#Ginger Treasure Trail

[bearnakedbaker]

LAD

[the-bobbybee]

o Strawberry blonde with tatts

[busterwood]

[myeclecticwetdreams]

Check it out

ginger at the bedside ...

[bearnakedbaker]

HAPPY EASTER!

[the-bobbybee]

Belly fuzz and ginger treasure trail

[myeclecticwetdreams]

Check it out

ginger pride ...

[winke1]

[adoniserosapollo]

Water sports: Matt Dubbe

[starlightsuffered]

Treasure (p1)

Info - plus sized reader, reader who isn’t conventionally attractive, medieval AU, bullying

I grabbed another dress out of the washing and hung it up on the clothing line. I looked longingly over at my sister Maryam who was talking very closely to the town’s most desired man, Cain.

His sheep pranced around his legs. He leaned on his Shepard's crook. He was always hanging around our house. We’d been friends as children, and he hadn’t liked Maryam because she never wanted to play or get dirty.

Things changed once puberty began. I’d had a crush on Cain for as long as I could remember. Unfortunately, he hadn’t felt the same. This had all been worsened when I hadn’t grown into my looks whatsoever. My ratty ginger hair had gotten more unruly. My strong features did not meet the feminine ideals of what a man wanted in a wife.

Maryam had been the complete opposite. Her auburn hair was smooth and tidy. Her features were sharp and almost feline in their grace. She didn’t have dirt caked under her fingernails from gardening, nor did she have smears of freckles from the sun or calluses on her hands. Her skin was soft and smooth and she was a dainty beauty.

Cain no longer spoke to me. He was doing knights training, and he had to tend to his flock. I saw the way Maryam turned her nose up at the creatures, even the sweet lamb. I knew the only reason that Cain hadn’t proposed was because he knew Maryam wouldn’t say yes while he was still a farmer. It didn’t matter that his family owned the most lucrative farm in the village, and provided livestock and food for the king himself.

I knew Maryam was waiting for him to be knighted so she could say her husband was part of the royal house. It was only a matter of time before I saw my sister get all I wanted. She was so beautiful it didn’t matter how low our station was.

Part of the issue I knew was no matter how hard I worked, no matter the jobs I did or the little I ate, my body stayed curvy. I was not naturally slender like Maryam. I had heavy breasts, wide hips, and rolls that I couldn’t seem to lose. Where Maryam was angular and elegant I was soft and full. I had not a single suitor in all the town.

This was why I did so much manual labour. My parents knew I wouldn’t be able to be traded for a boon in marriage. Instead, they trained me like I was a son and could pay my way in that regard.

“Y/n have you noticed anything odd lately?” Cain called to me. I was shocked he was addressing me. Ever since that one summer afternoon, when I’d leaned in to what I thought was a kiss and saw the disgust on his face, we hadn’t spoken. I’d felt extremely ashamed. I had also been so depressed I’d thrown myself into house work and avoided him at all costs.

“What do you mean?” I asked, pushing sweaty fly away hairs from my eyes.

“Some of my sheep have disappeared, not even a tuft of wool left, they’re just gone. There’s no blood or a trail of any kind. Also, when I’ve gone out in the field, a lot of the rocks have scorch marks.”

“You don’t think….” I trailed off.

“Don’t worry y/n,” tittered Maryam. “Dragons only kidnap beautiful maidens who they can trade for treasure.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“God only knows if a dragon could carry you,” Maryam said in a much too loud whisper. I glared at her, feeling tears of anger fill my eyes. Cain made a sympathetic face but said nothing.

I felt anger boil up inside me. It was something I could rarely control or hide. I waited until Maryam turned back to Cain to giggle with him. I lifted the bucket of suds and dirty water. I tossed the lot onto Maryam and her new sky blue dress.

“You bitch!” Maryam screamed. I couldn’t help the wild laugh I let out as I ran into the house. I knew she wouldn’t follow. She would get much more happiness from whining and making herself the victim to Cain.

He and I used to tease Maryam for how reactive she was. Now, I was sure he’d soothe her every little moan. That was just how it worked for pretty people.

I hummed sad songs to myself as I prepared the dinner. Mom and dad would soon be home from managing our meagre fruits stand.

“Well, that boy of yours is going to run us out of business,” My father sighed and let loose the three coins he’d gained that day. My mother didn’t say a word as she came in and all but fell into her chain at the dinner table.

“Well, when Cain finally gets his knight ship I will marry him and then you’ll be hired on in his stead to the most lucrative farm in the village,” Maryam said plainly. She had begun to cut into the chicken I’d prepared and the steamed carrots.

“Thank you for making dinner sweetheart,” my mother said softly. Though she didn’t speak much, she was about the only person who understood I was less than thrilled with my life. She often offered up apologies and thanks but no solutions.

“There may be a dragon about,” I said offhandedly.

“A dragon!” My father asked in completely disbelief. “There hasn’t been one of those in centuries.”

“Well Cain has been seeing burn marks and missing sheep,” I claimed. “You know it might be exciting to meet a dragon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my father sputtered. “Business is bad enough as it is without a dragon driving away trade and burning crops.”

“Well thankfully Cain has a remedy for that as well, he wants to go into dragon hunting,” Maryam said casually.

“He used to want to be an explorer,” I commented wistfully. “He always said we’d travel together and find a new continent or something.”

I pushed my food around on my plate sadly. The whole table was quiet. They’d all assumed that Cain would be the one to take the burden of me off their hands. I’d always been seen as undesirable and not nearly as pretty as my sister. When Cain and I had been so close they’d accept the miracle with open arms.

When it was clear he wouldn’t be proposing or even close to interested, they were forced to realise even the best of people knew looks mattered. I wasn’t something people would look past.

That night I laid in bed, and had such a strange dream. The scent of sweet fire wood burning filled the air. All around me was hot, so unbearably hot. I heard a screech but it was like I was paralyzed in my dream. I could not break free and move to see who needed my help. I wanted to move, to get up, to be useful in some way.

“Treasure,” the word was repeated over and over in my mind. It seared itself into my brain.

I jerked awake. Around me was the echoing sounds of droplets plinking into pools. I sat up, feeling completely disoriented. My head was throbbing and my clothing was drenched with sweat.

I did not feel the straw mattress underneath me. Nor did I feel the sheep’s wool pillow Cain had made me as a long ago Solstice gift. Whatever I was on was hard and cold. It admittedly felt good against my burning skin.

My eyes began to adjust when I saw a movement before me. I sucked in a breath of utter fear, nearly losing my bladder as I took in what I was seeing.

A large, scaly beast had stepped into the small bit of light where I was. It was a glittering navy blue, claws, and teeth, and armour that looked impenetrable. I had to still be dreaming. A dragon, a real life dragon was in front of me.

Just as my brain had processed what I was seeing, it changed. The mighty beast shrunk and curled in on itself. The scales turned to soft skin, and the mouth detracted. Its wings slipped into its back, and its neck shortened.

Finally, before me, was a man. He looked about my age. He still had long, razor sharp, black finger nails, but otherwise he looked mostly normal. He was handsome even. He had layers of thick brown curls. His eyes were shards of emerald. He did have a small pattern of dark blue scales under his eyes, but it looked more like the kohl women in the village wore than anything reptilian. He was tall, and slender, and nearly all sharp angles. He could have been mistaken for a prince if I hadn’t just seen what he truly was.

“Dragon,” I breathed.

“Half,” he corrected me.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker @therealbeabodoobee

[nahokura]

Oooh I have a prompt! If you are still taking them.

Aziraphale gets obsessed with how sexy Crowley’s tummy is. His shirt slides up when he asks him to get a book on a top shelf and Aziraphale is super turned on by it and the ginger treasure trail and he keeps trying to find ways to see it until Crowley starts getting suspicious he’s acting weird. Feel free to add an embarrassing flustered Aziraphale hehe. First time smut/getting together is encouraged!! Sorry I’m obsessed with the idea of his hot gorgeous stomach so I’m projecting lol. Thank you if you choose to write it!!!! I hope you post all yr prompt fill fics

WITH PLEASURE!!!

Themes: light Smut, funny, fluff, comfort

Tw: Porn w/ plot? , First time, Dom!Aziraphale, Sub!Crowley, handjob

English isn't my first language, I'm sorry for the mistakes!

I also didn't write for a long time, so the writing might not be the best one you've read, but thank you if you take the time to read!

Aziraphale loved to stare at Crowley and that wasn't a secret, except to Crowley. Every time the ginger was in sight, he would immediately turn his head to him, have a little smile but quickly hide it, then he would go back to his usual hobbies, while sometimes glancing at Crowley.

The demon was oblivious to this, well, he did stare back anyways, so he didn't really pay attention to it.

Aziraphale was having a hard day, there were more customers than usual, and that's why he called Crowley and asked him to help him. The demon said no at first, but he couldn't resist so before Aziraphale hung up, he groaned, and said okay.

The angel eyed Crowley as they both worked. Crowley was getting the books for the customers, and Aziraphale was replacing them in the shelves so the bookshop stayed nice and tidy.

After a little time had passed, unfortunately they hadn't talked too much because of the customers, at least, they had stared at each other.

A customer came inside the shop, he looked around and saw the dictionaries that were on the highest shelf, because no one, actually bought dictionaries. He tapped Aziraphale's shoulder, and asked him politely to get it down, and the angel's voice echoed through the bookshop:

«Excuse me...Um, Crowley! Could you come give a book to one of our clients, please?!»

Crowley pratically shoved the book against the chest of the customer he was talking to, and he walked to the angel, a long groan leaving his throat. Aziraphale moved out of Crowley's way, and spoke again:

«This one...Ah! Yes! The biggest one!»

He flashed a big smile at the customer and explained about how he got the book, because the person asked it, and Aziraphale didn't like to lie. Even while talking, he glanced at Crowley, and inserted comments, apologizing for his grumpy behavior. When he looked back at Crowley and pointed him with his finger to talk about him to the client, he stopped in his track. Crowley was trying to get the book, obviously, but he was on his tip-toes, and the shirt that usually was stuck in his pants had gotten up a little bit, showing the start of the demon's slim waist and a ginger trail going from his pubic area to his belly button. Aziraphale's mouth stayed open for a bit, heat pooling in his stomach before he regained his composure and kept his conversation with the customer going as if nothing happened. Crowley got the book and handed it to the customer and gave him a forced sympathic smile.

«Here's your...Encyclopedia. Take good care of it and please, return it in time.»

The sympathy in his voice was definitely forced, Aziraphale could hear it, but he didn't make any comment about it. He simply agreed to what Crowley said as the customer left. Before he could leave for another client, Aziraphale discretely miracled a duster and handed it to him. Crowley arched an eyebrow.

«I'll take care of the customers now! Oh, and there are a few books that I need you to place in lower shelves, if you might, pretty please.»

The angel's words were fast, almost slurred, and the ginger didn't even had time to say anything that he was handed the cleaning device. His eyebrows furrowed at Aziraphale's behavior, and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He didn't complain, he just wanted the day to be over soon, and maybe drink with his angel to celebrate the end of it. Aziraphale stared as he walked to another customer, it was a chance that he could do two things at a time. Crowley didn't tuck his shirt back into his pants, and the blonde truly thought that it was a real miracle. Crowley could feel Aziraphale's eyes, and while he was picking up books and dusting the now empty shelves, he turned his gaze to Aziraphale, and despite his glasses being on and his poor eyesight, he could see his head turned to him. The angel looked away to concentrate on the client when Crowley looked at him, and the wheels worked inside the demon's brain. He looked down at himself, and noticed how his shirt was slighty raised. He got back on the flat of his feet, and he put the book back into the shelf, making sure that the author's last name started with the letter "T".

The last customer left the bookshop, and Aziraphale, with a sigh, closed the door and turned the sign over to indicate that the shop was closed. Crowley was laying on the couch, his legs spreaded awkwardly on both of the arms of the couch. He made sure that his happy trail was visible, he wanted to be sure that it was what Aziraphale was staring at. Crowley broke the silence first, making the angel turn over:

«Why was there so much people today?»

Crowley groaned and shifted, his right ankle going to his left knee. Aziraphale stepped closer to the couch Crowley was on. He was focused on the books Crowley stored for him, just to make sure that with everything that was going on at the same time, the ginger put them at the right place, so he answered without looking at him:

«Perhaps the bookshops close to mine were closed for some reasons.

–Well, I hope for you that they will all return the books, because if one of them don't bring one back, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised.»

Aziraphale finally looked at Crowley, and he gave a soft smile. Without even wanting it, the demon was showing that he cared, more than he wanted to. Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment, and his eyes followed as the angel's gaze fell to the hair on his tummy for a second, before he looked back into Crowley's eyes, trying to hide the fact that his blue orbs had wandered to another place. Crowley couldn't hide the smirk that tugged at his lips, and with his big mouth, he couldn't help but point it out in the most gentle tone he could:

«You're looking down, angel. Aziraphale's eyes widened, he feigned innocence, and he was failing beautifully.

–Wh- No! No, I'm not, it would be nonsense to...

–Oh, you were definitely looking.

–I was not!!!»

Aziraphale insisted, his cheeks puffing as they were getting tinted with a gorgeous tint of pink. Crowley laughed hoarsely, and couldn't help but tease him further, after all, his reactions were immaculate.

«Why would you deny it? I saw you, caught in the act. Several times!

–It's all in your head, Crowley.

–Oh, come on! We're in a relationship, I won't judge you for looking at my bottom!

–I was not looking at your bottom! I was looking higher!»

Crowley's grin widened, and Aziraphale realized the mistake he just made. He whined with embarrassment:

«Oooh, dear...!

–Told ye, angel. Caught in the act.»

Aziraphale stayed silent for a moment, and Crowley started to get concerned. He knew that the angel could get sensitive sometimes, and he didn't want to make him sad. Crowley used the arms of the couch to help himself standing up, and with a sigh, he crossed his arms and apologized:

«I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I pushed it a little far by teasing you, I shouldn't have.»

The only thing that came out Aziraphale's throat was a cough, and it was Crowley's time to look down.

The two beings never had sex, they made their relationship official not that long ago, but nothing really happened. The kisses were quick, because they never had the time to prolong it, but it never went further.

They were touch-starved.

Six-thousand years yearning for each other and now that they were officially together, nothing happened yet and it was torture for the both of them, because it was obvious that they craved the touch of the other.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley back against the couch, his hand firmly pressing against his chest as he straddled both of his thighs. The demon was taken aback, he noticed Aziraphale's hard-on and everything clicked in his mind. It was probably the real reason of why he was so embarrassed, because he had being turned on the whole day and Crowley teased him at the worst time. His hands went to Aziraphale's hips, and he held them tightly. He was still timid about touching him, his hands were shaking, and he had no clue of what to do with them. The angel leaned in, and he whispered, so low that if there still had been customers, Crowley would've had trouble hearing:

«Can I kiss you?»

Crowley frowned, what kind of question was that? He couldn't hold it anymore, he needed to feel Aziraphale close to him. He needed to feel his touch , he needed their bodies to mingle together.

«Don't hold back.»

When Crowley finished his sentence, Aziraphale's lips crashed against his. The kiss was messy, desperate. They had both closed their eyes as they tasted the feelings of the other on their tongues. Aziraphale's shaky hands unbuttoned Crowley's short jacket so the access to his tummy would be easier. Crowley helped him by sitting up and taking off the clothes that were covering his upper body. His breath was ragged, and he lifted a hand up to take off his glasses and abruptly throwing them on the floor. Aziraphale's hands fell to Crowley's waist, he groped at it, and rubbed his tummy with his thumb. God, he wanted to worship his body. Crowley slumped back into the couch with his face flushed, and Aziraphale got off his thighs to drop on his knees before Crowley. The ginger almost moaned at the sight, and he covered his face with a hand as Aziraphale started to kiss his tummy, his lips planting kiss everywhere, especially around the trail of red hair. His teeth sank into his hip, eliciting a low groan from Crowley. Aziraphale tilted his head up after leaving the purple bruise on his hip.

«Would you look at me, please, Crowley?»

Crowley couldn't help but obey, he looked back at Aziraphale through heated eyes, and the angel smiled at him.

«Very nice. I just want you to look at me when I want to say how pretty your whole body is.»

Crowley nodded as he mumbled under his breath. He couldn't get a single word out, he felt too overwhelmed by Aziraphale's presence, and all he could focus on was the fact that his lover left a mark over him. It was a simple thing, but it made the butterflies in his tummy crazy. Aziraphale's hands slid down to Crowley's thighs, making his breath hitch. The angel slowly unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his leather pants and gently pulled them down, encouraging Crowley with his eyes to arch his back a bit to help him take them off along with his underwear. Aziraphale swallowed and took a shallow breath, closing his eyes to compose himself. Crowley was burning everywhere, his face and his whole body. He felt like he was going to burn, literally. He didn't dare to look at Aziraphale as he wrapped a hand around Crowley's hard cock, pumping it up and down gently at first with his eyes closed. He half-opened them, and he was pleased to see that Crowley was already whirthring beneath his touch. It was obvious that he waited for this, that he was hungry for Aziraphale's touch. Aziraphale ran his thumb over the head of Crowley's member, and it made the demon's thighs jolt. His breath was heavy and he was holding his whimpers in his throat, and Aziraphale was determined to get the noises out of him. His hand worked faster around Crowley's dick, then he rubbed rapid circles with his palm over his tip. He repeated the process until Crowley whimpered, even as he tried to keep his moans manly, he failed and the moans turned into ragged low whimpers.

«Does it feel good? Aziraphale asked softly, his blue orbs never leaving Crowley's yellow eyes.

–Ngk...Yes...Feels good. Crowley breathed out.

–Good.»

Aziraphale covered the hand that was working on Crowley with his other hand, warming his cock even more. Crowley whined and bucked his hips up, his vision blurring by moments. Aziraphale jerked off Crowley without stopping, his movements were rapid, and he didn't show any signs of stopping down.

«Angel...»

Crowley grabbed the arms of the velvet couch with both of his hands and chased his release, his moans grew short and breathy, and he ended up chasing his own release.

«That's it, Crowley, you're doing good. You're almost there.»

Aziraphale was not certain, because he was making someone cum for the first time, but he could feel Crowley's dick throb, and his desperate breathing was also a sign that he was very close. Crowley closed his eyes in pure bliss, Aziraphale's praise only fueled his pleasure, and he couldn't believe that it felt so good. His heart pounded hard into his chest, and his thighs shook. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he understood when he ejected his release with a loud curse and his lover's name on his tongue:

"Oh fuck! Aziraphale!"

The angel slowed down his movements as his hands got coated with cum. He licked his lips who suddenly felt very dry, and he looked at Crowley, who was whining as he kept cumming. He bucked his hips up to ride out of his orgasm, and he caught his breath, who was still very loud. Aziraphale stood up, his knees ached slightly, but he wanted to make sure that Crowley was okay. It was a godsend that he always kept a box of tissues on his desk. He grabbed one and cleaned his hands as best he could, then he turned back to Crowley.

«Are you feeling okay? Aziraphale couldn't hide the concern in his voice.

–I'm fine... I'm fine... Crowley reassure him.»

Aziraphale leaned down to kiss Crowley on the cheek, and he couldn't help but also kiss his lips. Crowley willingly leaned into the kiss.

"What about you...? Crowley asked, his head tilting to the side.

–What about...- What? Aziraphale was oblivious. His own erection was straining in his pants, but he didn't know at all what to do, and he was too flustered to ask Crowley to return the favor. Crowley patted his lap, his gaze caring.

–C'mere angel, 'm gonna take care of you.»

[jellalism]

Zhongli x gn!Reader fic: A thousand more years

You're visiting Zhongli, your friend and the person you're head over heels for. He's so perfect; could he ever look at you in the same way you look at him?

Word count: 1204 words

Genre: Fluff

Content warnings: None

Notes: Merry Christmas, @bitterrenegade! I'm your Secret Santa, and this is my gift to you: a little bit of mutual pining. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to @2023gisecretsanta for the organization!

Read below or on AO3.

“It is always satisfying to have a cup of tea when it is cold out, do you not think so?” You’re visiting Zhongli at his place, and as usual, he has prepared tea for the both of you. He always picks something appropriate. If you’re stressed, he’ll make some jasmine tea to help you relax. If you’ve just had a meal together, he makes ginger tea to aid digestion. Or, in this case, when the weather is cold, black tea hits the spot. Especially if Zhongli makes it: he’ll pay attention to the right brewing temperature and steeping times. He isn’t one to skimp on details.

You eagerly take a sip. It’s still too hot to drink, so you end up not tasting much. But at least the smell is good. “Mh-mm,” you agree. “Black tea is just right for moments like these. I got so darn cold on my way to your house. I really need something to warm me up.” Like your arms around me — the thought is there, but you could never speak it aloud.

It’s been a few months since you’ve fallen in love with him, but you fear he could never reciprocate. He is way too… perfect, in a sense. His calm and steady demeanor, his countless skills, his impeccable style: in all respects, he is in a league of his own. You’re just glad you can spend time with him as a friend; that is already a great honor. Although that, too, you could never speak aloud. He’d play it down, humbly; as if he isn’t a former Archon; as if he is just a normal human.

Zhongli smiles. “I’m pleased to hear you enjoy it. Have as much as you like. And if I can do anything else for you, let me know. You are my guest, after all.”

A soft laugh escapes you. “Come on, Zhongli. We’ve been friends for quite some time now. No need to be so formal.”

Zhongli chuckles, too. “You are right. Apologies. I’m just most used to this manner of speaking. Although that is, of course, no excuse. Please know that I never mean to be cold towards you; quite the opposite.” He scrapes his throat. “Well then. Friend. How have you been?”

“It’s been alright. I’ve just been going to work as usual. How about you?”

“Likewise. Although I don’t mind it. Contrary to what one might think, living as long as I have does not get boring. It does not rob each moment of its worth. Rather, life has taught me that there is an infinity of different experiences and that each one is worth treasuring. Even moments that seem to be the same, are different in interesting ways.”

You take a moment to find the right words to say — any silences that fall between are not awkward, but peaceful. “That’s quite a profound answer to such a mundane question, Zhongli.” You laugh a little, but it’s not mean-spirited; Zhongli smiles along with you. “I suppose you may be right. I’ll try my best to live a thousand years and maybe I’ll learn to treasure each moment the way you do.”

He laughs again. His laugh sounds deep, much like his voice. It’s carefree and calm, coming from deep inside. Something about it just draws you in and makes you fall in love with him all over. “I do not think it’s necessary to live as long as me, dear. Though I would not mind if you did. I would love to have tea with you for a thousand more years.”

‘Dear’? You blush at his choice of words. And he said he would like to have tea with me for a millennium more?

“Y/n?” Zhongli interrupts your shock. “Did I say something to upset you? You look quite troubled.”

“No, no, it’s not that at all!” You shake your head and wave your hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m just… Never mind,” you trail off. You can’t even look him in the eye.

From the corner of your eye, though, you see him looking at you with a smile. “Alright then.” A short silence falls. Then he sets his cup of tea on the table between you and gets up. You look at him, wondering what he’s up to. He makes his way around the table to you and lowers himself on one knee so that your faces are level. “Did I fluster you with my words?”

You feel yourself becoming even redder. You nod, unable to speak.

“I meant those words. And I apologize if I misread your reaction, but I have the impression that you feel the same way I feel about you. I’ve been yearning for you. So, if you’ll let me…” He trails off, seemingly intentionally. His hand cups your cheek gently. You could pull away if you wanted. His other hand takes your cup from you and places it on the table. His lips draw nearer to yours. And nearer. You close your eyes. His hand slides lower, to the back of your neck, as he presses his lips on yours. His lips are soft; his mouth has the lingering taste of a green tea he must have had before you arrived.

For several long moments, the touch remains. Then, Zhongli pulls back. You open your eyes; you find him looking at you with a kind gaze. “I have wanted to do this for months. Months that felt like centuries.”

“I don’t know what a century feels like, but I imagine it must be like the months I spent yearning for you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know my feelings sooner. I did not want to be presumptuous. That’s why I used that term of endearment. I wanted to gauge your reaction.”

“That’s so sweet,” you murmur. “But… I almost can’t believe it. You’re so amazing. You’re perfect in every way. I can’t believe you’d fall in love with someone average like me.”

Zhongli’s face betrays pity and love. “Dear, surely you’ve heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? To your eyes, I’m perfect — even though I do not see myself the way you do. Likewise, you’re perfect to me, even if you don’t see it yourself.” He smiles at you.

You can’t argue against that. “Zhongli. Kiss me again.” Your voice is soft, unused to the candor.

He indulges you. Again and again. His tongue slips in your mouth. Sometimes you even detect a hunger in the movements of his mouth. A possessive voraciousness in the way he holds your head like he’s never going to let you go. He probably won’t.

Eventually, he lets up. “We shouldn’t let the tea go to waste. It is probably good to drink now.” He returns to his chair and picks up his cup. You take yours, too, and take a sip. Zhongli is right: the tea is at the perfect temperature now. It warms you deep inside. It’s a little bitter, giving it an intensity that fits the weather.

“Zhongli?” you whisper, your breath blowing away the steam rising from the cup.

“Yes?”

“I feel the same. I would like to have tea with you for a thousand more years.”

[adoniserosapollo]

Dripping...

Jonas Noren photography

[the-bobbybee]

o Ginger treasure trail

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader: afab!reader (she/her pronouns requested) Character: Sir Crocodile Kink: #9 Nyotaimori Prompt: #10 "Someone's going to hear you." Gift Giver: @zimzalabimmmmm

Summary: There's yet another party at the manor tonight, but your roll isn't to be on the arm of your lover. It's to provide him a private meal amidst the festivities.

Content Notes: Nyotaimori is food set on a naked body, implied voyeurism, oral sex, pet names.

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You could hear the party on the other side of the curtain. That was all that separated you from the dozens of people who had come to the estate this evening.

One curtain.

It was heavy, certainly, and no one could see beyond it, but you were in the dimmed corner of the hall, bustling with people, completely naked. Laid out on a table for any curious passerby to see, an assortment of sushi and sashimi laid out artfully on your bare skin.

Some pieces were laid atop little mounds of crushed ice, and the cool waters teased down your skin as they melted slowly. Your arms were tied behind your back, and a custom gag in your mouth held a small tray of pickled ginger and wasabi. The pungent wasabi had made your eyes water a little, so close to your nose, but you were adjusting to it.

Your legs were tied wide apart on the table, trails of nigiri set down along your thighs – the slightest of quivering from you would upset the arrangement, so you worked to stay as still as possible. A tray of sauces was laid out between your legs, and decorative shibari added a lacy look against your skin in places.

Though none of it did anything to cover you in the strictest sense.

The curtain was moved aside, and you closed your eyes against the sudden bright light. The man standing outside was only supposed to allow Sir Crocodile in, but there were quite a few curious, brazen, and powerful people gathered here today.

Darkness fell back over the room, and you opened your eyes carefully, deeply relieved to see those amber golden eyes looking down at you. And how they looked! You were nothing and everything in those eyes. A piece of meat, a delectable dessert – both his most treasured conquest and his favorite toy.

He reached out, fingers against your skin, tracing a lazy line along the few empty areas of your torso. Your muffled moan is quiet, barely loud enough for ears, and the slight shiver in your skin isn’t enough to upset the delicate meal placed upon you.

“You must be cold, desert flower.” He muses quietly, picking a piece of food from the middle of your chest, and eating it thoughtfully. “Admittedly, your petals have been adorned satisfactorily.”

He looks down between your thighs.

“Most of them.” He muses, picking another piece of food off you as the backside curve of his hook presses into your labia. The cool metal and sharp sensation against your already on edge body causes you to flinch and squeak behind the gag, but nothing topples or spills.

“That’s my good girl.” He muses, easing the cool metal between your slick folds and teasing your clit idly with the smooth curve. “You’re trying so hard not to ruin my meal.”

He leans down, licking along the side of your breast, bringing his mouth slowly to the morsel set atop your nipple. His tongue brushes against the stiff flesh and you squeal a little more loudly, the noise bubbling against the gag as you’re trying desperately not to move as he continues to tease you.

He consumes the piece quickly. “I seem to have missed a spot.” He grins, grabbing your breast with his hand and moving it as needed to, licking, kissing and sucking all of it. He paid extra attention to your nipple, but the sensations against your skin were all like fire as you shivered in the ropes holding you to the table.

Crocodile undoes the snaps on the gag, pulling it away and setting it aside.

“There we go.” His grin sends a shiver down your back. “Now you’ll have to be extra careful, my love, or the guests will hear you while I feast.” He caresses the side of your face softly before moving to another side of the table.

“Please,” you whisper quietly. “I can’t possibly keep quiet, give me -… what are you doing?” Your pleas fall away as you see him moving the tray of sauces away from between your legs and setting it aside.

He grins that grin at you, the one that you swear he must have grinned at his birth to be named thus, and you almost feel your stomach drop before he replies.

“Feasting, my sweet desert flower.” He answers, his hand crushing the food on your thighs, his hook knocking some aside as he leans down and devours your cunt with his lips and tongue.

Your body tenses, your toes curling and legs straining against the ropes that held you. Your breath shattered in your throat as your body bucked and tensed, the need to be still lost as he knew every sweet spot you had. His tongue always went deeper than you thought it could, and the flat of his teeth teased your clit even as your body feared his fangs.

You sucked in a breath when you could, teeth grit as you tried desperately to stop the pleasurable moans rising up inside you. He may be devouring you, but he never seemed to stifle your cries, intent, as well, to feast on your sounds as much as your flesh.

And let there be no doubt, you were the prey in this situation. What you wanted was hardly a concern, and the more you struggled to hold some kind of control, the more he drove your body toward his desires.

Garbled pleas tumbled from you, mixed in gasps and struggles as you fought to keep yourself quiet, to keep your voice behind the heavy curtain. All your pleas won you, was his hand sliding up your hips, to your waist, to your chest – thick fingers teasing your nipple as the cold, hard, curve of gold slid up the other side of you, caressing twitching skin.

Your mangled pleas turned into needy, gasping, begging whines as the pleasure overtook you. His rumbled approval sinks into your core, and you let yourself fall into the whims of his will.

He was feasting after all, and you had no real desire to deny him.

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[kyraisdead]

Chapter 1 - Impious

Alessandro had learned long ago how to walk the halls of the Church of Brimshore without being seen. It wasn’t a skill born of stealth, but of necessity—an art honed through years of fading into the background, of watching from the edges as others moved forward. The golden light filtering through the high stained-glass windows above seemed to illuminate everything but him, casting him as little more than a shadow among the faithful.

He didn’t believe in God. At least, not in the way the others did.

Alessandro hated the way the walls seemed to close in around him every time he took a step. The stone halls, the vaulted ceilings, the endless corridors all felt like a weight pressing down on his chest. He’d never been comfortable here—not in his father’s world, not in his family’s expectations. His boots echoed too loudly against the cold, polished floor, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if anyone would notice if he just walked out the door and never came back.

But then the thought slipped away, like it always did.

He was trapped, after all. We’re all trapped, he thought bitterly, glancing up toward one of the many portraits of saints that adorned the walls. Their painted eyes seemed to watch him with their eternal gaze, though Alessandro could never decide if they were accusing him or simply ignoring him. Either way, it didn’t matter.

He ran a hand through his long, ginger-ish hair and rounded a corner, his steps slowing. The library was at the end of the corridor, a place that felt like the only corner of the Church that might—just might—allow him a breath of freedom. Unlike the hollow spaces of the chapel or the near-empty presentation halls where his family spent their time, the library was quiet, hidden from watchful eyes. It was tucked into the far-end of the church, its shelves piled high with books whose leather bindings had cracked and become brittle with age.

The door creaked in protest as he pushed it open and stepped into the room. There, and only for a moment, he felt the weight of it all lift—just a little. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a space where he could exist without argument, where he didn’t need to justify his existence to anyone. Here, the old books told their stories without question, without hierarchy.

He moved through the aisles of ancient tomes with a practiced ease, his fingers trailing along the spines, brushing the faded gold leaf and cracked leather. The words and illustrations had become his closest companions over the years, their beauty a rare solace amidst the clamor of the Church and the seemingly endless duties he’d been forced to perform for his father. Perhaps he was being dramatic. He was young, and any assigned chore felt Hellish, but leatherwork was the least of his troubles.

It was here that Alessandro felt the faintest inkling of peace—when he could slip into the quiet rhythm of restoration. He had become skilled in restoration, though it wasn’t just a skill to him. It was a chance to touch the words, to feel the ink and paper beneath his fingertips, to trace the strokes of poets and philosophers who had lived centuries before him; people whose names had otherwise been wiped from thought and memory, and only lived on in his mind. The books were the true treasures of this place. Not the empty promises of freedom, but the promotion of thought that couldn't be shut away from the congregation's eye.

He picked up a small manuscript from one of the wooden tables, flipping through its pages, careful not to tear or damage the delicate paper. The illustrations there were intricate, thoughtful. Scenes of life and death, of fragility, and of love and loss. It was a poem, written in a hand that was as elegant as it was precise. The ornate quality of the calligraphy indicated either adoration or obsession. He settled on the latter.

Alessandro settled into his work, his hands moving methodically as he began to carefully restore a page that had been marred by time and neglect. His tools were simple—brushes, tiny spatulas, a pot of glue—but in his hands, they were as delicate as a surgeon’s instruments. There was something meditative about it, the quietness of it, the way he could lose himself entirely in the task. The world outside the library faded away. His father’s plans for him, his three brothers’ rather eccentric personalities, the constant anger of his mother. They all faded into the distance.

As his hands moved carefully, preserving what time had threatened to erase, Alessandro’s mind wandered, as it often did. What would it be like to truly create? To write something of his own, something that could be as immortal as the works he so reverently restored? He was never a good author, not independently. His teachers had praised him for his ability to memorize and appreciate, but never his ability to write himself. No, he was more interested in painting and sculpture, but such materials were hard to come by, and only accessed by those the Church commissioned. Those dreams were foolish. He had no place for them in this world. Not in his father’s Church, where his father’s interests took priority. He let out a slow breath, his fingers moving more deliberately now as he worked to restore the oil-stained page before him.

The sun was setting outside, casting long shadows across the wooden shelves. The faint glow of the lantern above flickered, casting a soft light over the century old books. It was a quiet place, the library, where nothing moved, nothing changed, and where Alessandro could pretend, if only for a little while, that he belonged.

He had just begun to lose himself in the delicate rhythm of restoration when the faintest sound broke through his focus: the sound of hesitant footsteps, lighter than usual. The door creaked slightly before it opened, and Alessandro didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Matteo, his youngest brother, although not more than six years younger than he.

“Fratello?” Francesco’s voice, usually firm in its own quiet way, now held an uncertain edge. It was soft, as though the words themselves were unsure whether they should be spoken. Alessandro sighed inwardly, already feeling the shift of his mood. He didn’t need the interruption, not today. Not now, when for once he felt something like peace. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to shout at his youngest brother—only offer an annoyed scowl. It was bad enough that Antonio, the brother younger than Alessandro but older than Francesco, had developed the habit of calling him ‘Franny.’ A complete mockery.

“Father wants you,” he continued. “In the Chancel. All of us… he says that Antonio has some important news.” What news wasn’t important to Antonio? Every new song he wrote, every tryst, every dollar earned, was revered as an accomplishment as long as it was Antonio’s.

Alessandro sighed, the weight of his own frustration pressing in on him once again. Redoing the top buttons of his cassock, he says, "Tell Father I'll be there in a moment.” He was careful, tone betraying none of the resentment that gnawed at him. Almost none.