#caramel stitched

[orange-artblog]

h erpy pride❤️🧡💛💚💙🩵💜🩷

take some human doodles of some ship kids yees<33

[needledolllover]

𝒁𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓!

{Creation made from:

1- @idk dollgender 2- @liom-xerox zombiegender}

[Grayish purple silk stripe, one white button, baby pink background, Barbie pink silk stripe, half a pink heart, black stitches, dark green stripe, light green stripe, yellowish greenish stripe, orange/caramel stripe, brown stripe LGBTQIA flag]

𝒁𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 — zombiedollgender a gender(Xenogender) where someone identifies or wants to identify as a Zombiedoll

[ɪғ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴇxɪsᴛs ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍɪ]

[buggybestfriend]

also if the replies are still being evil DO you have any builted bears,,,

YES YES okay let's see...

i have a pink cuddles teddy from 2005 his name is Cotton Candy and she uses she/he and is currently wearing a little gingham button up and black pants

a champion fur kids II bear from 2008 whose name is patches (he/him) and he's currently wearing an "it's a boy!" t-shirt and a pink and purple tutu

a pawlette from 2014 whose name is caramel (she/it/they) and she's wearing a httyd onesie

a stitch from 2021-22 his name is stitch (he/it) he's all nakey rn bc none of the clothes fit him

and another pawlette from 2022 who is named honey (she/her) who is currently wearing a phthalo green and gold dress

[renegadeguild]

Renegade Edible Book Day 2023

And that's a wrap!

(actually, it's more like a taco?)

While efforts to wrangle the first annual Edible Book Week may have been a bit half baked, some of us are calling it a success! Two baking classes, a number of WIP edible photos shared, and enough puns to choke on-- we're here. April 1st! Edible Book Day!

Members of Renegade did not disappoint! Behold the tasty treats offered for your viewing pleasure!  And if you'd like, feel free to vote in our joke poll -- it's all for fun because clearly every entry is a winner!

Sushi Book 

created by  rhipiduridae

i like sushi and normally it’s smol and round and quite おいしい but now it’s flat and tho i’m shook i pick it up i lik the book

The Breakfast Pages (Pancake, egg, green onion and cilantro)

created by Lauren

If I would attempt this again I would experiment with adding flavor to the pages and the pancakes. While edible unseasoned and basic, not the most tasty.

Renegade's Other Motto

created by Daemonluna 

Nori cover ornamented with tofu skin, corn tortilla pages and mushroom letters attached with umiboshi paste, bound with cilantro stems.

I Don't Actually Like Ham

created by Lark

I would not make this again

A Sweet Snack

created by six

Dehydrated mango covers, crepe pages, pamphlet stitch with Twizzler. Very tasty!

Gingerbread tablets

created by Rachel Kadel

Writing practice, some cuneiform and some roman alphabet.  The cuneiform is mostly gibberish but says "Ashurbanipal" at least once.

Dyptic

created by anonymous

dyptic made of shortcrust and salted caramel, text written in blue food colour

My naym is Dyptic  and when of old  the peeple were sick scrolls to hold They split in half  now don't be schook a piece of wood to make first book

[lexirosewrites]

Sorry you had to cut your vacation short! Have this slick Sunday submission:

Tw: gun, violence

Omega Steve has it all. He’s rich, popular, alphas drool over him. He loves it. But when he gets pregnant out of wedlock, that all stops. His parents disown him and alphas don’t want a pregnant omega. He makes do with a diner job and he’s couch surfing while he saves up for an apartment and he’s doing fine.

He’s about 8 months pregnant when he’s mugged. A man yanks him into the alleyway, pins him to the wall and demands his wallet. (Gun point to the belly). An alpha that smelled like gasoline. Steve started to hand it over when the gunman was knocked off. The gun went off but luckily Steve and the baby are fine.

He looked over at the two fighting alphas and the one that saved him is gorgeous and smelled amazing. Like coffee ice cream.

The nice smelling alpha wins and turns to check on Steve. While they’re talking, Steve finds out his name is Eddie and that the bullet hit him in the arm.

Steve freaks out calls an ambulance and the cops to get the other alpha. But all the stress causes him to go into early labor so by the time the ambulance gets there, Eddie has wrapped his bandana on his bullet wound, laid his jacket on the floor, helped lay Steve down, and is currently in the process of helping deliver this baby.

The EMTs arrive and take over (one is Robin and one is Chrissy). Baby’s delivered and all of them ride in the ambulance. Eddie finally gets stitches and then he checks in on Steve and the baby. Steve insists Eddie hold her and to Steve’s omega, Eddie is his alpha now. Eddie is perfectly fine with that.

For funnsies here’s what Eddie’s night looked like:

He was walking home high off a well played gig. He smelled a sweet caramel omega whose scent was turning sour. His uncle raised him right, and since it was the middle of the night he went and checked it out. Saw some ugly alpha attacking a very heavily pregnant omega and acted on instinct. Didn’t see the gun but he heard it go off. He was so filled with adrenaline that he didn’t feel it hit him.

He kicks this guy’s ass and turns to the omega to ask if he’s okay. He’s so focused on pumping out calming pheromones for the pretty guy(whose name he learned wad Steve) that when he finally notices the bullet wound it’s because Steve points it out. They call an ambulance and he’s wrapping his bandana around the wound and tying with his teeth when suddenly Steve makes a pained noise. Eddie turns and sees that Steve is now standing in a puddle. His alpha (who already wants to bite the omega) reacts quickly and they get to work making Steve comfortable…he helps deliver a whole as baby and once he’s stitched up, he gets a new omega, a daughter, and two new best friends (Robin and Chrissy). They make the two men promise that when they have another kid it won’t be born in the alley. They make no promises.

eddie just stumbles upon an entire family for himself, i love it!🥰

[katsukiizmoon]

╰┈➤ ꒰🍓💌🥛 ┊boba time ┊ Hana ; #02 ꒱

『♡』 Post-Partum urinary incontinence is the bane of your existence, ruining everything, but Katsuki kisses you like it doesn’t matter.

『♡』 having a baby and all that comes with it, post partum anxiety, urinary incontinence, comfort, suggestive scene, insecurity, healthy relationship, pet names : bunny, angel, baby, f!reader

You keep peeing on yourself and it’s fucking infuriating. The stitches have healed and you’re coming along nicely but you just keep peeing on yourself.

You love Hana, her pretty little blonde curls and red eyes. You love her giggles and her cries, even when she makes you cry. But you keep peeing on yourself and it’s the most embarrassing part of having a baby thus far.

Katsuki doesn’t mind, he laughs a little with the baby in his arms when you shove her to him. He watches you waddle to the bathroom grumbling and muttering curses.

It really doesn’t bother him, but it bothers you.

Hana stretched your pelvic floor to hell and back and now, as the doctor said it, you have urinate incontinence.

You change your pad in a haste, wiping gently with a baby wipe and look in the mirror. A cry comes from the other room and you shoot out, darting toward your husband.

“What happened?!” You bite, rushing over to the pair.

Nothing. Nothing happened. Hana is happily sucking down a bottle of breast milk in her fathers arms. She’s getting milk drunk, happy as can be, and he’s bouncing her and humming.

“What’re you talkin’ about baby?” Katsuki mumbles, head tilted to look at your eyes.

“I-I thought I heard her crying..” You mumble and he gives you a pitiful look.

Katsuki moves to sit on the couch, flicking on some random shoujo anime he swears he doesn’t watch. And you follow suit, sitting next to him on the black leather.

His spare arm wraps around you, pulling you closer to his body. His other thick, muscular arm holds Hana and the bottle. He’s gotten amazing at that, multitasking.

Plush lips come down to the top of your head and he murmurs reassurance. You turn and curl into him, breathing in the familiar scent of him.

It’s interesting, smelling the mix of caramel and baby powder all at once. It isn’t something you though you’d find comfort in until now. You feel with your arm for the throw blanket and drape it over the two of you.

“What’s wrong angel?” He ponders, watching the way you close your eyes slowly and sigh in response.

The anime girls on the show are confessing their undying love with roses and bento boxes. It’s kind of cute.

Hana let’s out a satisfied noise and he pulls the bottle from her mouth with a pop, setting it to the side. You lick your thumb and wipe the excess milk from her face and giggle at her features scrunching up in disagreement.

“Just.. worried? What if something happens, you know? And and i- I can’t stop freaking peeing on myself. Even if it’s just a little. I don’t see why you’d be interested in me when I’m constantly- just- yeah.” You let out, breathless and frustrated.

Katsuki hums, leaning down to kiss your forehead. He unwraps his heavy arm from around your middle and turns, lifting your face using his thumb and hand. And he kisses you.

He kisses you deep and slow, sighing into it. And he breaks away when Hana makes a noise, bouncing her momentarily before going back in.

His lips are so soft and remind you of the first time you ever kissed. It reminds you of the day he asked you to marry you. The day he found out you were pregnant.

And his tongue is hot and heavy in your mouth. Patiently exploring and soothing the deep need in your bones to feel wanted.

“I don’t care that you’re peeing on yourself. I don’t care that you need to wear pads cause of it n’ I damn sure haven’t lost interest.” He breaks the kiss, forehead pressing to yours.

You open your mouth, then close it again, then speak.

“But you haven’t touched me..” You whisper, tears pricking your eyes.

“Oh bunny, is that what this is about?” He rasps, worried and kissing over your cheeks where tears begin to spill.

You nod and tremble in his grip.

“The only reason I haven’t fucked you on every surface in our house, haven’t licked every inch of your body, is because you’ve been tired, baby.” His thumb brushes over your lip and he kisses you again, softly.

“I’ve seen how much work you’ve been doing with Hana n’ all. And you’ve been so upset with yourself cause of the peeing situation I thought’cha weren’t ready, angel.” He explains.

Relief washes over your features and you sigh, weight lifted from your chest. You grab him by the jaw and kiss him as hard as you can. He deepens it, and only breaks when Hana begins to make noise.

“Is that- is that really why ?” You murmur, eyes wide and full of hope.

Katsuki nods, crimson eyes boring into your own. His arm bounces your daughter over and over, keeping her snoozing against the fat near his pec.

You spend some time watching the anime, drinking water and lightly snacking. Mundane things, domestic things. Everything that makes life worth it.

He gets up, walking through the house and into the nursery and places her in the crib for her nap time. When he gets back, Katsuki all but slings you into his lap.

You don’t have sex, but the shoujo anime is drowned out in the back regardless. He takes his time with you, exploring new ridges and curves of your body.

Momentarily, you worry about the pad pressing against him. Just how embarrassing it is, at least to you. But that goes away when he kisses up your throat and groans out a praise.

“You’re the sexiest thing on this planet.” He declares, nipping at your jaw, fingers digging into the plush of fat above your hip.

“So glad I made you a momma..” He murmurs, kissing your mouth. And you look to find him staring at you with love struck eyes, looking over your entire body.

He looks between you and let’s put a breathy sigh watching your hips rock into his. Satisfied, he tries to take it a little bit further.

And you forgot about all the water you had. You forgot about the fact that you’ll pee on yourself a little too easily.

So he jostles you, pulling you down so he can get a little more friction. And when he tries to adjust himself by scooching up more, your thin pad gets soaked through.

You screech, embarrassed that you just wet yourself while making out with your husband. It reminds you all too well of every little awkward thing you’ve ever done.

And he doesn’t care, he just ignores it, for a moment. Grabs you by the back of the head and kisses you nice and deep, squeezing your ass. He pats then, telling you to go ahead and change.

When you come back, you don’t notice that he’s changed his sweats to the most similar he could find. You don’t need to know that it got on his pants.

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part five

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART IV • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 2.5k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T F I V E 🎶 silhouette, aquilo

❝ DEVIL’S ON YOUR SHOULDER, STRANGERS IN YOUR HEAD, AS IF YOU DON’T REMEMBER, AS IF YOU CAN FORGET ❞

Light fell through the open window in Steve’s parents’ bedroom, washing everything in a soft, eerie orange. Bright, hopeful rays of sunlight choked out by plumes of ash and smoke creeping out of the ground. The curtains billowed softly over the window ledge, carrying with them the all too familiar scent of decay and dirt, damp rotted leaves and thick vines. Demobat wings and the suffocating press of desiccated scales on your neck and–

You started with a gasp, hands fisting into the sheets as you turned in bed and found pain. Sharp and pinching. Freezing you on the spot and pulling a whimper from your lips as your wounds from the night before made themselves known again.

Death had dragged you so close you could touch it, had felt it wrapping around you like a dark cloak until…

Something warm and soft brushed against your waist, a hand moving gently over the sliver of skin there, exposed when your oversized shirt had shifted in sleep. The same hand that had shattered death’s grasp and pulled you back to live the rest of your life. A hand that had so carefully tended to each cut and scrape and gash, had so tenderly patched you up and held you through it all.

Steve.

Brows knitted together in discomfort, you turned your head ever so slightly, lashes fluttering open to see another set of eyes looking back at you – burnt caramel, honey and brown sugar.

Worried, relieved, apologetic.

“You okay?” Steve asked quietly, voice scratchy with sleep and fingers still resting gently at your waist, afraid to move them, afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“It’s my leg,” you squeezed your eyes closed, wincing at the friction of the sheet against the stitches.

“Shit,” Steve whispered, quickly rolling onto his back and bending his knee to create a pocket of air between your body and the fabric. “Better?”

All you could manage was a small murmur of thanks and it pulled his gaze back to you, eyes searching for something. What it was he didn’t know, but he was sure he would as soon as he saw it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his hand seeking you out, tangling his fingers together with yours.

The long sweep of his dark lashes brushed the tops of his cheekbones, freckles dotting along the bridge of his nose, twin moles pressed at his jaw, lips pulled down in concern. Pretty even like this. Even when he wasn’t smiling.

“Guess I couldn’t handle it last night,” you half-laughed thinking about the way you’d paled when he’d looped thread through the needle and it pulled a little grin out of him until you winced again.

“I don’t think I could have either,” he reassured you, “Six stitches, you took ‘em like a champ.” The look he gave you then set your heart skipping in your chest before settling between your ribs, warm and reassuring.

“Six?” you gaped.

Pulling the sheets up to look down at your leg for the first time since last night you expected to feel sick, but instead found something surprising. Six neat stitches, not quite straight, but clean and tidy and done with care.

“You…you did that?” you asked, eyes blinking back at Steve.

“What? Didn’t think I could?” he teased gently and it made the corner of your mouth pull up into a half-smirk.

“Well–no, but…” your cheeks warmed, heat creeping across your face as you bit your bottom lip in.

He studied you then for a minute, eyes mapping over your face and memorizing every little detail, every little piece of you, pieces he wished he could keep forever.

“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly, fingers still looped between yours and you answered with a silent nod. “Last night, before I went to the Creel house I wanted to ask you if–if I could take you out. You know, after we saved the world or whatever–” he huffed a small laugh and shook his head, “Guess we botched that.”

You almost laughed at the way he’d tried to soften the weight of his question, but his words were running on a loop in your head — take you out. They set something fluttering in your chest, your stomach flipping over and cheeks warming again.

“You want to take me out?”

“Yeah. I do. I really, really do.”

The way he was looking at you, like you held his world in your hands, had you breathless, heart hammering against your ribs and his palm pressed to yours under the sheets sent a flicker of heat up your arm, crept into your bloodstream and swam through every inch of you.

It had been survival, instinct how you hardened yourself against having to watch him walk away and how the sight of it put an ache in your chest more painful than the stitches on your thigh, but it all came back now when he looked at you. Washed over you like a wave on the sand, wearing down all your rough edges and smoothing them slow and sure – you realized you’d been carrying those feelings all along.

At Max’s trailer when he swore to stand by your best friend.

In the parking lot when he pulled you back from Vecna.

With your back to his chest and his hands pressed into yours over the handle of his bat.

The moment he all too willingly put himself between you and death without hesitation.

“Steve…” your throat squeezed around his name and his hand tightened on yours.

“What–what is it?” his brows pinched together, “Dammit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you—”

“No-no, it’s not that,” you sucked in a breath and squeezed your eyes shut against everything this boy, this man, made you feel. “I just…I hated you, so much. I didn’t believe Eddie when he said you’d changed, told him he was full of shit, but I was wrong. I don’t hate you. Not even a little bit and I’m sorry–”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he hushed, bringing his free hand up to gentle brush away the tears that had started to spill quietly down your cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of, so I don’t blame you,” he shifted closer to you under the sheets, careful of your leg. “I hated me too for a long time,” he chuckled a little under his breath and gave you a small smile. “And I know I have more work to do, but…maybe-if you want to-you could give me another shot? A do over.”

You were surprised at the laugh that fell from your lips, a small wobbly thing as you wiped at the rest of your tears. “A do over?”

“Yeah. Here–” he let go of your hand and scooted back just a little and the distance made your fingers want to reach for him again. Come back. “Hi,” he said, smile growing.

“Hi?” you said, more question than statement and a little confused and it pulled a full grin out of him.

“I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”

You bit back a snort, who was he James Bond? And it made him laugh until his hands found yours again and your skin sighed in relief – finally.

“Nice to meet you,” you said and he shifted back into you, hip to hip, chest to chest, careful still of your thigh and the touch of your skin on his skin melted the smiles from both your faces. Laughs quieted into hitched breaths and racing hearts.

Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, Steve’s jaw ticked as he swallowed down the nerves you’d pulled from his belly. “Would you–I mean…can I–can I kiss you?” he asked, unsure and unsteady, vulnerable and exposed, the real Steve and the Yes that fell from your lips came fast, sounding so much more like please, please, please, and you didn’t have to ask him twice.

His lips caught yours, fit them against his like two sides of a locket, perfect, and it made you lightheaded again, but this time when you opened your eyes you found his – honey and whiskey and liquid amber, warm like the sun and your heartbeat tattooed Steve, Steve, Steve on the inside of your ribs.

He smiled as you traced the curve of his cupid’s bow with your gaze, so soft, so lovely, so much more than you ever could have imagined and his gravity drew you back into him, pulling his bottom lip between yours – more, more, more – and he sighed, running his fingers through the baby hairs at the nape of your neck.

It was slow and languid, searching and curious, but heat simmered just under the surface. Waiting, patient, warm, and when Steve’s tongue traced the seam of your lips your reservations cracked, kerosene on the flames, and you both caught fire.

❝ IT’S ONLY BEEN A MOMENT, IT’S ONLY BEEN A LIFETIME, BUT TONIGHT YOU’RE A STRANGER, SOME SILHOUETTE, HOLD ME ❞

Grazing your teeth over his lip, you bit down softly and a groan rumbled in his chest, a low sound that made you press your thighs together, the want between your legs suspending your pain for a moment.

“Christ,” Steve choked, pulling away from you just enough to suck in a breath, chest heaving and eyes squeezed shut, wrecked already. “Sorry,” he half-laughed, “You’re gonna kill me if you keep kissing me like that, Princess.”

“Kinda defeats the purpose of last night,” you tried to joke, but when he opened his eyes again and looked at you it scattered all of your faux confidence to the wind.

“Yeah,” he breathed, inching closer and closer to you, running his thumb along your bottom lip and settling it at the corner, “But dying like this doesn’t seem so bad.”

And then he kissed you again, but this time it was heated, his fingers pressed into the plush of your hips while yours tangled into his hair and it pulled another groan from him. He swallowed the soft, sweet sounds you gave him and then begged for more as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, your lips parting to let him in to taste you.

None of it felt real – lying in bed next to Steve as he sucked pretty, little, lilac marks onto your skin, not wanting it to stop, wanting him to be this close forever.

He nosed at your neck and your chin tilted up to give him more access, your hands leaving his hair to trace the muscles stretched across back through the threadbare fabric of his shirt.

“Y’okay? Gotta tell me, Princess,” he said, lips moving on your skin as you pulled in a shaky breath.

“Ye-yeah, yes,” your voice pitched up at the end in a whine as he kissed the hollow behind your ear.

He smiled against you and your mouth twitched with a smile of your own.

“What?” you asked wryly, chin still tilted and he pushed himself up on his hands, propped up over the top of you, so he could look down at you.

“You don’t hate me,” he beamed down at you, echoed your words from just a minute ago and it made you blush, your lips twisting. Caught. A little bratty and a lot enamored.

“I don’t hate you, Steve Harrington,” you said again, softening under his gaze and unable to help the way your heart skipped when he dipped down to press another kiss to your lips.

“Say my name again. Please,” he murmured, trailing his mouth down your shoulder, your forearm, your wrist – his hand gently taking yours to lift it and place a kiss to your palm.

“Steve,” you whispered, but it caught at the end when you felt his tongue on your skin. It pulled your gaze up to look at him and you found his brows pinched together, eyes squeezed shut. “Steve?” you said again, your hand turning his to tug it down and hold it close to your chest.

“I just–Christ. I thought you were gonna die out there and after all that awful shit I said to you–”

Leaning up you pushed your lips to his and swallowed his words, mumbling to him, nuh uh. “But I’m still here, make it up to me,” you told him, eyes locked on one another and suspended in time, held in the muddled, amber light falling through the window.

“How? Tell me.”

And you took his hand, the one still held in yours, and trailed it down your chest, over the soft plush of your stomach, across the thigh that wasn’t hurting and down between your legs.

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, eyes closing again for a minute at how wet you were, and he pulled in a shaky breath.

“I’m here–” you whispered again, “–and I want this, with you.”

Nodding he leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, fingers moving slowly where you’d placed them, slipping in your slick and it make you gasp. “I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he said and god, you believed him.

He moved his fingers slow at first, a little tentative, a little shy, but the minute he pulled a moan from your lips he found his confidence again. Picked up the pace and moved over you at just the right speed in all the right places. Circled your clit with his thumb and slipped first one finger then two into you.

“Faster, Steve,” you gasped and he answered with the press of a kiss to your jaw, the corner of your mouth, pulled your bottom lip between his and sucked and you felt yourself sprinting to the edge.

“I’ve got you. Let go, baby, let go,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, fingers working you closer and closer. “Here, look at me,” he breathed, heart hammering in his chest, and when you met his eyes – warm honey, burnt caramel, safe, Steve – your hips stuttered.

Wrapping your arms tight around the back of his neck, you wanted – no needed – him closer, closer, closer until finally the coil settled deep in your stomach snapped and you fell apart on his fingers. Arched your back up off the mattress and pressed your body into his, the stitches on your thigh screaming, but the feeling of Steve between your legs was louder.

And there in that room, while the world burned outside the window, you made a promise to each other that even if everything was falling apart, even if you didn’t know what happened next, you’d be there. You’d choose to try again. Choose forgiveness and surrendered to each other. Let go of the past in favor of what was there in front of you. Beating hearts and handfuls of sheets, kisses dragged over skin and breaths taken away and Steve. Steve. Steve.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART FIVE OF A FIVE PART SERIES, POTENTIAL BLURBS MAY COME AT A LATER DATE ;) ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[sweetheartsaku]

(BHNA) VELVET RING

𝜗𝜚 KATSUKI BAKUGO: 𝓜AGNOLIA.

a/n: [gn!reader] on a whim and im a sucker for smitten bakugo!!

bakugo never cared for love.

sure, he loved praise for his quirk.

sure, he loved validation for his studies.

sure, he loved the hard punch he just hit in.

but, he had realised love wasn’t the strength he had. nor the diligence he put in for his academics, or the punch he just blew.

it was the way you smiled at him with all of your pearls after you lightly blow on his pinched face.

bakugo never thought about love even when he met you. it all just appeared so seamlessly, as love trickled down the umbrella you gave him.

suddenly, bakugo became jealous.

jealous of the cardigan that hugs your you, jealous of the brush that runs through your hair, jealous of the cup that presses against your honey dipped lip.

he hadn’t realised the way you effortlessly crushed his walls into crumble.

he had realised he didn’t need to stitch his eyebrows when he smiled.

he had realised he didn’t have to press so hard with his pen when he wrote.

he didn’t even realise how tense his body was until you had grazed your finger against his calloused skin; and somehow you managed to love every inch of it. every scar he hated, every centimetre from the ends of his vanilla hair, to the corners of his blistered heel.

muscle memory was pulling your shirt down when you stretched. muscle memory was switching to the car side on the concrete path. muscle memory was wrapping his scarf around you when a breeze passed. because to you, loving him didn’t need to move a muscle.

it was the way you wiped the grease off his cheek because you could smell the scent of nitroglycerin caramel at the door. the way you muttered his name in your sleep as he held you, and the way you pushed his hair back when he faked sleeping to give him a kiss goodnight. the way you shaded him from the thing he hated most, rain.

that was it. thats when he fell for you. he had fell into something he couldn’t fathom no matter how hard he studied. how could a big-boned, thick-skinned boy like bakugo fall for an angel like you?

he had realised, love was gentle.

bakugo loved you like he loved no one.

who knew all katsuki needed was love.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterlist

cherry pt. 1 🍒

gif by @taiturner

touch-starved!fem!reader x touch-starved, shy daryl dixon. this is pure tooth-rotting fluff with protective daryl, set somewhere in alexandria. the reader is a medic, this is a sweet build-up to smut which is going to be in part 2.

3.5k words, suitable for everyone. reader is referred to as "she", written in 3rd person, mostly daryl's pov, all lowercase. title from the lana song cherry because lana + norman = *author barks incoherently and descends into insanity*

her knee landed between his legs with a soft thud. the meat of his thigh surrounded by her legs as he sat under the yellow overhead lamp, daryl's chest rose and fell steadily, caramel skin marred by a deep red welt.

he stunk like bloody sweat, moist soil and gunpowder and lead.

"I'll inject a local," she mumbled, tapping on the glass vial before inserting the syringe and filling it up with a clear liquid, "you gonna need some twenty stitches, boyo."

"you dun' hafta," he, nonetheless, winced; the welt went across his chest, over his pectoral and almost to his collarbone. all and all, far from the worst he's had.

painkillers were a luxury, better spent on someone else, someone not like him. but he knew better than to argue with a medic (or someone filling the position of one, for that matter).

the woman's scent enveloped his senses in an opaque fog of sweet summer sweat over sharp, cheap laundry powder. something bitter, like rosemary and thyme, something sweet, like cherries and wine.

daryl's eyelashes fluttered as the needle pierced his skin: once, twice, five times, all around the jagged edges of the torn wound. the breath he was holding in left his mouth in a humid huff.

her hands, so gentle, prodded at the edges of his hurt until he could answer her question of 'feel anything?' negative, honestly. briefly, the acrid stench of rubbing alcohol overshadowed everything else as she sterilized everything, the tools and him, to the best of her ability.

he opened his eyes.

"now," she lifted her clever eyes, surveying the scene, "I'm gonna perch myself here," she moved that much closer, one knee between his legs, the other on the side of his leg; hovering over the same leg, facing his reclined torso, "you tell me if you're uncomfortable. that's the only light here, I don't mean to invade your personal space like that."

he could have laughed, if not for the risk of disrupting her careful stitching of his flesh.

"don'tcha worry 'bout it, pretty girl," his voice gravelly low, daryl did his best to stay still.

she chuckled softly, "bet you say that to anyone who can stitch you up in an even line."

"no," he scoffed, surprising himself, "jus' you. rick's hardly a pretty girl."

her hands stilled, eyes momentarily darting to his. the yellow light reflected in them, giving her pupils a red-hot gleam, as if devil himself had taken a sharp turn and went to seek refuge inside her instead of coming down to georgia.

he studied it, studied his own blurry, open-mouthed, panting reflection in the pupils of the woman currently perched atop his lap. then the realisation hit him, like a derailed runaway train, and he immediately withdrew to count the cracks in the ceiling.

she cleared her throat, resuming the rhythmical push and pull of the needle.

"didn't know rick could do that."

daryl attempted to shrug - stopping it before the motion reached his shoulders - and grunted instead.

she continued to stitch, the suddenly pregnant silence punctuated by the crinkling of a wrapper. an extra large, sterile bandaid was placed over the wound after she applied something green and foul-smelling atop the now-closed gash; his grunted query was met with a curt,

"antiseptic."

and he was let go with instructions to return the next day for a dressing change.

he lied to himself. he waited until it was dark to show up the next day, well into the summer night, just to be placed in the same position - under the lone hanging lamp, under her.

cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme, complimented by a trail of herbal tea. she smelled like peaches, too, this time. or, perhaps, it were the blooming trees outside her window that snuck their sweet aroma indoors.

"healing nicely," she remarked off-handedly, seemingly oblivious to the rising level of his tension and his inner turmoil. "the pain not too bad? you seem grumpy. grumpier than usual."

this time, he waited until she removed herself from his form to bark a terse laugh.

"no, pretty girl," he eyed her in the dusky, dusty room and received a crooked smile for his troubles, "long day 'is all."

"tell me about it," she huffed, shoulders sagging a bit more than he would have liked.

"who's the prick bothering ya?" he couldn't help it, his mind immediately went... places. surely, he wasn't the only one who noticed her pretty.

"no-one but my own damn brain," she scoffed, seemingly at herself, "and maybe the dick from number 17. it's like he's doing it on purpose."

"doin' what now?" daryl's voice dropped, his eyes squinted. his palm migrated to the handle of his knife, a gesture utterly subconscious.

"gettin' injured," she grumbled, no real heat behind her words, "got shot with a dart last week, sprained his ankle on a routine perimeter check today. how did that man serve 6 years in the army is beyond me."

daryl's head tilted as his chest tensed, heart thudded uncomfortably against his ribs.

"isn't carol taking care of all the broken bones?" he asked, tone laced with suspicion.

she turned to face him; he felt, more than saw, the annoyed roll of her eyes.

"he demands a real doctor," the woman shook off the wrapper before leaning back into him and placing it over his wound in one swift, irritated gesture, "how come nobody's told him I'm just a good faker? everyone knows by this point. all he does is waste resources-"

"woah, woah," daryl's voice rose briefly as he attempted to halt the incoming ramble. not that he didn't want to hear what she had to say, it was just unusual to see the quiet woman so... not herself.

"sorry," she shot immediately, looking away, "he just gives me the creeps. I know it's mean but-"

"no," daryl shook his head immediately, "if he's botherin' you, he's botherin' you and he needa back off."

she chuckled as she leaned back to observe the results of her work. her eyes were tired and a little ashamed. "say whatchu want but you southern fellas are real gentlemen," her smile was soft.

nobody has ever spoken to him like that, much less referred to him as a gentleman. through the momentary awe, daryl let the corners of his lips tilt up in a closed-lipped, shy smile.

he didn't return the next day, and the day after, having been deemed healthy enough by rick to be sent off to hunt some game - all activities classified as "takin' it easy" by the community leader. people needed food, growing kids needed the protein.

the gash on his chest bled a little, not much, and the scab that formed afterwards looked proper, thick and healthy.

as he reached the gates upon his return, he could make out some shouting just on the border of the little gated town. a few voices did their best to be heard, one right over the other.

"whazzat?" he quizzed the guard.

"lil doctor lady," the guard responded, frowning, squinting into the distance, "and big john, arguin' over something. dunno what. rick's there too."

daryl did not like the sound of that. he didn't like that at all. he dumped the three deer right there on the muddy ground as soon as he crossed the threshold of the safe zone, powerwalking towards the arguing trio.

"... 'm tellin' ya, rick, she's makin' shit up! I risk my life every day goin' out and patrollin', getting the damn supplies so she could patch me up like she's s'posed to!" big john, red in the face and fists clenched, stood looming over rick as he defended himself to the unimpressed sheriff, "'s'not like I broke my damn arm on purpose!"

immediately, daryl's bullshit meter went off as alarms blared in his head at full volume. big john's words were a little too loud, a little too passionate.

rick's eyes darted towards daryl's rapidly approaching form; that was all he needed to know about the situation.

"if that were true, you'd have no problem with carol attending to you, man," for the time being, rick successfully played the good cop.

"she's not even a real doctor!"

"neither am I!" the woman finally spoke up, shooting a glance at daryl, too, as her shoulders dropped slightly.

"hey, what's your fuckin' problem?" daryl finally stomped close enough for big john to jump at his words.

"none of your damn business," he shot back immediately, switching to stare down at the woman. it wasn't hard for him to make her shrink: his name was big john for a reason.

"don't bother tha nice lady," daryl scoffed, straightening up, "least you want a fuckin' knuckle sandwich. first and final warning."

"oh, fuck you man," big john turned to daryl, taking a step towards the archer, chest puffing out with the force of his rage. his left hand was in a makeshift cast; the right one rose, rapidly flying, aimed at daryl's face.

it didn't take the archer much effort to side-step the large man. he was immediately responding with a punch of his own.

big john staggered, taking a couple of unsteady steps back; within the next second, another punch connected with his face, sending blood and snot flying as he fell on the ground noisily.

"that's enough!" rick yelled, pulling on daryl's shoulder.

for the time being, the archer was content to let himself be steered away from the fight.

somewhere behind him, a feminine voice mumbled something less-than-polite, sighing, as she joined rick in pulling him away from big john.

"you stay away from her, dipshit!" daryl added hotly, "fuckin' weirdo."

"c'mon big guy," she cooed softly, nodding to rick as she steered him towards her house, "let's get you cleaned up."

he let her drag him indoors, towards the kitchen sink where the smell of herbs was the most potent. throughout the dirt and grime that always followed his hunts, it was a welcome respite. earthy and natural in the best, the most tender of ways.

the woman checked his knuckles, tugging on his big, meaty hand to place it under a stream of cold tap water; his skin was clear, once the grime and blood and dirt was washed off. a coupla punches was nothing, his knuckles too seasoned to sustain an injury from something as simple as a fistfight.

in broad daylight, there was no need for her to perch atop him to check the wound on his chest.

daryl swallowed, following her hands with his eyes. in her pristine, clean kitchen, he'd never felt more out of place as she moved aside the neck of his sweat-stained shirt and touched the soft skin of her fingertips to the scab, checking for infection.

the corners of her mouth finally, finally tilted up. an angry, upset expression had no place on her face; daryl could feel himself deflate as the cloud over the head of the little doctor lady finally, finally dissipated.

"you didn't even tear the stitches, I'm impressed," she complimented him softly, brushing the shirt collar back in place and smoothing it out with her palm, "they're dissolvable, luckily. go wash up and come back, I'll put some antibiotic ointment on it just in case. okay?"

her touch burned, but it was a sweet sort of fire. the kind that remained in his mouth after a particularly delicious batch of spicy wings, blooming as he took a deep breath.

he wanted to chase it with his tongue.

his nostrils flared as he exhaled.

"okay, dar?"

she had a nickname for him. she stared at him with those round, trusting eyes, not knowing that in truth, he was no better than big john.

daryl's cheeks flamed.

"okay," he mumbled, unable to refuse her anything when her eyes.., "dun look at me like dat."

"like what?" she frowned again and oh no, this was so much worse than the earnest concern written plain as day on her face just seconds ago.

his heart hammered in his chest. his fingers twitched. he swallowed the lump in his throat, shuffled his feet.

"cya," finally, his legs cooperated! he ran out of the house like the coward that he was.

he didn't come back as she'd requested. he couldn't. instead, he stubbornly stood under an ice cold stream of water, as long as could manage - and it did exactly nada for his racing thoughts or his traitorous body.

the soap carol had made smelled like herbs.

it smelled like the kitchen where tender fingers prodded at his skin, where soft hair briefly brushed his cheek, where the overhead lamp illuminated a halo around the head of the woman that found a home inside his head on most nights.

dusk fell over the settlement as a knock disturbed the miniscule amount of peace he'd managed to find for himself in the darkness of the basement.

"daryl?" rick's voice yelled, "I gotta favour to ask!"

he was there in an instant. "whassup?"

"the doctor lady. big john's bin runnin' his mouth since dinner, ion like it. I think he's gonna be up to no good."

what daryl liked about rick was his straightforwardness and common sense. such concern had place to be. daryl nodded, walking inside to put on a clean shirt and pick up his crossbow.

"I appreciate it," rick clapped him on the shoulder, "I'd stick around myself but judy is teething and michonne has been up for three nights already, m'afraid she's gonna..."

"no probl'm, rick, ah get it," daryl cut off the rambling man, "you go take care of your baby girl."

as daryl made way to the woman's house, his mind switched to defense mode effortlessly. he knew just the perfect spot to perch himself in, away from prying eyes and well within the observation range of the entries to her house. it wasn't the most comfortable of spots but summer nights were warm and the birdsong from the trees provided a childhood sort of comfort under the clear, dark skies.

as he prepared to settle in, the main door to her house cracked open.

she wore short, thin cotton shorts and a worn out t-shirt and nothing else, a steaming cup of tea clutched securely between her palms. her eyes immediately landed on his dark figure attempting to blend into the dusky underbrush.

"I thought you'd be a no-show," she remarked, a playful tone colouring her voice.

daryl had enough conscience to look sheepish. "uhh," he replied, eloquently, taking a hesitant step towards her house. the light breeze blew the hot fumes of her tea right into his nose, momentarily clouding his judgement. he barely could tear his eyes away from the soft, unblemished skin of her legs.

"c'mon," she waved him in, and he followed, obedient, quiet, like a puppy. she made a brief stop at the stove before pushing a cup into his hands, "I made some tea. not terribly sweet for you, I hope. you seem like a black coffee kinda guy."

the upbeat, companionable chatter sent daryl's head reeling. it's like she was completely oblivious to his clumsiness, to his bluntness, to the awkwardness that seemed to take deep root in his bones whenever he was in her presence.

he took a sip, a courtesy, as she made him sit in that recliner chair again, her body warm and comfortable above him. isn't that what you wanted, moron? his head screamed at him, the annoying voice eerily similar to his late brother's.

"it's okay to let me know you're uncomfortable," she spoke quietly as she moved aside the collar of his shirt once more.

he shivered, it's not like he could help himself. "wha?"

"not everyone likes to be... touched," she briefly looked up, then back again as she rubbed the salve around his scabs, sharp chemicals and plastic disturbing the peaceful aroma of her herbal tea, "my ma used to yell at me to, like... stop hugging random people. sometimes I forget that not everyone is perfectly fine with jus' bein' groped."

"hmm," he managed, struggling not to sound like all of his christmases just had arrived at once. she wanted to touch him. well, not just him-

"these days, I'm not particularly keen on that either, but eventually, the touch starvation catches up to me. I'm just glad that, like, carol and rosita don't freak out or anything, when I play octopus with 'em."

"it's... okay," he had to drink to clear his throat, inhale to clear his mind. "ion mind, pretty girl," daryl tried for a smile and was sure it came more like a grimace. he desperately needed practice in that department.

she chuckled, a dulcet little noise, before her eyes shot up to his. whatever she was looking for, she found it; her hands, done with healing his external wounds, stroked slowly over his shoulders, mapping the broad, muscular expanse of them in one fluid motion. the tips of his hair tickled the tops of her palms.

with only a thin cotton barrier separating daryl's skin from hers, it was as close to heaven as he will ever allowed to be. the cup in his hand scalded his rough palms, hot ceramic burning through the callouses: it was like an afterthought of pain and nothing more.

her fingers connected behind his neck, the pads rubbing over the tense muscle there. the groan left his mouth unnoticed by him, until he could feel the smile on her face bloom just like the flowers outside her window.

"you like that?"

"mmm," he managed, weakly. something inside of him was crumbling. maybe it was the tea that had filled his veins with melted sugar and liquified the strong resolve to not let someone like her be tainted by someone like him.

she kept on kneading his neck and shoulders, like a damn cat working graveyard shift at the biscuit cookie factory.

daryl's deep inhale moved his whole body.

she staggered, brief and sweet, tilting heavily into him to keep up her balance and stop herself from falling over. graceful, she was not.

he was met with a parted mouth, so sweet and red and plump, like ripe cherries; right over his nose, just out of reach, sinful and tantalising in it's own right. the pink, moist meat of her tongue was tucked into the corner of it as her eyes narrowed, something between relief and concentration.

seeing him look, the mouth stretched into a smile, making it that much sweeter. she was looking at him, again, like- like that.

her hands faltered, she swayed in place; daryl's instincts got the better of him and he secured her, one hand holding her body by the hip to steady the sudden bout of clumsiness.

"m'sorry, imma klutz," she looked away sheepishly.

he squeezed her hip on response, letting her know it was okay. and it really was more than that: much to his wide-eyed wonder. he felt like he was the one who should be doing the apologizing. but not only did she not shake off his hand, oh no, she leaned further into him, her belly almost touching his bent forearm.

it took a gargantuan amount of effort just to not pull her in all the way. she was most inviting to touch, all soft curves courtesy of semi-regular meals and tender skin despite the blazing summer sun.

daryl's thumb moved up and down the cotton of her shorts absent-mindedly. the sweet little sighs falling from her lips were hard to miss. almost as if it was someone else pushing her into his arms, a well-meaning ghost perhaps; she tilted in on herself to soak up the warmth of his large, hot body.

a trail of goosebumps ran across his scalp, starting from the place she was rubbing gentle circles into it - at the back of his head, where his hairline met his nape. if he was capable of purring, he would.

instead, he groaned again, eyelashes fluttering, casting a moving shadow on his sharp cheeks. his reward was an equally-content sounding sigh as it drafted into his nose, warm and earthy.

the empty cup thudded against the table where he placed it.

her fingers parted his hair gingerly, taking great care to avoid potential tangles. some finer, smaller hairs still pulled, taking some of his self-deprecation and resolve with 'em as the motion traversed his body in a jolt and settled somewhere deep inside the pit of his belly.

this was getting dangerous.

daryl opened his eyes and stared up.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuvia Weekly: What it's like to hold the M6

~ my submission for this week's prompt - have some sappy headcanon drabble ^.^ ~

Julian

The sounds of leather folding and bending and creaking, of a pent up sigh, of a noble, anxious, too-big-for-its-own-good heartbeat fluttering against those thin, bird-like ribs

The smell of - yes, more leather - with a slight hint of sweat and the faded scent of the crushed herbs used to stuff doctor's masks

The feel of a well-worn, weather tested, oversized coat falling around both your frames, a cold set of bony fingers tangling into your hair through protective gloves

The sight of folded black cloth and slightly dulled metal buttons, a pale neck cradling your forehead, auburn stubble shivering over a bobbing adam's apple

The bitter taste of sea-salty lips, self-sacrifice, and coffee

Asra

The sound of an airy chuckle, a curious whisper, a deep, relaxed sigh, a heartbeat that touches your own with every gentle thump

The smell of smoking incense, sparkling spices, and syrupy vanilla, lurking beneath the petrichor of sunny spring rains on the dust of a far-off highway

The feel of a soft shawl on your cheek, sturdy linen body-warmed and slightly rough under your arms, heavy, heated hands running soothing pathways along your spine, cloud soft curls on your ears, a deceptively slight frame

The sight of golden metal and silvery blue stone on smooth skin, the barely-there rise and fall of a body slowly relaxing into yours

The taste of smoky tea, home, and desperate dedication

Nadia

The sound of rustling silks, the quiet clink of bracelets and rings, the hush of long, thick hair falling over chiffon-clad shoulders, a contented, throaty hum, a lofty heartbeat

The smell of jasmine, rose, pepper, and amber, of warm silk and chilled white wine, of flower gardens and powdery cosmetics

The feel of a heavy curtain of hair against your face, body warmth passing quickly through thin, gauzy sleeves wrinkling under your movements, of strong fingers tilting your chin into her collarbone

The sight of glinting gemstones and finely crafted metal, intricate embroidery stitches swirling across lustrous fabric, scalloped hemlines along sculpted shoulders

The taste of spiced fish, wine, and plush, commanding adoration

Muriel

The sound of heavy, rough cloth slowly dragging across itself, breaths hitching deep and slow, a grumble quiet and low enough to shake the earth, a nervous, powerful heartbeat

The smell of myrrh hanging around you like a cloud, of warm fur and chilly forest air, of falling leaves and running water and smoke

The feel of muscle and scruff, of radiating body heat, of massive, calloused palms alternating between gently splaying over your shoulders like blanketing weights and hovering cautiously around your waist in fluttering, feather like touches

The sight of thick, dark hair falling in choppy lengths over stubble and scar tissue, of thick green cloth over sinew

The taste of grilled forage and mead, of healing and steadfastness

Portia

The sound of an excited giggle, springing footsteps and jingling keys, a happy gasp and unstoppable heartbeat, a mischievous secret getting laughed into your ear

The smell of air-drying laundry and soap, hair oil and cocoa butter, fresh bread and sizzling butter and caramelizing berries

The feel of strong forearms, small, calloused hands, the push of energetic bouncing against your shoulder, of hair flying around your face, the plush squish of a no-holds-barred bear hug

The sight of fiery curls spilling over clean, pressed cotton, freckles speckling creamy skin, the occasional grey and white cat hair clinging to black ribbon, the dusk of a happy blush

The taste of yeasty bread, and the comforts of adventure

Lucio

The sounds of nearby dogs panting, a cutlass clanking in its sheath, the mechanical whir and musical hum of an alchemical arm, a confident, snorting chuckle and a devoted heartbeat

The smell of fresh sweat, warm metal, cinnamon alcohol in a journeyman's flask, hair gel and worn cologne

The feel of a padded, quilted vest, the quick rise and fall of an active chest, the slight tilt of a shoulder forever sloped in favor of a heavy arm, the sinewed grip of a warrior's touchstarved fingers and the cool, metallic touch of a careful clawed hand

The sight of sharp collarbones and glinting curved gold, fine flaxen hair at the nape of a snowy neck, crimson cloth and leather straps

The taste of grilled meat, traveler's wine, and new beginnings

[nina-ya]

Patching up Aces Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo

A/N: I really loved writing this one I didn't realize just how much I love writing Ace until now :') Pairing: Ace x GN!Reader CW: Drunk ace, mentions of wounds and stitching, Ace being a flirt. WC: 905

The laughter and clinking of glasses on the ship seems to blend into a lively symphony. Everyone, especially Ace, had found himself deep in the embrace of alcohol, his lively personality being amplified by the inebriation. The night sky above is stunning. The moon and the stars casting an enchanting aura upon the night.

As the night wore on, the more he drank, his movements and his critical thinking skills became more erratic. Ace had been standing on a table, boasting about his accomplishments during the battle, when he suddenly slips and falls, crashing onto the ground in an ungraceful manner, the glass in his hand shattering. Everyone seems to freeze and a sudden hush envelops the room before everyone breaks out into laughter. Ace raises his head with a dopey smile plastered on his face and gives a weak thumbs-up. Marco comes to aid him, but you interrupt, ushering Marco away, “Hey, you're drunk I got this.” Marco nods at you and leaves you with the inebriated ace. You crouch down beside him and let out a giggle. “Hey there, you okay?” He gazes at you with a lopsided grin and replies, “I’ve had worse, sweetheart.”

You let out a small sigh as you run a hand through his unruly hair. “This looks pretty nasty, Ace. Come on, let me help you out.” You say, offering a hand to him. He takes his hand and stumbles slightly as he gets up. “I'm only accepting because it means I get a chance to be alone with you” The words come out jumbled together, giving way to just how much he had drunk. “Sure, whatever makes you happy,” you say with a laugh as you lead him away from the rest of the crew. You lead him to a chair and move his hair away from his face, looking at the bloody gash on his forehead. “You really messed yourself up,” you comment as you start cleaning the cut. “What were you thinking when you got onto that table? Hmm?” Silence. He just stares at you with a drunken haze. “Ah… I see.” you said with a giggle. You continue cleaning the wound when he suddenly breaks the silence. “You’re pretty… Did you know that?

You’re like an angel.” A smile tugged at your lips at the complement, and you let out a soft sigh. “You’re drunk, Ace.” “I’m not drunk… simply… enlightened,” He retorts.

“Ahuh, okay,” you say, smiling at his drunken attitude. “Now hush up and let me fix you, okay?” you say as you prepare to stitch up his wound. “I'm going to stitch you up, now it might hurt but sit still. If you move i'll end up leaving a scar on that pretty face of yours and I don’t think either of us want that.”

He nods at you and has a soft smile on his face. He sits as still as he can as you stitch him up. You’re close enough to see every individual freckle plastered across his sun-kissed face. A constellation of perfect imperfections that just adds to his allure. In the dim light you can see those gorgeous caramel eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. The longing gaze they held, slightly clouded by the effects of the alcohol. You are only drawn in closer. His lips, so plump and inviting, seemed to be begging for attention. The bottom lip, ever so slightly pushed out in a pout, looked absolutely tempting. A heat grows in your body as an urge in you grows, wishing to be satisfied. As you stitch up the wound, you can't help but steal longing glances at the lips, imaging just how warm and soft they might feel. You snap out of your daze as you finish the stitches.

You lightly graze your thumb over the wound. “How does that feel?” you ask.

He ignores your question and without warning, Ace wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in closer. “You know… a good friend once told me that you never know when the best day of your life is going to happen until it is already happening… and well this is in the running for the best day of my life.”

Your heart races as he holds you close. You giggle at his words, teasing, “Really? You cracking your face open in a drunken stupor, and me fixing it up is one of the best days of your life?”

The raven haired man hums in agreement. “Yep, because it means I had an excuse to get close enough to you to do this.” With that, he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. A muffled whimper escapes your lips at the sudden action. You melt under his tender yet passionate embrace. Your heartbeat quickened as his lips moved against yours. The kiss is absolutely electric, a meeting of longing and desire that leaves both of you breathless. You kiss him back with equal passion, your hands finding their way to his bare shoulders, fingers lightly grazing over the muscles.

As he pulls back, his lips still barely brushing against yours, he whispers against your mouth, “Yep, definitely one of the best days of my life.” His warm breath fanned against your lips, and you couldn't help but agree, a dreamy smile playing on your own as you reveled in the shared moment.

[riaki]

dog treats (for humans) | yuuji itadori x reader

pt.5 of christmas event! vry short sorry, a day late but it works as fluff for the jjk ep today !?

"[name], look! i baked something!"

your immediate thoughts are something along the lines of oh, no.

yuuji's a decent cook. or at least, that's what you like to believe; hours of the two of you making messes in your kitchen after ruining the recipe book you were following prove otherwise. still, he's not half bad. and there was that one time he taught his roommate to make meatballs; something vague like 'a legacy of hotpot meatballs'. that's your boyfriend for you.

baking, though, is certainly not his forte. as demonstrated by the giant blob of half-baked somethings on the tray; an amalgamation of dough stuck to the wax paper.

you're not quite sure what you're looking at when you enter the kitchen of your apartment; it's an absolute mess. there's flour everywhere, and some strange looking leftover dough sitting in a clump on the counter. it smells a bit weird, but that's not new. what draws your attention the most other than the flour coating the polaroids on the fridge or the four spatulas on the counter is the mess on his person.

he's coated in flour. there's dough sticking to his cheeks, almost like whiskers on his face— but that does nothing to dampen the sunny grin on his lips. his hair is ruffled, clumps of flour and powdered sugar clinging to the tips. you can just picture him mussing his hair in frustration, fingers running through the soft pink strands, the color of grapefruit and strawberry lemonade on a midsummer evening.

"what exactly did you make?" you asked, glancing him up and down. he's wearing the holiday apron you bought him on a whim; it's so dirty that you don't even recognize the pattern of the golden retriever stitched to the front. it looks more like a lima bean now.

he grins, pushing the baking tray towards you as if you're supposed to come to some grand realization of what exactly he did make.

"i made dog treats! for fushiguro. you think he'll like 'em?"

"those are dog treats...?"

you certainly wouldn't've been able to tell from first sight. but that explains the peculiar smell; it must've been a product of whatever he was doing.

"yeah! aren't they great?" he laughs, full of mirth, and you catch his smile on your own lips. his enthusiasm is infectious.

"they seem more like regular cookies." you note, observing the mess on the tray. the edges are burnt a gentle caramel crisp; if you didn't know better, you would've definitely taken the initiative to make cute cookies with your cookie cutters and frost them however you like.

you're too lost in your thoughts to notice what he's doing until it's too late— your stupidly beloved boyfriend has broken off a chunk and taken an equal sized bite out of it, chewing with all the thoughtfulness of a michelin star chef. there's a few crumbs in the corner of his mouth, and if not for the contents he probably would've asked you to wipe some jam on his lips and treat yourself to a sweet treat on his cheeks.

"yuuji!" you reach out, snatching the tray from him and setting it down before you scowl out the cheeky look on his full cheeks. "spit it out." you demanded, and you're faintly reminded that it's probably fine for him to be eating them because he's acting like a puppy anyway.

he just grins at you through a mouthful, shaking his head vigorously and swallowing as he pumps his fists, and you can practically see the stars in his eyes. "'s great! you shbould try ib, bwabe."

you just roll your eyes (albeit fondly), reluctantly reaching over to the tray to break off a chunk of the dog treats(?). you give it a good feel and sniff before nibbling off a piece, trying to discern the taste in your mouth. you're starting to think that yuuji might've mistakenly made regular cookies and called them dog treats. there was no sign of raw meat or anything on the counters, which only strengthened your suspicions.

"hey, it's actually not that bad." you marveled, glancing up at him again. he's watching you expectantly, waiting like a little puppy for your response. his eyes light up like stars; far too excited for such a weak answer as yours, but his enthusiasm shines through either way.

"right? i was thinking, maybe we could keep them to ourselves..."

"don't get carried away, yuu." you sighed, shaking your head. but he just grins, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to press an insistent smooch to your lips.

he laughs, sending vibrations through your skin as he peppers your face with floury eskimo kisses. "you'd rather me gift him these things? he'd sic his dogs on me!"

"...maybe you're right. let's just keep them, then."

my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[misscinnamonroll16]

More of the brozone headcanons

John Dory is almost constantly complaining about either his neck or his back (lick my-) hurting

Bruce and Clay pull a Sokka and tell either Poppy or Viva that they don't really remember what their dad looked like but they often picture him looking similar to JD

Clay constantly leaves his clothes lying about and it pisses John off. And for once, Clay is NOT doing it on purpose.

I don't remember if I've said this already but John Dory takes it upon himself to do all of his brother's laundry. Like fold and everything. Problem is he doesn't tell them he's doing this. He just takes their laundry, washes it, dries it, folds it and puts it back. They only notice that their laundry has gone missing after it's been returned. The lil bros get together and are like "is it you? If it's not you then who?" Process of elimination at that point.

When Floyd drops something, he flicks it off before picking it up.

John Dory experimented with makeup when he was on his own. Not enough to be great at it or wear it all the time but enough. He definitely winged his liner with a knife.

Clay snorts when he laughs really hard

The younger brothers definitely still snitch on each other to John Dory. Clay being a little shit to Floyd and Floyd goes "John! Clay's being mean to me!" "Clay stop being mean to Floyd or so help me God, I'll come down there!" They all know it's incredibly childish and they're way too grown up to be tattling but that's not going to stop them

When they were in school, the younger brothers didn't do the thing of accidentally calling the teacher mom, they accidentally called their teacher John/John Dory/JD. John doesn't know about it and they'd like to keep it that way.

John likes cooking to music. He'll most often play some of their old albums and some of the other music their grandma had. It's all fine and dandy until one of the others walk into the kitchen and either scared the crap out of him or make fun of his dancing

The boys favorite candies: JD likes spicy candy and sour candy. Bruce likes the fruit candies, mike and ikes, things like that. Clay likes salted caramels and sour candy. Floyd is definitely a lover of chocolate but especially dark chocolate. Branch doesn't really have a favorite candy but if he had to pick he'd say gummies or gumdrops.

Floyd's room is decorated with posters and pictures all over the walls, you can barely see the actual wall.

Floyd convinces John to get his ears pierced after seeing John Dory just stare longingly at his ears (it sounds way weirder than it is 😆)

Floyd has the highest pain tolerance, then John, Branch, Clay and Bruce

Floyd definitely would walk around in an adult onesie (like a stitch one)

Floyd's favorite holiday is Halloween (or whatever it's called in their universe)

For Halloween, usually Clay dressed up as a superhero, Floyd was a princess, branch got roped into whatever Floyd was doing. The other two were "too old" to trick or treat but when they did dress up, John often went for either a hero or first responder. Bruce always tried the gory costumes

John feels like he can't do the things that his brothers do (mainly Floyd) with decorating their bodies. He's still got that "I need to be perfect" mentality, making him think he can't get body mods. Floyd convinces him to do the thing.

Floyd knows how to pole dance. He says he learned it for the exercise.

Clay still believes in Santa in secret

[cressidagrey]

Indelible Scars - Chapter 10

Summary:

Azriel knew pain. So did Galena.

Also known as: Azriel’s mate is a healer and the first time they meet, he nearly dies on her.

Warnings:

Irresponsible use of Sleeping Potions, kinda depressing

(thanks to @cafekitsune for the super pretty dividers!)

It seemed that Azriel finally got his wishes. For once. 

He slipped away into a world of grey fog.

He couldn’t find it in himself to fight against the weight that threatened to pull him under, the pain in his chest that made it difficult to breathe…

The fog was there, surrounding him, until he could see nothing, be nothing, feel nothing. 

It was…

Weak wisps of memories came through him…the feeling of falling when he had just wanted to make his way back from the bathing chamber to the bed…how his head had hit the edge of his desk…Cassian’s worried face somehow floated in front of him, with no body that belonged to it…

Cassian…Cassian’s warm, broad hands that promised safety. 

“You really got in there,” Cassian said, hand cupping his face…“You’ll need stitches…it’s bleeding.” He looked so worried. He shouldn’t be. 

“It ‘s fine,” Azriel tried to assure him, the words not wanting to leave his mouth…so tired. So tired…he wanted to go back to the fog. 

“You are not.” Cassian disagreed, wiping at his face. Not? No, he wasn’t fine. But it didn’t matter. It was… he deserved it. He deserved all the pain he got…even when he was a fool and couldn’t stand it...

“No, you fucking don’t,” Cassian snapped at him. Had he said that out loud? 

He was so tired…so tired. 

“Don’t go to sleep, Az. We want you to wake up again,” Cassian said, sharpness in his voice. He didn’t want Cassian to snap at him. 

It didn’t matter if he didn’t wake up again. Why should it matter? 

“Why?” he asked, despair and heaviness settling onto him like a thick blanket, every blink of his eyes taking effort that he didn’t want to put in there anymore. 

He was just so…

“Why I don’t want you to fucking die?” Cassian asked him, sounding incredulous. Why did he ask that question? 

It was clear. It didn’t matter…

“You have Nesta,” he told Cassian. Cassian had a mate. Nesta was there. He didn’t need Azriel. If Azriel wasn’t there anymore, Cassian would survive. And that was fine. That…“I want to sleep. Don’t want to wake up.” 

And he let go of every grasp he had on his awareness because it didn’t matter. 

He soaked up the grey fog, nothing reaching him…no spark…pain in his chest and the rattling of his breathing…the coughing…

“You’re alright. It’s alright, Az.”

Cassian. 

Still there. He should just leave him alone…Just alone…he shouldn’t worry…Azriel didn’t matter…

“Madja?” In an out he floated, eyebrows furrowing at…Mor. 

It was Mor. 

She sounded worried. 

He remembered a time where only that…only the thought of Mor being worried about him would have made his whole week. Maybe even month…when he had trailed after her like a lovesick puppy…

He didn’t want her worried now. She didn’t need to be worried…she could be worried over Emerie…She didn’t need him either….

He was swept away again, feeling magic push against him…something cooling and crisp…Madja…Caramel and Salt clinging to him…Something else…he had never smelt that. It was warm and spicy, like cinnamon and oranges…warm and caring and he recoiled…It was supposed to be warm and caring but he couldn’t…he couldn’t stand it…

And then…then…suddenly…

Peppermint and Ice and forest wafted over him and everything was well. Home. He was home. 

He wanted that magic surrounding him…he wanted…he wanted it. So good. So gentle. So caring, so…

Peppermint and Ice and…Oh…

Breathing became so much easier, once that magic appeared…seemingly stroking his, making him relax and he did, because whoever it belonged to they were good . Good and kind and gentle….And Azriel collapsed into that and let them do to him as they wished. 

Whoever it was…they didn’t want to hurt him…

He strained to hear them…a female voice, quiet and even…

And…somehow…somehow that voice sounded like home. 

Home…It was such a weird idea, wasn’t it? He never really had a home…had no house that he considered to be home. considered to be a place that was his above all else. His home. Home…

He had never thought he would have it either. 

But that voice was a siren’s call to him…Safe and Sound and Home…

And then suddenly, the magic that had once been hesitant, gentle, stroking, became…more. Became invasive in a way he didn’t want it to be, because it saw too much and he didn’t want it to see how broken he was, how ripped apart, didn’t want it to see the utter wasteland that was his soul, didn’t want it to see what… 

His magic moved to strike out again the ice and the peppermint and then…then suddenly, something in him…something deep inside him snapped. 

Flooding him with icy brightness, silver and beautiful…it…

Between one blink and the next, everything changed. 

The very foundation of his being was altered, as his worldview got rearranged, as all he was starting to care about became her…became the female who belonged to this ice and peppermint, a cold winter’s day in the Illyrian steppes…

Home. She was home. 

The only home he had ever known. 

He gave in. 

With one snap, he gave in to her magic, to her, letting her shoulder the brunt of hsi magic, letting her magic cradle his, because all he wanted to be was to be surrounded by her, was to be with her, was…to protect her. 

Half a thought and he send his shadows out, send them to be with her, because he couldn’t, because he was too weak, too tired, too exhausted for her but…but they could be there… 

Go , he ordered them and they listened. 

They would take care of her…

The grey fog only seemed inviting now, because it was her magic that filled it. 

And he didn’t want to leave…not even when he could feel the touch on his mind, night-tipped claws sliding against his walls…he knew them. 

Rhys. 

But he didn’t…not right now…not when peppermint and ice was there, and then suddenly, it was…He could hear screaming, but not the words, never the words, but that was enough for the sudden anxiety to rise in his chest. What was happening, what was…

And then her voice.“Out, both of you!” Sharp like a whip crack. And still…still so perfect. Still… so beautiful…

He relaxed. She took care of it…of him…of everything…The magic thickened…He slipped away, once more for the umpteenth time…

Night-tipped claws raised against his walls, but he was too tired to react to Rhys’ mental touch…

Too tired to do anything but be swept up by the fog once more and be pulled deeper and deeper into darkness, into a void…

Until that iciness grasped him and dragged him back towards her with single-minded determination, not even giving him a choice on that matter. 

Well, who was he to fight her? 

Who was he to fight whoever she was, smelling of ice and peppermint, her magic ice cold and still welcoming…like…like a long lost part of him had finally been found and was welcoming him in…

Awareness came back to him slowly, the feeling of sweat trickling down his temple…of hands on his face, the skin uneven with scars…more smell of icy winters and a soft touch on his throat…something poured into his mouth and he swallowed reflexively. 

More sweat, more heat…but it seemingly left his body, slowly leeching out of him with every breath he took. Every breath felt better, more free…less heaviness in his chest…

“His fever broke.”  That voice. 

A touch on his shoulder, but it was the one at his ribcage that nearly did him in, more cooling magic wafting over him, wrapping around him and wrapping him around her little finger.

“Put him in the bath. Wash of the sweat…And don’t let him drown,”  the voice said quietly. 

That sounded nice. As long as she didn’t go away. As long until…he tried to move, tried to turn his head towards her voice…

“Az?” Cassian said, hand still on his shoulder. “You’re alright. Your fever broke…” He didn’t care about the fever. He cared about her voice! “What’s he thinking, Rhys?”  Cassian asked. 

*Welcome back to the living, Brother,* Rhys said mentally, carefully slithering into his brain and Az weakly batted at him in response.

“Is he in pain?” That voice. He didn’t care about anything but that voice. About her. He needed…he needed…

*You’re alright,* Rhys promised him gently.  *You gave us quite the scare, however.*

“No, he’s not,” Rhys cleared his throat as he answered. “He isn’t in any pain.”

“That’s good.” 

He made another noise low in his throat, wanting to get his eyes open to look at her, but they didn’t listen to him. seemingly none of his limbs listened to him.  

“Come on, Az…we’ll get you in a bath,” Rhys said quietly. 

Between Cassian and Rhys, Azriel was dragged into the bathing chamber, the sound of water hitting the tub…Any amount of caring about nudity had been stripped out of them by the time they had just been grappling younglings, and so he let Cassian strip him out of his sweat-damp clothing…and then finally, he was submerged in warm water and he really didn’t care about anything else anymore. 

“Don’t you ever dare to do anything like that again,” Cassian told him, his voice dark, as broad hands started scrubbing his arms. 

He tried to make some noise, but the only thing he managed was one of his wings weakly twitching, splashing water all over Cassian. 

“Careful,” Cassian warned him, warmth in his voice as he very gently pushed Azriel’s wing back and he remembered how to snap them closed somehow…warm hands carefully ran through his hair at that moment, fingertips pressing against his scalp…

“Cassian is right,” Rhys said softly, aloud for the benefit of Cassian more than him. “You kept us terrified for a few days, Az.”

They had worried? 

“Of course, we worried,” Rhys said sharply, gently tugging at his hair to punctuate his point. “You aren’t replaceable , Az.”

But he was…He was replaceable. Still… *Just a cold.* he mumbled in his brain, knowing that Rhys would pick up on it. 

“No, it wasn’t just a cold. You had an infection in your lungs, Az,” Rhys disagreed. “And they needed to open up your chest to get out a splinter of that Ash Bolt from Hybern as well. You had fucking faebane in your system.”

Oh. 

He hadn’t known that. Maybe that’s why he had felt that bad over the last few weeks…

“You’ll make a full recovery, but we didn’t know that at first,” Rhys continued softly.

He had spies to check in with, reports to read…it would all have piled up and Rhys would expect...

“Oh Az…You’ll take as much time as you need,”  Rhys assured him. “Everything is running smoothly. Nothing to worry about. Cassian sat with you the whole time.”

He hadn’t needed to do that. But still, warmth blossomed in Azriel’s chest at these words. 

*Mother Hen,* he thought warmly and gladly.

Rhys laughed softly. “He called you a mother hen,” he told Cassian amusedly. 

“Rhys did too,” Cassian agreed, his voice sharp. “But I didn’t fucking care when I thought you were going to stop breathing or hack up your lungs.” 

Oh. His brain still felt like mush but he didn’t want to be the reason for that note of pain in Cassian’s voice, even when he sighed, softening nearly imperceptively. “I don’t have so many brothers that I could afford to lose one,” Cassian said tightly. “So you are stuck with us, Az. I’ll get you something to wear, alright?”

Huh.

he wanted to say something, but the tongue in his mouth felt so thick and heavy that he didn’t…and all his worries were slowly growing hazy around the edges like something had taken off the blunt of it all…It was…

“I am sorry,” Rhys said at that moment, his voice quiet. “We’ll talk about it when you are feeling more like yourself, alright?”

Sorry about what? 

Azriel didn’t feel like Rhys had anything to be sorry for…if he could just stay right here in that bathtub for the rest of his long and immortal life…he would be so content…

“I think that’s the mirthroot talking, Az,” Rhys said with a snort.

What? Mirthroot? He hadn’t smoked mirthroot lately, had he? Hadn’t in…centuries. Oh, centuries…he was starting to even slur his thoughts…and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

“In the pain potion. You got some Mirthroot in there,” Rhys explained patiently, still running his hands through his hair. 

He should never stop doing that…Azriel really liked that…

Rhys snorted in amusement but did as requested and Azriel leaned back into the touch… “We’ll talk when you aren’t high on Mirthroot,” Rhys repeated warmly.

“Is he okay?” Cassian asked, or maybe Cassian's disembodied voice asked, because Azriel still couldn’t feel his eyes…He still had them, right?”

*You do, I promise.*

Oh good. That would suck. 

“ Really enjoying that mirthroot,” Rhys said, sounding like he was biting back a laugh.

Yeah, he did. Rhys was just jealous that he didn’t get to have any… 

“Good for him,” Cassian agreed with a snort as he helped Rhys get him out of the bath. Azriel grumbled in protest, even as they wrapped him in towels. “Enjoy that potion while it lasts, Az. You are not getting a single Sleep Potion for the next few decades.”

What?

His mind was sluggish because otherwise there would be shame pouring all from him, but like that, his eyebrows furrowed and he didn’t understand. 

“We found your little stash,” Cassian said quietly as he wrestled him into a pair of linen pants. “Your shadows said that you couldn’t sleep. We’ll talk about that as well. Later. When you have slept. When you feel better. Then we are going to talk, alright?” Cassian promised him. 

Huh. 

Alright. They could talk…later…when…

Shadows…where were his shadows….

We’re here, Master. 

Good. 

Shadows were there. something rubbed at the edges of his brain and he searched for that smell of ice and peppermint, without thought. 

She’s here, Master. 

She was there? The voice?

“What’s he thinking?” Cassian asked. 

“He wants to get to that voice,” Rhys said, warmth in his voice. 

“What voice?” Cassian wondered and then, “Ohhhhhh. Come on then, Az. We’ll get you to your voice.��

His voice? How was it his voice? 

It wasn't his voice. His voice sounded different. 

And then…seconds later…“Is he conscious?” His wings flared in response to her, some deep buried instincts, of preening for an available female to show her that he was strong and tall and a good provider and could give her strong children.

Her voice…her cauldron-damned voice was going to…

“Spaced out like whoa,” Cassian said at that moment, dumping him on that bed and Azriel wanted to protest, but his body didn’t want to listen to that voice. 

That voice. Home. 

“Probably thanks to the Pain Potion I gave him.” She laughed. 

It was the most beautiful sound he ever had heard in his long life. He caught another whiff of her scent, of perfect winter and ice and peppermint and freshness and…

He wanted to bath in that scent. Wanted to roll around in it and absolutely cover himself in her. 

A blanket was tucked over his chest, a hand brushing over his naked skin…it felt like magic was dancing over every one of his nerves ending, everything tingling…and suddenly his eyes were listening to him…and he could see her. 

There she was…everything was hazy around her, and she glowed silver and she was…

Everything had changed at the feel of her magic and the sound of her voice…and now it suddenly seemed to snap in place. 

He moved on instinct when his hand wrapped around one fragile little wrist…around skin that…skin that looked just like his…oh. 

Every inch of his body seemingly sang. 

His. Hers. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. 

MATE. 

“Mate,” he breathed, staring at her hand and then looking up at her, lights seemingly dancing around her…

Oh, she was glorious. 

Ice and Winter and Peppermint and Magic and Healing and His. His. Mate. 

Mate. 

Mate. His Mate. 

His mate with scars like his? 

He blinked again, staring at her face…at the scars that stretched up…not just over her hands and wrists and arms…but her face…stretching the skiing taught…one corner of full lips pulled down…Scars. 

Somebody had hurt her? Who had hurt her? 

He was going to find out. 

Soon. As soon as…

As soon as he could think again…But now…

Glorious, she was. 

She stared at him, one eye grey and milky and…and the other big and brown and beautiful and shocked…he could smell her shock…shock. 

Shock, but no fear. 

“Stay,” he got out. he wanted to say more but the words didn’t work…nothing worked…But she was his. His. His. 

His to protect…His.

One wing flared out, wrapping around her sitting at his bedside. 

“Come on Az, don’t hit the poor girl with your wing,” Cassian said with a laugh. 

He growled. “Mine.” Wrapping the wing tighter around her. His. 

“ Stay ,” he repeated. He could feel consciousness leaving him again, and still held on tight to it, clinging to her. 

Her hand pulled itself out of his grip and he whimpered from the loss, but then she took his hand in hers. “I’ll stay,” she whispered, the most beautiful words he had ever heard. “I’ll stay. You sleep.”

Sleep. 

He could sleep. If it pleased her, he would sleep...he would do anything she wanted. As long as she was never leaving him. 

[cirquellcuriosities]

This demon seems to have gotten into a sweet candy mess just in time for spooky season! Now they will forever wear the colors of one of the best treats of fall: a caramel apple! 🍏

They will be available for bidding this Thur 9/21 at 5pm pst - Sun 9/24 5pm!

Starting Bid will be $1500. Full info will be available in the google doc.

For the curious, the design of the fur was blanket stitched by hand! They are also weighted and about 35 in long not including the tail.

[s0urdoughs]

Could we get a story with some seam ripping? I always love to see it with Matty <3

Here’s a little bit of rapid wg involving outgrowing clothes and some seam ripping :] Enjoy!

———————————————

Matty pauses mid-step to stare at the colorful box on the counter. The top had been removed to reveal several small, neatly-decorated chocolates inside. Next to the chocolates was a handwritten note that simply said: “All for you” with a heart drawn next to it.

Matty peers over the sweets, but pauses mid-selection. He wasn’t forgetting an important date, was he? Nah, Graeme must have found some discounted chocolate and wanted to share…or something. Oh, well. He shrugs, popping a chocolate into his mouth.

Dark chocolate raspberry cream. Nice. One of his favorites. He chews slowly, trying to savor the flavor combination of the small truffle. His fingers hover over the chocolates again, trying to find one of similar appearance, but has no luck and picks another at random.

Sharp teeth sink into milk chocolate while a sweet, buttery caramel fills his mouth. “Mmm—Hm?” Matty feels a pinch at his waist. He stops midchew and looks down. His eyes widened, shocked to see the fabric of his sweater being pulled taut by his now, very incredibly, swollen belly. He swallows and swears he sees the lump of his stomach wobble slightly, swelling bigger before—

BWOMP

A chubby flab of bare skin bounces into view, revealing the entire lower half of Matty’s tummy. His face heats up, watching the rim of his sweater rise higher and higher. He stands frozen in place, watching the doughy weight of his stomach double in size before his very eyes. The newly added layer of fat jiggles as it continues to grow, sending ripples up his belly and down his thickening legs. His once loose sweatpants now tightly hug his engorged behind, the fabric creaking in protest as more fat balloons into place.

RIIIIIIIIIIPPP

The seams along his inner thighs burst open, sending chubby flesh bulging out over the frayed threads. It’s not long before the stitching around his waistband gives out, framing his love handles with tattered shreds. Matty looks down to view the damage, but struggles to see past his belly. A deep flush warms his entire face.

“Holy shit.”

He uses a whole hand to grab at the flab that now was his gut and gasps. He was huge. His sharp fingers squeeze at his plush lower belly and he whines, shaking the pudge in his palm. The small movement jostles the entirety of his swollen figure.

Matty’s eyes snap back to the remaining chocolates and he smirks.

“All for me, huh?”