright?” He asks as he takes a step away to take in the view of you as he’s posed you. “Perfect.” You smile as he gives you one last look of approval before walking to his easel. “Gorgeous.” He smiles, his voice soft, almost as though he’s unsure you are even allowed to hear it, you try to keep your expression neutral as he has requested but his compliment makes a grin grow upon your face. He begins to gather his paint palette and brush, his eyes flitting up to you every chance he can, as though he's afraid to spook you, like a deer in the forest, you might move or disappear. "Let's begin, shall we?" Sam says kindly as he begins to blend a few colors together. 

You know you're not meant to be looking right at him but you can't help yourself, with the amount of time you spend standing completely still, your boredom, mostly your curiosity, gets the better of you. You cannot help yourself the way the faces of the artist's concentration makes you feel. The way his brows knit together, his lips purse, his teeth sink into his bottom lip, the way his eyes light up when it's all coming together on the canvas. You've watched him for so long over these past sessions, you wouldn't be surprised if you were able to paint him from memory. 

His eyes meet yours and you can't help but smile, "You can speak if you like. Nothing worse than hours of silence, especially with someone as interesting as yourself." Sam says softly, his eyes hardly leaving the painting in progress. "Oh, I didn't want to distract you-" "I've painted you three times in a row now, your Highness, I think I could have painted your portrait with my eyes closed." He interrupts, looking up with a smirk. His candor takes you by surprise. His smile drops, he stands straight, stopping his brush strokes. "I-I’m sorry, that was incredibly rude of me-" 

"Really, it's fine." You respond with a timid smile, "I don't mean to be so particular-" "No, madam of course you can be! It is to be your royal portrait, I shouldn't have said something so snarky, it wasn't my intention." He apologizes softly, a brief pause falls on the room. 

"I like the way you speak your mind. People tip toe around me all the time. Makes me feel like no one feels comfortable enough to say what they think. Like I'm some porcelain doll in need of protecting." You explain, watching Sam as he gives you a genuine smile of relief. "I bet that gets very tiresome, madam." He says kindly, his paintbrush softly brushing over the canvas fills the silence. "Sometimes I feel like no one really sees me, I don't know if that makes sense. It's just, I feel as though they only see the title and the crown. They don't see-" "The woman underneath?" Sam finishes for you. You're struck for a moment at his words, the way he's perfectly figured it out, stolen the thought out of your own mind. 

"Exactly." You say almost silently, he gives you a small smile as he continues to paint. He stops once more, "May I speak freely, madam?" Sam asks, more sure of himself than you would have imagined. "Of course." You answer, nervous of what he could mean. "As a commoner painter, I've had lots of experience with many highly refined people. I like to think that with the time I get to watch them for hours during sessions, I feel like I get to see them as they really are, more than any other outsider or even any of their peers would. An experience I'm most thankful for. But, with you, I get such an air of decency, more than just that, but, a genuine kindness. I feel that even if I weren’t here to paint your portrait you would still be kind and true, it seems just a part of your nature.” Sam’s words take you by surprise, no one has ever said anything like this to you in your life. 

“You’re a joy to paint. I’m sorry it has taken me this many times to get your portrait right, but I never mind getting sent for if it means I get to see you again.” He finishes with a shy smile, a look that is making this whole secret plot of yours of having him come to paint your portrait just for your own pleasure makes his whole analysis of you seem like a farce. This confession makes you feel almost sickened with guilt, so much so that it's bubbling over inside you. You must tell him. 

“Oh, Sam.” You sigh, your face dropping with shame. You drop your pose entirely and look at the artist, he looks worried at your sudden shift in mood, worried that he somehow must have upset you. “I’m afraid I haven’t been truthful with you.” You begin, Sam lets his brush and pallet relax at his sides, “How do you mean?” He asks anxiously. You search the ceiling as you try to form the words, heart racing in your chest as you look to find the right thing to say. 

“There was never a problem with my portrait. The first or the second.” You start as you look to gauge his reaction, a flash of confusion coming over his features. You toy with the crimson material of your dress between your nervous fingers as you find the backbone to continue. 

“The portrait was perfect, in every single way. In a way I’ve never been captured before in all of my life.”

“Then why ask me to come back?” He asks quietly, his brows knit in a look of befuddlement. You let out a pitiful laugh. 

“Because I wanted to see you again.” You say defeatedly. 

The silence of the room is almost painful as Sam’s eyes fall away from yours. You have to clench your jaw just to keep yourself from speaking anymore, worried you’ve already said too much. Sam lets out a little laugh as he sets his pallet down on the small table beside him, running his hand over his mouth, trying to suppress a smile that only makes you more concerned. He eyes one of the large windows, watching as the afternoon sun begins to set. “Why on earth would you want to see me again?” He asks you quizzically, you curse yourself at his question, why did he have to ask that?!

“I, uh, I enjoy your company.” You lie nervously, your fingers tightening their grip on your gown once more. “My company?” He asks with a smirk. “Yes. I enjoy talking to you.” You reply, digging a deeper and deeper hole for yourself. 

Sam sets his brush down, “Why didn’t you just ask me for tea?” He asks, “If it's just my company you enjoy, I’m sure we could chat much more that way.” He pushes slyly. You can feel it, the not so obvious feeling that he sees completely through your excuses. “I-” You start, stopping as soon as you realize there is no decent way to say this confession of yours. Sam looks as though he’s leaning on the edge of his metaphorical seat as you search for the guts to speak. 

“I like the way you look at me. The way you speak to me this way. To be alone with no guard over my shoulder and-”

“Yes?” Sam interrupts as he walks to the side of his eisel, fully visible in all of his painful beauty. The sound of agonizing silence is almost too much to bear, threatening to crush both of you, if you aren’t strangled by your own lungs that have seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

“And, I like the way your hands feel when you touch me.” You respond so faintly you almost pray he didn’t hear you, but the way he lifts his eyebrows tells you he most certainly did. “Like you said, it feels good to be seen.” You repeat his own words back, hoping you didn’t just completely embarrass yourself. It feels almost like you are staring at the blade of a sword, waiting for it to either cut you in two or to spare you as you await Sam’s response. 

He puts his hands behind his back as he walks towards you, slowly moving closer as his eyes scan you over. 

“Oh your Highness…” 

“I’m so sorry if I’ve upset you-” 

“Don’t speak.” Sam softly commands, your heart is beating almost deftly in your ears you half wonder if he can hear it. “I’m glad you asked to see me once more.” He says kindly, you take a shallow breath to prepare yourself for the inevitable rejection. “Do you think of me often?” He asks with a subtle tilt of his head, a glimmer in his eye makes your knees weak. You search rapidly for the words to speak, not expecting him to ask you such a question. “Be honest, your Highness. No more secrets.” He grins, your mouth is dry with nervousness. “I do.” You answer, your voice shaking as he steps closer to you. “What do you think about, madam?” His tone is almost a taunt, but his tone is deeper than before, his question swirls in your ears and you blush as you begin to imagine all of the fantasies that have passed through your day dreams.

“More than just having my portrait painted.” You answer meekly as you look up at him through your lashes, he is so close now. Sam lifts his chin up as he understands your implications, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Mmm, is that right?” He rasps as he scans your reddened cheeks. “Well, you did ask for your portrait to be painted and we have so much time, we’ve hardly just begun.” Sam smirks with a darkened expression that makes you swallow hard. “May I reposition you, Your Grace? I think I have been inspired to go in a bit of a different direction.” He asks, a look of mischief in his eyes only spurs you on. 

“Y-Yes.” You manage, he gives you a smile as he brings his hand to your chin. He lifts your chin to meet his eyes, “Good girl.” He whispers and you have to do everything in your power to keep from sighing at his words that just went straight to your core. 

Sam withdraws his hand, opting to move to your waist, his large warm hands feel so good even through the heavy gown. His hands land on the front facing laces of the corset of your dress, his fingers finding the strings. “I do adore this dress on you, but I think I would much prefer to paint you without it.” He rasps, your lips part at his admission. You can’t find the words to say. Instead, you bring your own hands to hold his, the two of you watching intently as you assist him in pulling them undone. 

You let the dress fall to the ground around you, leaving you in only your chemise dressing gown. The sound of the heavy material falling to the floor leaves the two of you in a beautifully thick silence, full of a tension that makes your whole body feel alive. The two of your eyes meet, Sam looks in awe of you, your silhouette nearly visible through the thin white fabric, your hardened nipples ghosting under the cotton, the light from the setting golden sun exposing you. “Perfect.” He whispers. 

Taking a step away, Sam turns to bring over a wooden stool from his station, setting it beside you. “Take a seat.” He instructs. You sit down cautiously, unsure but delighted for what else he has in mind. Sam turns back to his place behind the easel, he gives you a pleased grin as he takes you in. “I need you to place your hands for me.” Sam says. “How would you like me, sir?” You respond with a coy smile. Your turn of phrase sparks something within the artist, the title upon your sweet voice makes Sam hot. “Place your hands on your chest.” He commands. You blush hot at his request, your hands slowly glide up your body and rest on your breasts. You lock eyes with him as you grope your breasts over the thin material.

Sam is nearly left breathless as you let your head roll to the side. You lean into his game you two have decided to play, letting him ogle you as you play with your breasts, allowing the artist to drink you in this way. You let out a breathy sigh when you tease over your nipples, the whole scene is full of a delectable tension between you and this angelic looking painter. His lips are parted in the most beautiful way, he shifts behind his canvas before speaking again. "Pull up your skirt, Princess." He commands you once more, you can't help but widen your eyes a tad at his words, you let one hand come down to your thigh and pinch the soft material of your under dress that lays against you, pulling it up, slowly, teasingly, until it's just above your knees. 

You tilt your head to him, "Like this, sir?" You ask with a gentle rasp, your tone low, feigning an innocence you know is driving him insane. “Higher.” He simply answers. You can’t help the slight smile that comes to your lips as you bring the dress higher until it’s just barely above your french silk panties. You look to him, “Like this?” You ask, his gaze travels up your body and you feel your whole body buzzing with excitement. “Beautiful. Now, I want you to place one hand over your panties.” Sam instructs. 

Timidly, you place your hand over your underwear, you let out a small sigh as you could already feel yourself growing wetter and wetter. “Just like that, darling.” Sam praises. You had to admit, you did feel beautiful this way, a feeling only Sam can seem to conjure within you. You look up at Sam, his eyes giving away a simple truth, he is barely holding on. His heart is slamming in his chest, as is yours, but the feeling of this moment is too good to rush. 

Sam walks around his easel once more, your face is flushed as he comes back, this time it feels different, less formal than before. Without saying a word, Sam slides his fingertips up your arm, goosebumps raising over your skin as he does so, his hand comes to the strap of your dressing gown, he pulls it off your shoulder, letting it rest just so. His hands make you feel like your whole body is on fire. He moves his other hand to cup over your own that is holding your breast, you gasp lightly at the feeling as he squeezes gently making you hold your breast tighter in a way that feels so good you can’t help but exhale deeply in reaction to his presence. You watch intently, studying the beauty of the tops of his large hands, so tanned and covered in gorgeous veins that shift as he moves, the hands of an artist that encapsulates your smaller ones. 

His other hand moves down your arm that rests between your legs, slowly moving until he’s got his hand over your own. Your eyes lock onto his beautiful brown eyes, you feel like you finally see them now, the way they look so golden and the rings of darkness inside of them, he’s so beautiful, more so than you first realized. 

“Does this feel alright, Princess?” He asks softly as he adds a gentle pressure to your silk covered pussy with your own fingers. You sigh out in pleasure at the much needed friction, “Feels so good.” You whisper, he moves your hand up and down over your clothed center, his other hand gliding his thumb over your nipple. “Mmm.” You whine, “You look so beautiful like this.” Sam praises softly, you can’t help how his words affect you, you need more. 

“But I think this,” he gently grabs your wrist, leading your hand down into your underwear, “Makes you look even more beautiful.” He smirks, leaning in closer to you, you moan out at the feeling of your fingertips gliding through your folds. “So wet.” You whisper, Sam brings his lips up to your ears. “Tell me, Princess, is this what you think of when you daydream of me?” He asks, his lips just grazing over the shell of your ear. 

A pathetic moan rolls up past your lips at his words, you move your fingers in slow circles over your needy clit. “So much better.” You respond breathlessly. He lets his hand slide down past your fingers working over your clit, his middle finger teasing your entrance, “I have to agree with you Princess, I don’t think I could have dreamt of anything this perfect.” He whispers, his breath cascading gently over the skin of your neck as he kisses softly at your pulse point, his finger gently pressing inside you. 

“Mmm, you’re so wet for me already.” He says, you can feel his smirk grow against your neck, proud to see just what hold he has over you. His teeth grazing gently over the sensitive skin in combination with his finger pumping inside of you makes your back arch with a moan, your chest pressing tightly against him. “Oh fuck.” You whimper, “You feel so tight, so warm.” Sam groans against your shoulder, his hand on your breast tightens as he starts to lose himself in the feeling of you. “Sam.” You moan as he adds another finger into your pussy, curling them up gently as he moves them inside of you. The feeling of your climax is hurtling towards you as your fingers increase the speed on your swollen clit. “S-Sam, ah, I-I’m-” Without letting you finish your thought, Sam interrupts you with a kiss, his hand moving from your breast and to your face, pulling you to him. 

You can’t help the way you absolutely melt into his lips, so much softer than you could have imagined. You let your eyelids fall closed, you kiss him desperately as your orgasm slams into you, your moans are muffled against Sam’s plush lips. His fingers speed up as he coaxes you through your climax, your hips rocking against his hand as you cum all over his fingers. 

Sam groans against your lips as your walls tighten around his fingers, the way your moans sound against him, the way your other hand is now clawing into his back, every inch of you is like holding lightning in his hands. 

You pull away to catch your breath as your orgasm melts away, your eyes scan Sam’s eyes, his pupils blown in desire, lips reddened from the roughness of your kiss. His hand slips out of your panties, you can’t help but tremble, his hand moves to rest against your waist. You remove your hand as well, grabbing at his vest, the two of you looking at each other, with a look of silent desperation for more. The air is heavy with expectation. What comes next? Who moves first? 

“I need you. All of you.” Sam breathes, voice laced in lust, his hand on your hip tightens, you smirk at his eagerness, “Then take me.” You say, pulling his vest, bringing him down into another kiss. He pulls you from the stool, close to him, bringing you to stand on wobbly knees, your fingers working at the buttons of his vest, working it off his chest. Sam begins to kiss down your neck, his hands sliding down your sides, his fingertips pulling up your gown, up and over your head, finally presenting your body to him. 

The warm glow of the setting sun along the expanse of your bare skin takes Sam’s breath away, oh how he wishes he could paint you here, in this very moment. Bathed in golden sunlight, eyes ablaze with passion, face reddened by an orgasm just moments ago and lips gently swollen by kisses from her lover, their first kiss. First Kiss, that's what he would call it, he would be the most acclaimed artist in all of the country, praised for the art of such a goddess, no way could she be real. 

“And to think, I was supposed to be painting you in all of those clothes.” He smiles gently, his words make your heart flutter. 

He works at the buttons of his shirt, exposing the beautiful muscle beneath. His skin is perfectly tanned, his chest and abdomen are gently carved with muscle. The view of him this way makes your lips part and your cheeks blush as you shamefully let your eyes study him. You pull his shirt off of him slowly, letting the white cotton fall down his sculpted arms, his whole body is a masterpiece to behold, and you want nothing more than to feel him against you. 

“How you are even real is beyond me.” You whisper as you run your fingers along his side, letting your hand rest on the top of his breeches, your fingers dipping inside, teasing at the skin of his hip underneath. “You’re so sweet, Princess.” Sam says as he pulls you close to him, his hands resting against the small of your back, so gentle and large against you. Your bare chest against his feels so warm and soft, it’s taking everything in your power not to just have all of him right here, right now. His hands run down to your ass, squeezing softly, “I bet you taste even sweeter.” You sigh at his provocative words, his voice raspy as he practically speaks against your lips. Sam’s hands pull your soaked panties down your legs, you kick them off and widen your stance for him as he kneels before you, his hands grabbing at the backs of your thighs as he begins to kiss at the soft skin beneath. 

You can’t help but gasp at the gentle kisses he places on your skin, he begins to kiss up towards your core, his eyes lulled closed as he works to love on your skin. You put a leg over his shoulder, your hand gripping onto his head as he licks up your pussy, immediately sending a cry of pleasure from you. 

His tongue feels so soft and so warm you can't help but tug at his hair, the ribbon that once loosely held his hair up cascades down, his long brown hair working perfectly to keep you from collapsing into a heap as your fingers take hold. You let your head fall back with a long, deep moan. You couldn't care less if the whole castle heard you, Sam deserves every single whine, whimper and cry you make. 

His hand holds your thigh over his shoulder and the other against his chest, holding you close to him, wanting nothing more than to hold you close to him as he devours your achingly wet pussy. “F-Fuck Sam, ah, so good.” You say, hardly able to speak as he attaches his lips around your clit. You grip tightly to Sam’s hair and shoulder, trying your best not to let yourself fall as your one leg on the ground is shaking. Sam groans deliciously against you as your nails scrape over his scalp, sending a shockwave through you that has you moaning and gasping for breath. It's all so good, all too good. 

You pull Sam roughly by his hair away from you, you look down at him, his long hair is wild from your hands running through it, his chin and gorgeously plump lips shine with your wetness, his expression one of confusion and desperation to please, “I want to feel you inside me.” You say longingly, he gives you such a perfect smile you can hardly contain yourself looking down at this man who is looking at you like you’ve hung the moon. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you to say those words.” Sam whispers, you blush as he guides you down to the floor that thankfully is covered by the backdrop that flows all the way down to the marble beneath you. 

Undoing his boots and tugging desperately at his breeches, Sam works them down his legs, leaving him only in his undergarments. The feeling in the air shifts to something so passionate and loving, a stark contrast to the fervor between the two of you just moments ago. You sit on the soft cloth beneath you, the both of you sitting on your knees, looking at the other. “I find you absolutely breathtaking, you have enraptured me. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way before.” Sam confides in a near whisper as he leans closer to you, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You take his hand, holding his palm to your cheek, leaning into his touch. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way either.” You reply, your heart soaring in your chest at the thought. You want more of him, to be all his. “Can I- um, can I touch you?” You ask quietly, your hand reaching out to touch his knee, both of you only inches away from each other. 

“Please.” Sam whispers as he brings your hand to his hardened shaft that's behind his thin underwear. You let your hand timidly slip into his drawers, your hand gently taking his cock in your hand. Sam shudders out a sigh at your touch and you have to hold back the moan of the feeling of him in your hand, “Oh, Princess.” He whimpers, you slowly begin to pump him watching as Sam’s brows knit together in pleasure, his lips gently parted as he focuses on the feeling of your soft hand wrapped around him, stroking him inside of his underwear. He looks like an angel this way, on his knees and practically melting into your touch, his expression is one you will think of over and over again from this night on, so at ease and so full of pleasure from just your touch. 

You lean in and kiss him sweetly, your hand still working him as he moans against your lips. “Want to feel you.” He whispers against your lips, you hum against him with a smile as you pull at his underwear. Sam pulls them off before sitting before you once more, his gorgeously erect cock resting against his toned stomach. 

You straddle his lap, sitting against his length, his hardened shaft between your legs is so warm and feels like silk on your wet pussy. A sigh passes through the two of you at the feeling of the other this way. You rock your hips against him, Sam takes his cock in his hand letting the tip slip through your folds, you lower yourself slowly onto his dick, moaning as you can feel him stretching you out. You watch him as you descend unto him, his face even more beautiful, he’s oozing ecstasy. “So tight, ah fuck, Princess.” He groans as you completely take him inside, letting him fill you up to the hilt. You let out a small yelp, he’s so much bigger than you’ve ever experienced before, you let your eyes close for a moment as you adjust to his size. Sam’s hands resting on your hips squeeze you gently, bringing you back to those beautiful brown eyes.

“Princess? Are you alright? We can go slow-” Sam asks nervously, only for you to interrupt.

“No, it’s not that. Just feels so good and s-so big, ah.” You stutter out a whine as you begin to rock your hips, taking him in slowly as you begin to ride him. “Just wanna ride you.” You moan out, eyes lulled shut as you begin to move, his cock hitting your cervix in just the right way you can’t help but cry out in euphoria every time you rock against him. You let the speed of your motions increase as you continue to ride him. “Oh god, ah, Sam you- ah, mmm, fuuuuck.” You moan, his arms are wrapped around you, hands squeezing tightly as you roll your hips against him. “Feels so perfect, ah, you take me so well, angel.” Sam praises, he buries his face in your chest, your hand falls to the back of his head, bringing him to your breasts. 

His lips latch against your nipple, gently sucking as you continue to rock against him. His moans stifle against your breast, the sound of his whimpers makes you nearly collapse just from the sound of him. A loud moan is pulled from within you, your thighs begin to shake, Sam detaches his lips from you, his arms tight around you as he smoothly rolls the two of you over, having you on your back with him over you.

“I want to watch you cum, Princess, cum so pretty for me.” He groans as he pulls you by your hips against him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he hikes your legs over his hips. You can’t help but let out a sob as he slams deep inside of you, hitting a place within you you never thought existed. He smirks to himself as he begins a tortuous pace, fast and hard and it's more than anything you could ever need, you need it bad, fuck you need this for the rest of your life.

Your breasts bounce as he rails into you, “Oh fuck, Sam, so fucking deep oh god.” You whimper, the knot inside of your lower stomach feels like it's about to snap. “S-Sam, I’m so close, s-so close-” “So am I, angel.” He pants out, his long hair flowing with his thrusts, brows knit, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip and you can’t stop thinking how you saw almost that exact expression all through these three sessions as he was lost in concentration, and here you are, about to cum for the second time on the floor of your drawing room by this expertly talented artist, what a sight to behold.

A loud cry rips from your throat and you can’t stop the flow of nonsensical slurring of curses and Sam’s name until Sam brings his hand to your open mouth, the pad of his thumb resting against your tongue, his hand gripping your jaw as he fucks you relentlessly. You close your lips around it, humming against his thumb, unable to stay completely quiet. He releases his grip on your jaw and brings his thumb to your clit, your head rolls to the side, eyes squeezing shut as he begins to roll tight circles into your throbbing clit.

“Sam, I-I’m coming, fuck, I’m- ah, fuck me.” “Cum for me pretty girl, all over me, ah, I am too, ah, fuck.” Sam cries out as his thrusts become sloppy and more desperate, deeper and slower, it’s enough to make you cry out in pure, agonizing pleasure as he brings you both to climax. You grab hold of Sam, pulling him close to you, his hand tangled in your hair, your nails running down his back, the both of you filling the room with a cacophony of moans and groans and whimpers. 

Your thighs shaking around his hips, as the two of you fall into each other, both panting, in search of breath, taking in the delicious feeling of him holding you in this way, far too innocent a thought for all what has just transpired between the two of you. He gently lifts himself from you, and you can’t stop yourself from pulling him back down to you, letting him lay back on top of you once more. “Don’t.” Is embarrassingly all you can think to say. “Please, just want you here.” You whisper against his ear, his breathing still jagged, he lets out a sigh of contentment, relaxing into you. His hands hold you tight, rolling you expertly to be on top of him. Sam’s hands gently caressing your back as he holds you, the both of you taking in the afterglow of one another.

“I would paint us like this if I could.” He sighs, eyes staring up at the ceiling of the darkening room, the sun setting on your time together. 

You sit up with a shock, “The painting! We-”

“Like I said before, I could paint your portrait with my eyes closed, Princess.” He smiles at you, easing you back down to lay against him once more. 

“Especially since there is no way I will ever be able to get you out of my head now.” His voice rasps sweetly as he locks eyes with you. You lean in for a kiss, gentle and soft. 

“So… tea time soon?”

“I’ll bring your portrait, and it better be the one.”

“I know it will be.”

My beautiful tag list (thank you for your patience i love you)

@tripthelight-fanfic @emsgvf @ageofstardust @dakotadovato @screechesincoherently @gretavankleep37 @strangeh0rizons @capturethechaos @kiszkathecook @jakeslovehandles @depressingdarlin @gretavanfleas @maverick-rose @prophetofthedune @josiee-gvf @doodle417 @readthinkbeme @katie-gvf @lallisonl @toxbexannouncedx @kdarling1 @theweightofjake

#ugh i love sam #gvf #greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #jake gvf #josh gvf #danny wagner #sam kiszka #danny gvf #sam gvf #sam kiszka smut #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka fanfic #sam kiszka imagine #gvf smut #gvf fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #gvf imagine #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfic

[yourantag]

Morningstar and Fun Facts

AN: Hello fellow Ithaqua simps. Apologies for the long radio silence, college was kinda brutal. I've been wanting to draw something for "Of Vices and Virtues" for a while, but couldn't find the motivation. So, after many months and getting through finals, I offer you this! ...and some fun facts for my previously posted fics. No one asked for them, but I figured it'll be a good way to organize a mini masterlist until I finally gather the motivation to make the official one. Whether you're new here or not, I hope you enjoy!

"Of Vices and Virtues" Fun Facts:

The concept of shadows and light representing vices and virtues, good and evil, was literally just made up on the spot as an excuse as to why the reader is so intrigued by pre-snap Morningstar

I kinda had to get rid of reader's parents somehow to further get across the point of Helel being all you have just as you are all he has, so I made them traitors lol

But also, the sweet sweet taste of betrayal is always worse when it's from the people you trusted the most

Reader's parents were the ones to snitch on Morningstar's mom since they believed she was using witchcraft on you

They just wanted to protect you as you were slowly acting weirder and weirder the more time you spent in the forest

Naturally, the first person they blamed was the lady who everyone already kinda thought was a witch

Really, it's just that your curiosity led to you being enraptured by others "true" selves, warping and twisting your views on people, including yourself

That being said, your light and Helel's shadows being irregular ends up implying that the shadows and light you see never fully expressed whether a person was really "good" or "bad," just as the world is never black and white

Were you always insane? Or was it your abilities that drove you mad? Or perhaps your reliance on said abilities was what brought you to your downfall?

Regardless of what conclusion you come too, I hope it was fun

"Apricity" and "Zephyr" Fun Facts:

I actually only wrote Apricity since a friend said there wasn't enough Ithaqua fics

Legit I didn't feel like writing another fanfic ever again since my first one (I still get nightmares of it every night)

I never intended for Zephyr to exist, but I really wanted to show that one, you aren't an oblivious idiot, and two, you only got that one on one match because you specifically asked for it, worked for it, because you were willing to try and keep him in your life instead of letting him slip away

Because I wrote Zephyr after Apricity, Zephyr built on and sometimes conflicted with Apricity, which led to me straight up having to go back through it at least two hundred times

Despite that, I've kinda already forgotten what happened in both fics 💀

"Sweetest Thing" Fun Facts:

Currently the one and only non-Ithaqua fanfic I have (hint hint)

Another fic for another friend, and honestly I had a blast writing it

More people need to write for the ladies cause I don't see them enough >:[

This idea ended up coming from a random prompt generator that threw at me "royal" and "baking cookies together"

It's extremely attractive when someone tries to cook for you, especially when they aren't good because it shows they care and want you to know they care even though they aren't confident in themself

Their love for you overpowers their fear of failure and the unknown

And failing then trying to do it together is also super sweet

I might end up doing this prompt again but with Ithaqua at some point

(Morningstar accidentally making bread instead of cake or a salty scone instead of a cookie sounds fun too)

("Is that a scone dusted in salt???" "...I was trying to make sugar cookies.")

"New Beginnings" Fun Facts:

I hate this fic with a burning passion

I put too many ideas in and described too much

Literally I think this is the worst fic I've posted thus far

It was meant to show a world where Ithaqua and Nathaniel are happy siblings, then go into the romance bit with the reader and be all sweet and sappy

This fic made me understand why writers start killing off characters out of nowhere

HOW DO YOU ONLY WRITE FLUFF???

Let me just sprinkle in a little angst,,, just a little...

Half considered shooting Nathaniel mid fic for fun/hj

In conclusion, I'm never writing a fic with more than one central idea ever again

"Mercy" Fun Facts:

Well, first and foremost, the fact that it has a title at all is probably a surprise

Yes, it does have a title, but no, I'll never actually put it there in the post

It doesn't look nice when I do :<

I should probably try and format my posts differently-

It was honestly pretty difficult to write this since I had never gotten a request before and didn't know how to do it

I think in the end, it turned out pretty decent

I hope to get better at writing requests in the future since they make me happy

The prompt actually made me realize that duo hunters is basically a goldmine of opportunities

Jealousy, betrayal, character dynamics, and other things are so much easier to do when you're in the perfect setting for it

"Paper Stars" and "Glass Heart" Fun Facts:

This idea started when I saw a reel on Instagram about this person who made a bunch of paper stars

I've always thought it was cool, and then I remembered the little legend and was like "mmm yes angst"

It was a new flavor too! Unrequited love instead of self sabotage

Oh wait actually it's self sabotage in a trench coat and a hat

Well, technically both since you didn't know that your love wasn't unrequited 

This duo fic was actually gonna be a trio fic with the last one being happy

But I think I like the amount of emotional damage I've inflicted with Glass Heart

(If requested though I'll finish writing the third part)

(It's called Velvet Moon)

I actually never had a chance to add this in, but later on, Ithaqua finds out that those who remained in the manor never had to participate in matches again, so his sacrifice was for nothing

No I am not sorry

#idv #identity v #identity 5 #idv ithaqua #idv fanart #identity v fanart

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Hi, hello, hola! Thank you for the tag today, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe! Instead of six sentences, today I bring you "six somethings" - six places I'm excited to eat while I'm in London (March 24-April 7)!

If anyone has any recommendations for favourite places to eat in London, PLEASE let me know! 🍽️😋

I'll tag up here because this post is a long boi. Hello hello hello to a buncha folks! @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @cutestkilla @thewholelemon @dohrnaira @ebbpettier @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @ionlydrinkhotwater @imagineacoolusername @larkral @raenestee @onepintobean @theimpossibledemon @whogaveyoupermission @tectonicduck

6.) Pret (Heathrow)

I know Shepard loses his tiny mind over the sandwiches from Pret, but. I dream of their Chocolate Moose. I have an absurd amount of food allergies, so finding a Chen-friendly, ready made chocolate mousse is a dream come true. So excited to cram it into my face after I clear Customs.

From My Good Egg, Good morning, good night, good morning:

“All right.” Simon goes back to fiddling with Bunce’s phone, and then he says to Bunce, hopeful, “Any chance you brought the rest of my baguette from Pret?”

Bunce says, slowly and carefully, “Simon. I do not know the whereabouts of your airport sandwich. I was rather busy figuring out where you had disappeared to.” 

5.) Borough Market

I have very fond memories of Borough Market from the first/last time I visited London back in 2018. I remember sticking my head in a jar full of dried truffles and just inhaling all that amazing, savoury, umami truffly goodness. (Like, you know, the way that normal humans do.)

From What's Left by @cutestkilla:

I’ve been hanging around Borough Market quite a bit, and I’ve had everything from cheese and croissants to chorizo and balsamic vinegar (in small sample portions only). I think, though, that my favourite thing so far was a fresh buttered wild garlic scone that I bought with some of my stolen money after trying a sample.

4.) MotherMash (Covent Garden)

I also had a good time with a pal at MotherMash years ago - I think instead of pie, I had bangers and mash with gravy, and a tiny, perfect apple pie. My spouse has never been here, but he does frequently say, "I would like to eat a whole pie," and now he will be able to eat TWO pies - one for his main, and one for dessert.

From A cake with your name on it:

Baz was still fuming about the tasting when we met up at his flat for dinner. We had takeaway from MotherMash, and Baz kept stabbing his steak and Stoutheart pie instead of eating it. 

“I’ve never met such an idiot,” he said. “A bumbler. A fool. An absolute nightmare.” 

“Okay,” I said. “We still have that list from my mother with three other bakeries.” 

Baz whipped his head around to stare at me. 

“No,” he said, loudly. Too loudly. He was oddly flushed. “I don’t care if I have to murder and then resurrect him - Simon Snow is making our wedding cake.” 

3.) Brick Lane Beigel Bake (Shoreditch)

I asked my spouse, EarlobeGreyTea, what he wanted to do or eat or see while we're in London and all he would say, over and over again, was "Bagel." He is a remarkably easygoing travel companion.

From an earlier draft of My Good Egg, which ended up getting cut/changed:

They get to Brick Lane before Baz can embarrass himself any further, and he waits outside of a bagel shop until Simon comes out with a salt beef bagel crammed into his mouth, and a very full paper bag. “This one’s for you,” he says, holding out a salmon and cream cheese bagel to Baz. 

Baz takes it, but doesn’t bite into it right away. “Thank you,” he says, slowly, thinking that maybe offering food is one of Simon’s love languages as well, along with killing things. The rats seem to be a lucky intersection. 

2.) E Pellici's (Bethnal Green)

I think my favourite full English breakfast that I ever had was at Pellici's, which is tiny and and owned by an Italian family. The owner spent most of the time I was there embarrassing one of his teenage employees and a girl who was interviewing him for a school project. The owner high fived me when I bought a t-shirt and he went slack-jawed at my powerful, resounding high five. It was great.

From an unpublished bit of My Good Egg:

In the car, Baz passes both slices of fruitcake to Simon, and Simon practically dances in his seat. 

“Are you sure?” Simon asks, “like, really, really sure? Cause I’m telling you, this is really fucking amazing fruitcake, and you can’t buy it most of the time unless you order it special - they don’t even have it on the menu anymore.” “They’re yours, Simon,” Baz says. Honestly, Simon Snow is impossible. He was ready to kill a man for Baz, or not kill a man for him, and now he’s beaming at Baz because of some fruitcake. He needs to pin Simon to a mattress and keep him there — with handcuffs, with a collar, with a ring.

1.) Dishoom (King's Cross)

Dishoom is like... truly magical. That house black daal is no joke. I lack words to describe how amazing the food is - just check out their site (but honestly, it will make you hungry). Everything I've ever had there was fucking delicious and the place and the atmosphere is so gorgeous, just lush and colourful and immersive.

I shared another snippet before about Dishoom from My Good Egg, but here's Simon on the phone with Agatha right after he's ordered takeaway:

“Hey Ags. How’re you – no, I’m not bleeding or throwing up or on fire. I – yeah, I know you said not to call you when you’re at work unless I was bleeding or throwing up or on fire, but this is an – look, it’s not for me this time, all right? Or Penny. It’s for a friend – okay, rude, I have friends other than you and Penny!” Pause. “Yes, Agatha, we’re friends, even if you – yeah, I know you said you would never do another house visit, but you said that the last time, too!” 

Baz leans back so he can catch Bunce’s eyes, and mouths, What the fuck?  

Bunce just rolls her eyes and shrugs, like, He’s Simon, what can you do about it?  

“Well,” Simon says, triumphant, “we already ordered the daal for you, so there!” Pause. “Yeah, love you too. Bye.”  

RIPs & Honourable Mentions

Cinnamon Soho (also mentioned in "A cake with your name on it") - They closed down during the pandemic. But they had a delicious Indian afternoon tea 🥲

Cereal Killer Cafe - This place was rec'd to me by one of my British co-workers (his seven kids were mad for it), but sadly, they closed their storefront during the pandemic and went online. (In my headcanon, this was where Winifred from My Good Egg wanted to go for her(?) first(?) birthday)

Fortnum & Mason - I WILL be going here to buy tea and biscuits (and to replace one of my favourite tote bags, LOL), but not for high tea or afternoon tea. (We have a few other places lined up for that, including The Swan at the Globe and Tea House Theatre). Sorry, Daphne!

Nando's - I suggested to my spouse that we should get cheeky Nando's and have top bants and he gave me a dead-eyed look as if his soul left his body

Again, if you have any recommendations of favourite places to eat in London, please let me know!

I mean, I suppose I'll be doing other things besides eating, like hanging out with my beautiful friends, going to stationery shops, visiting the flower market, seeing shows and things... but really, food is the main draw. 😂😂😂

Happy Sunday!

#six something sunday! #delicious things to consoom #with fic snippets #my good egg #good night good morning good night #a cake with your name on it #what's left by cutekilla #London 2023 #my fic tag

[happyanderes]

🍴🍰Sweetheart, Sweet tooth 🍰🍴

Yandere cakeverse project prologue

Quick explanation to cakeverse. It’s a spin-off of the famous Omegaverse, but instead of the Alphas, betas, and Omegas, we got Forks, your everyday normal people, and Cakes. Forks lose their sense of taste gradually as they grow. Cakes are just like normal people, except they smell and taste (both flesh and bodily fluids) like cake to Forks, which drives Forks crazy. Cakes aren’t aware of their own identities, which makes it even more dangerous. I did a little bit of modification to this setting and even if they’re called Cakes, it extends to all sweets.

Holding a suitcase, you look up to the sky of this city, just not long ago, your taste disappeared completely, slowly faded out like the end scene of a movie.

Desserts were your favorite things in the world, having the sweetness melt away in your mouth brings pure happiness to your heart. Yet now, everything is bland, like this gray, gray world.

After accidentally biting a chunk out of your friend who, apparently is a cake, you escaped and moved to a new city, hoping to find help as they say they have ways to help Forks.

Even though you know there isn't medication for Forks yet, you still moved in, in hopes of retaining your sense of taste and going back to being normal.

The moment you step into the town, your sense of smell was flooded with sweetness, you feel your stomach sink when you do. It’s a familiar yet overwhelming smell, the sickening smell of the forbidden fruit. Your body tense up, your hands shaking. You should escape, you don’t believe in your self control, but the fee for breaking your lease is way too high and you don’t have any more money, not after that little bottle of cake blood.

You curse at yourself for giving in to that Cake’s offer.

Slowly, you follow the map on your phone, to your new place. You applied for a job a while ago, a night shift for a fast food restaurant, no matter how much it pains you to work with food, it’s the best paying one you can get. This is your life now, you think bitterly.

Days went by painfully slow, but a month has passed since you got to this town. As you hand out food through the drive through window, you see the child in the back seat staring at you, his lips are moving, you don’t know what he said, but you have an idea when the child’s finger points at you, his mother quickly pulling his finger away.

You look terrible, your hair is a mess, there are dark circles under your eyes, and no matter how hard you try, the wrinkles between your brows are unable to smooth down.

In summary, you look like you’re on the verge of insanity and/or death.

In this town, for some reason, you smell Cakes here and there, even when they’re supposed to be rare, your hunger for tasting something sweet again often leads you to trail off to follow the sweet scent they emit until you manage to pull yourself out of it. You are often afraid of the time when your sanity returns a little too late, and something you’ll forever regret has been done.

After what felt like forever, your shift ended, you head home, to a small castle made up of four walls, big enough for only you to curl up inside.

As you open the door and kick your shoes off, you find a letter laying right behind your door, it looks strange, you bend down to pick the letter up and look at it. An alluring sweet scent emits, wafting into your nose and tickling your sanity.

Like you’re under a spell, slowly, you tear the letter open.

Here is a list of the sweets I plan to do. I also take requests!

Chocolate ganache

Macarons

Mint chocolate ice cream

Scones

Red velvet cake

Spork

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere stories #yandere fic #yandere oneshots #yandere thoughts

[izzy-b-hands]

thinkin abt Izzy visiting the galley after he and Ed argue

Roach lets him vent and hands him things to taste test and adds in his own venting ('they have to know I can't possibly make a bird safe cake for Olivia that ALSO has every single ingredient they want.' 'they SHOULD know, but we both know they don't care' *mutual sigh*)

Eventually any time Izzy argues with anyone onboard for any reason

he winds up craving whatever food Roach last had him taste test (cut to a groggy Roach and Izzy reenacting that one Rugrats scene, except the real reason Izzy is making pudding at the asscrack of dawn is bc he woke up to a hole in the ship, signs of a battle they all fucking slept thru but apparently thankfully won, and after arguing with Ed that 'ppl can't just stop being on watch bc they're tired, they AT LEAST need to tell someone else to take over for them bc otherwise LOOK WHAT HAPPENS no I know it was an accident but i know you'll be pissed like me abt this in a few hours so just. help me address this issue now! pls!' all he wanted was the same pudding Roach made and had him test earlier in the week)

(on that note, after Roach helps him finish it up they take a couple portions to Ed and Stede bc like. After a moment of reflection maybe they were both just panicking and tired and taking it out on each other rather than actually parsing how to handle the mutual moment/feeling of 'oh fuck this could have been Bad')

And Roach winds up finding that he gets a bit... miffed, almost? when he's mutually venting with the rest of the crew and no one reacts Quite Like Izzy Would to whatever he's upset abt. He knows that's silly and not something he actually blames anyone for of course but

He ends up seeking out Izzy, sometimes with a bit of something to snack on in hand ('because you can't live off coffee, Izzy. No, I'm a doctor, this is my Doctor Opinion, now try this scone because Stede says they're dry but I say he's-')

and can finally breathe when he's met with yes, sympathy and advice but also a quick and serious offer to Handle It for him ('We can't stab anyone for being upset dinner was late. However, in my defense, we were sinking-' 'and they should have been fucking grateful you managed to cook in those conditions at all. But you're right. No stabbing.' 'Not yet.')

also the birthday cake he makes for Izzy is definitely shaped like a knife (Jim's is two knives side by side, per Izzy's request. He knows they like the same things as each other, ex. stabbing instruments, but that Jim should be able to have their cake be different from his. Plus, at any given time Jim has bare minimum two knives on them, so it just makes sense. Roach's would also be a knife/cleaver in theory, but for the fact that he just wants someone else to make it for him so actually it could be shaped like a fucking. anything damn near and as long as it's edible and Made For Him he's happy akdjfjg. Cut to that scene of 'everyone gets to try making a mini cake for Roach! be creative!' from Stede and a mess of a galley but a cute lil gallery of homemade cakes for him.)

#text post #idk im just rizzy and other izzy ships noodlin' rn #long post #that wasn't gonna be long but this is stream of consciousness so here we be

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

General Elections 2022

Mitsuhide’s Special Story

(Ugh. All I said was, "It's my first time.")

I visited "Steward," where Mitsuhide works, and for some reason, I was being instructed on manners.

Mitsuhide: "Well then, My Lady. Please enjoy your meal while remembering what I just explained to you."

Mai: "Okay. Thanks for the food."

(This formal afternoon tea thing is making me nervous.)

The table in front of me is lined with beautiful honey-colored tea and a cake stand with chocolates, fruit, sandwiches, pies, and scones.

(I asked Mitsuhide to teach me some etiquette because it's my first time, but this guy is so spartan!)

Instead of enjoying the food, I can't help but feel nervous as Mitsuhide keeps his eyes fixed on me.

(Let's see, okay, first, let's have some scones.)

(I think you cut the hard-to-eat ones with a knife and fork.)

Mitsuhide: "My lady."

Mai: "Y-Yes!?"

As I was about to put the knife in the scone, he quietly called out to me.

Mitsuhide: "Please eat the scone with your hands."

Mitsuhide: "You can use the knife and fork for sandwiches if they are large enough."

Mai: "Wow. You already know the etiquette of the concept café."

Mitsuhide: "Of course. It's necessary to please you, my lady."

I stare in amazement, and he smiles smugly at me.

(He calls me my lady and is a good teacher, just like a real butler.)

Although he had no experience being a butler, his behavior felt perfect.

(But I know more about this period than he does...)

Mai: "Well, since I'm relying on you all the time, is there anything I can do to give you some pointers?"

Mitsuhide: "I see, so my lady wishes to train the butler herself."

Mai: "I know it's a bit forward of me to say I want to train you, but I'd like to help."

Mitsuhide: "I see. I understand."

Mitsuhide: "I would like to take your word for it and ask you to tell me something."

He narrowed his eyes, keeping his polite tone.

(Looks like I got something I can teach him too!)

I stopped drinking my tea and nodded my head, my chest pounding.

Mai: "Yes, as long as I know."

Mitsuhide: "Then what should I do if I, the butler, love my master?"

Mai: "What?"

Mitsuhide: "Can you please tell me what to do with that pretty little mouth of yours, my lady?"

Mai: "Ah..."

Heat slowly spread to my cheeks, and my heartbeat jumped as his long fingers lifted my chin and his inviting eyes entwined with my own.

(Even if I'm the lady and he is the butler between us...)

Mai: "I think she would be happy if you could honestly tell her how you feel."

Mitsuhide: "Then please give me an example."

Mai: "I love you."

Mitsuhide: "I like you, my lady―no, Mai, I love you."

His low, soothing voice echoed in my ear.

(I'm sure he's telling me how he really feels because he doesn't have the butler's tone he used to have earlier.)

(Even if it's between a lady and a butler.)

(This man always shows his heart only to me.)

I looked at Mitsuhide, my heart burning fiercely in my chest.

Event Masterlist

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen jp #ikesen #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #cybird #ikemen series #ikesen translations