#deliciously indulgent bakery

[pretty-toru]

boyfriend quiz ᰔ gojo satoru

contents: tooth-rotting fluff. fem!reader. established relationship. mentions of sweets. making gojo think every question he answers is wrong on a quiz you made up.

“Baby, let’s take a little couple’s quiz together, hm?” 

Satoru had just stepped into your shared bedroom after a hot shower. The ends of his hair still damp from towel drying and his cheeks just a tickled pink from the steam as he takes long strides toward you, crawling into bed and stealing some of your warmth from under the covers. 

“Hmm, why do I have a bad feeling about this~?” There’s a boyish smile on his face as he holds you close and nuzzles your neck softly, feeling like his head’s up in the clouds the moment he’s wrapped up in your scent. “But alright, I’m game! Let’s go, I’m ready. What’s the first question?”

The white tufts of your boyfriend’s hair delicately grazes your nose and you press a tender kiss to the top of his head. “So, imagine you’re at our favorite bakery, what do you buy?” You start with an innocent question, leading him to believe that there's no right or wrong answers but he suspects there's a trick up your sleeve.

“That’s a fun one! I’m at our favorite bakery, right~?” He ponders carefully for a moment. “Well, of course, I would want those delicious pastries, those yummy cakes, and those fresh breads! And while I’m there, I should grab a few of your favorites too!” 

You almost forget just how incredibly thoughtful and caring Satoru can be. How you’re always on his mind and he spends a lot of time thinking about you no matter his whereabouts. You know this because it usually manifests in forms of gifts and trinkets—some sweet, some odd, some over the top, but they’re all very near and dear to your heart. 

“Wrong.” You shake your head gently, forcing an exasperated sigh that tells him you’re disappointed and upset he managed to get the question wrong. But really, you’re just messing with him, making him think his answers are somehow incorrect in this one-sided game of yours. “You weren’t supposed to be there without me in the first place.”

“What do you mean, Angel~? Why can’t I be at the bakery without you? Even if I’m getting you something, too?” There’s a glimmer of confusion behind his cerulean hues, yet his earnest smile still remains and he’s a bit at loss for words but continues to indulge you. 

“Next question—” Satoru quickly plops an affectionate kiss on your cheek before you continue, hoping to remedy your crestfallen face. “You have now left the bakery, what’s the next thing you do?” 

“Easy. The next thing I do after leaving the bakery is be with my favorite girl, and share all the delicious things I got. I want to be with you, no one else.” 

There he goes being so sweet again! He’s making this extremely hard for you not to openly swoon over him and smother his face with so many kisses, and he can see the way you’re biting the inside of your cheek trying to suppress your smile that he’s getting to you. But you shake your head again, “Wrong! You’re supposed to pick up the strawberries from the market like I had asked you to.”

“Oh my goodness, you’re right! I forgot all about the strawberry you wanted~” Satoru gasps loudly and runs a stressful hand through his hair. He then laughs and playfully rolls his eyes that he somehow answered wrong for the second time now. “Fine, I’ll go pick up the strawberries.” 

You couldn’t help the quick kiss that lands on his cheek for being so utterly cute and adorable as you giggled along with him. “Okay, next question—a girl approaches you and she looks like she wants to hug you. What do you do?” 

“Hm, who is she and why does she look like she wants to hug me?” He tilts his head to the side as he considers the situation. You feel like maybe, just maybe, he’s merely seconds away from getting a curveball thrown at him. Even though you know kind of partner he is, you’re quite curious as to what he’ll come up with. 

“Well, what do you do~?” You gently urge him for an answer. 

“It really depends, Angel. Are you the girl then?” His lips curl into a smirk, and he looks at you almost too knowingly like he could read your mind. But you know that even his Six Eyes can't do that. 

You hate that he was able to figure it out so easily. He watches as your face lights up into your perfect and gorgeous smile, with your head falling onto his chest and face burrowing in defeat. All of his answers were simply too sweet and considerate with you in mind and you can feel your heart swell with so much love and adoration for him.

Your muffled words come up to reach his ears, “How’d you know to answer that I was there with you? You’re too smart for this. But yes, the girl is supposed to be me.” 

“So you approached me, and you wanted to hug me, right~?” He strokes your hair softly and offers an amused chuckle. You slowly lift yourself off him to meet his soft gaze, nodding. “If you want a hug, you always get a hug, sweetheart.” 

Satoru doesn’t need to be told twice to have his strong arms coil around your figure, locking you sweetly in his hold that makes you feel completely safe and secure in his warm embrace. Then, a lingering kiss to your forehead just before he releases you but you can feel the faintest waver in his loosening grip that he never wants to let you go.

“Okay, one last question?” Your weight dips on the mattress beside him, tucking yourself in the nook of his arm and resting your head on his chest. He hums contently when your body always seems to fit so perfectly with his as he brings you closer to him like he can’t get close enough. ”What are we doing next?”

“Well, we could go home, eat the baked goods and the strawberries. After that, maybe snuggle while watching a movie and take a long nap together. How’s that sound to you, baby?”

You briefly mull over his words, and you can’t remember the last time he truly took some time off and enjoyed himself without restraints. So you’re determined to plan a fun and romantic getaway because even your loving and goofy boyfriend deserves a much-needed break to experience the small joys and pleasures with you every now and again.

“That sounds like our perfect next date.”

[cuddleprofiler]

BONA FIDE - When you send Spencer all the letters you wrote throughout your relationship.

Word Count: 4.2k approx

Genre: fluff, somewhat angst I guess

Warnings: Burning, that's it

A/N: Positive Criticism is welcomed. Flashbacks are in italics and letters are in bold and italics.

“What is it?” Spencer spoke to himself quietly in the middle of the night. The team had been on a case in New York City. Somehow, his amazing girlfriend had an inkling days ago that he might not be present on his birthday, so she packed a gift for him to open at midnight in whichever city he would be at the time. Now, sitting cross-legged on the bed in his mismatched socks—something you always teased him about—he carefully unwrapped the present you had snuck into his go-bag.

Moments ago, you had been on the phone with him, your honeyed voice urging him to open the gift and not to poke fun at her. You wished him a Happy Birthday, but confusion lingered in his mind. Why would he make fun of you? What could you possibly have gifted him that warranted that?

“Letters?” he puzzled, seeing the pack of letters tied together with a red ribbon. There was nothing written on the letters except dates — going back a few years. Alongside the letters was a box of assorted cookies, all his favourites.

He chuckled to himself, recalling how you would look at him with exasperation every time he indulged in cookies as soon as he returned home after a case. Your concern for his sweet tooth had even led you to create a PowerPoint presentation, hilariously outlining why moderation was key. 

“No matter how sweet you are Spencer, you will remain so with or without sugar.”, you told him.

He laughed so hard at your presentation that soon you followed him, and both of you were on the couch, his arm around you while your face was buried in his shoulder, laughing.

However, he still didn't understand why the daughter of dentists became a bakery owner. Perhaps to ensure her parents' teachings reached everyone, helping them maintain their sugar intake and thereby increasing awareness among the masses. But he knew the influence of your mom’s cooking and baking must have been one of the reasons you pursued a career as a baker.

A ping from his phone broke his reverie. It was a message from you: “Eat the cookies too and don’t dwell on the PPP incident.” He could almost picture your mock-annoyed smile, your eyes narrowing playfully as you tried to look intimidating but only ended up adorable. He shook his head, smiling.

Reaching for the box, he opened it, savouring a cookie while picking up the first letter. He glanced at the date and realized it was from the year you met, back when you were just the charming owner of the bakery he frequented while he was still just an FBI agent.

“Dear Dr. Spencer Reid,” it began. 

“I don’t even know why I’m writing this letter. I mostly do this for my close family and friends. My mom started this trend, and I’m continuing it. But we aren’t close, are we? I didn’t even notice you the first time you came into the bakery, nor the second. But today, at ten o’clock, I felt something was off. I checked every ingredient in the kitchen; everything was perfect. But when I got home, I realized what was missing… you.”

As he read, his heart raced with warmth. This was a glimpse into your early feelings, a record of how your relationship had begun. He appreciated the effort you put into this; he knew you had a habit of holding back your thoughts. He knew how much you loved him. All your actions screamed it. But you always had a tight leash on your thoughts. He had become better at understanding you over time, but your words still amazed him.

It was you who was missing. You always came in on Wednesdays, and today's Wednesday, and you didn't come. I didn't know whether you had found a new bakery providing more delicious baked goods and coffee than mine or if you were out of town. You were in the FBI, right? And you once said, I could vaguely remember, that you had to leave a lot for work. Must be an important person. :)

He laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “There’s no way I would find better food than yours, Y/N. Only you, baby. Even the whole team is addicted to your baking, especially Rossi and Hotch.”

I got so used to you, so comfortable with you that a day without you made me come out of my zone. I felt like a child on Christmas morning, eagerly searching for the presents that Santa might have left. 

You coming into the bakery with a smile brings good vibes into my life, I guess. You talking about the origin of the ingredients I use in my goods and complimenting my and other chefs’ baking skills feels so nice. I didn’t realize how much you brighten my day until now. Thank you, Dr. Spencer Reid. I won't be able to say all this in person. I get nervous easily if you have noticed. So, this letter, which I am never going to give to you, has to suffice for my conscience to not make me feel guilty.

Yours truly,  

Y/N Y/L/N.

He felt as if he were in high school, where teenagers had crushes and were continually gazing at each other to gauge their feelings and thoughts. However, here you had given him the letters instead, to let him know what you thought all along in their relationship.

He couldn’t help but remember how he had been drawn to you from the first moment he stepped into your bakery. It wasn’t just your incredible baked goods; it was you—your laughter, your passion, your warmth.

He was walking on the pavement to a newly opened bakery near the FBI building. JJ had been gushing about the doughnuts and the other goods they had been selling for days. She had once taken some for Henry, and he was hooked! The next weekend, JJ and Will had taken Henry there, and all of them came back fascinated by the bakery and its owner.

However, he was more convinced when Hotch overheard JJ and spoke about how much Jack liked the bakery (his almost-smile told him that he did too) and how nice and polite the owner was—an appreciation from Hotch, which was rare—he was sure.

He was on his way to the bakery. As he neared his destination, he could smell the aroma of melted butter, coffee, and cinnamon. His feet instinctively took over while his mind was lost in the sweet aroma.

Soon, he was standing in front of “BONA FIDE.”  

“Wonderful name,” he mused to himself. He opened the door and went inside. He was mesmerized by the interior of the place. It was so perfectly planned. Everything was set in place in such a manner that it provided comfort to anyone seeking it, and peace to anyone looking for it. “No wonder JJ and Hotch are fans of this place, especially Hotch.”

Glass display areas on his right were filled with every baked good he could think of—garnished doughnuts with nuts and sprinkles, blueberry muffins, chocolate chip cookies on red plastic trays, croissants, Danishes, a variety of cakes in white boxes, and much more.

The left side had a sitting area, with tables and booths. His eyes roamed over the table near the windows. Every corner was filled with medium-sized palm trees, enriching the colour palette of the place. Each table also had a small plant.

He heard a honey-rich voice,  

“Welcome to Bona Fide,” she murmured, looking up at him from the diary she was writing in, placing the pen down and securing the position of the page.  

“She’s beautiful,” he thought, and he immediately flushed at his own thoughts. He hoped you hadn’t seen him.

“Hi,” he gave you a bright smile. “Um, do you have some blueberry oat muffins?”  

He mentally face-palmed at his own question. Of course, they do. He is in a bakery.

You nervously shuffled around the counter, tapping your foot lightly. “Yeah, yeah. We have that.”  

“Nice. Can I get one of those and an espresso?” he asked. “Please add an almond croissant as well.”  

“Okay. Please wait for a moment.” You went away. You came back after a few minutes.

“Um, sorry, I forgot to ask. Do you want it to be packed or…?”  

He had initially thought of eating in the serenity of his house. He didn't want to waste his time in a bakery, with all the sounds of different age groups mixing and causing him a headache after a day full of paperwork. However, his plans changed the moment his eyes fell on you. It would be more peaceful here than at home, even with the other nine people present.

“It's okay. I will eat it here.” You passed him a smile.

“By the way, do you know croissants are native to Austria, originated from crescent-shaped pastry—”  

And that's how all of his visits went from then on to your bakery.

He continued to the next letter.

“Dear Spencer,” it began. “I feel so intelligent whenever you come into my bakery because I designed it myself. Every time the sun highlights your features, I feel blessed. You look ethereal, especially with your floppy hair and that charming smile. You might not notice, but I can’t help but stare at you sometimes.”

He was glad he was not reading in front of you. He would surely be a blushing mess if he had read it in your home. Even though it would have been funny, you would have put your head on the pillow, hiding from him. The thought made him chuckle softly. 

“Someone should compliment you; you’d blush and look adorable. But I’m sure I’d fumble if I tried to do it in front of you. I try to avoid staring, but you make it impossible. My coworkers have even pointed out my goofy smile whenever you’re around. They’ve figured out my crush on you. See, you’re the profiler, and they are here figuring out my crush on you. You should have done that first.”

“Well, baby,” he murmured, “I’ve been too busy admiring you to notice.” 

He was intent on preserving every little detail of your beauty in his remarkable memory. The way your eyes would widen and your lips part whenever someone praised your work or you, followed by a soft "thank you" as your cheeks flushed with colour. He loved how you would sing Taylor Swift songs when you thought no one was around to hear, each baked good accompanied by its own special tune. These quirks were just some of the many things he found endearing about you—what truly made you, you.

But I think it's good that you haven't figured it out; else, I would be a tomato shaded in front of you. I wouldn't want to be embarrassed, I’m sure of that. You teasing me is enough.

I love the way your eyes become a shade lighter than usual whenever you talk about what you love. It looks like a hundred-watt bulb has been ignited in your eyes. You love reading, and I love listening to you. Apart from my crush, it's an honour to meet such a knowledgeable and kind-hearted person, Spencer. Always be such a sweetheart.

“Now I know why she keeps looking at me like that whenever I read or speak in general,” he said, going over the words deliberately slowly. He wanted to absorb every feeling that would come with the first read of these letters.

As he continued reading, he felt more connected to you than ever. Your thoughts laid bare were a testament to the bond you shared, and he cherished every word.

The next letter revealed your hesitations about asking him out, a rush of emotions spilling onto the page. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, but every Wednesday, I get cold feet. It’s silly, I know. I see you with other girls, and it makes me realize how much I want to be more than friends.”

His heart swelled as he read your candid thoughts, your honesty striking a chord deep within him. You had navigated your feelings with such vulnerability, and he appreciated the depth of your affection.

Every time I had to endure a girl flirting with you, only I knew how much I was controlling myself not to have my fist contact with her face. Yes, I know all of them were more beautiful than me, maybe smarter. However, that doesn't mean I can't be jealous.

He gasped slightly, his jaw going slack. He didn’t know that you were jealous all that time. So, this is what the fun-making part is? His features softened. You always acted cool, so it was hard to tell when you were jealous. He would make sure he didn’t make you angry on this matter; else, he had first-hand experience of your violence. He shuddered.

I didn’t expect you to be interested in me. Imagine my surprise when you asked me out! I’m really sorry for my reaction—I was just shocked.

Spencer smiled at the memory of that day. You had lit up when he said yes, and now, as he sat in the quiet of his hotel room, he relived that moment, the sweetness of it washing over him. 

Being with you feels like a dream. The possibility of getting to know you more makes my heart flutter.

He remembered how his relationship went through the BAU. The disadvantage of being with profilers all day is that nothing’s a secret. The teasing he received from Morgan and Emily. He never even told you that Morgan, Emily, and Garcia went to your bakery for the first time to see you with their own eyes.

“I’m never going to return these,” he said, smiling to himself, knowing that they were pieces of your journey together.

With the cookies and your letters beside him, Spencer felt truly blessed. No matter where he was in the world, he had you with him in his heart.

Rossi, ever prudent, caught on to the way Spencer was talking about Y/N.It was clear to him that love was either blossoming or already in full bloom. With this realization,he pushed Spencer to ask her out. Spencer would always be grateful to Rossi for that. He would definitely ask him to officiate their wedding.

Dear Spence,

I’ve always known you to be compassionate, calm, and composed. Never have I, in all these months, seen you lose your cool. Seeing you so terrified today, standing outside my apartment building, was unsettling—I won’t lie. I never imagined someone could become so important to me that I would worry about them like this.

The moment I saw the fear in your eyes, a chill ran through me. The thought of what could have happened to you if anything had gone wrong sent a jolt of dread through my heart. Now I find myself fearing for my safety, not just for me, but for you. Your pain matters to me; it matters so much that it eclipses my own. Honestly, I think it matters to you more than it does to me. I will forever fear the way your eyes were haunted and will always try to keep myself out of danger as much as possible, Spencer, but if by any chance something happens to me, move forward. Even though it may be difficult, do it for my sake! Move forward and live a beautiful life with your family.

Yours lovingly,  

Y/N.

Spencer let out a shaky breath as he finished the letter, feeling a mix of emotions wash over him. This was his least favourite letter to read. “What does she mean by ‘your family’? It’s our family,” he muttered, fighting back angry tears. “This girl, I swear! We need to talk about this.”

His mind drifted back to that night when a single phone call seemed to steal a decade from his life.

It had been two A.M. when his phone rang. Hell, he would be lying if he said he even looked at the caller ID. He knew it couldn't be from the Bureau, as the team had a week's holiday. He just wanted the call to end as soon as possible.

“Hello?” Sleep thickened his voice.  

“Is this SSA Dr. Spencer Reid?” A calm, female voice broke through, pulling him into alertness. He sat up, suddenly wide awake.  

“Yes? Who am I speaking to?”  

“I’m a paramedic. This is about Y/N Y/L/N. She asked me to call you.”  

“What happened?” he asked, the urgency in his tone making him fully alert. He pushed the covers aside, heart racing at the mention of your name.

“Sir, can you come to her apartment building?”  

“What happened? Please, tell me!”  

“It’s best if we talk when you get here,” she replied, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Tell me something,” he shouted, but all they said was that there was nothing to worry about and that he should get there. Well, there was something to worry about if you were called to your girlfriend’s complex at two in the morning.

When he arrived, a paramedic met him outside and directed him to you.You were sitting at the back of an ambulance, swinging your legs, a blanket over your shoulder protecting you from the early morning cold.

“Hey, hey, darling! Are you okay? What happened?” he asked, his heart racing as he took in your slumped shoulders and the frown on your face. Your hands shook, and as he stepped closer, he noticed your entire frame trembling.

“There was a fire on her floor. There was some faulty wiring; we got everyone out. She was the last one. We found her in the last room; she was sleeping, I guess, and it shocked her much more due to that,” the female paramedic nearby replied to his question.

As Spencer aim was fulfilled, he could see the firefighters working in the background. He thanked the paramedic and turned to you, locking eyes. You looked wide-eyed, and he cupped your cheeks gently. 

“Hey, don’t worry. You’re okay. You’re safe now,” he reassured you, pulling you into a tight embrace. 

He avoided any kind of physical contact with others as much as possible (except Garcia), but he wished to be near Y/N, to hold her—even if it was just her hand in his—to make sure she was there. With him.

Currently, the need to hold her was paramount. He wished to ensure she was alive and that her blood hadn’t stopped forever because if that happened, he didn't know what he would do. The sob that had been stifled within you broke free as your heart realized it was out of danger. You cried until the fear began to dissipate, resting your head on his shoulder as he held you closer.

“Shall we go?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that enveloped you. You hummed in agreement, and he helped you down from the ambulance, wrapping an arm around you for support.

His gaze fell upon the burns on your arms and neck, and he took your hands in his, desperate to comfort you. Your eyes met his, and you assured him they were minor second-degree burns, but he couldn’t shake the anger bubbling inside him. “Why didn’t they bring you out first?” he wanted to shout but the fact was they were doing their duty, and now he had his duty too: to take you to safety and wrap you in a bubble if possible.

In the car, he found the courage to ask a question that had been weighing on his mind for months. “Would you like to move in with me?”  

“You don’t have to do this, Spencer.”  

“No, I’m not asking because of tonight. I’ve been wanting to ask for ages. Please, think about it. Don’t rush your decision.”

Under the moonlight a few nights later, you and Spencer lay in bed, wrapped in a peaceful stillness. The only sounds were your gentle breaths. He was blowing softly on your burns, eliciting goosebumps in their wake.

“Spencer?” you broke the silence.  

“Yeah?”  

“Does the offer still stand?”  

A moment of clarity washed over him as he realized what you meant. He smiled slightly, still a bit dazed.  

“Of course, it does, star.”  

“I don’t think I can live on my own right now.”  

“I want to move in with you.”  

Your lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, a tender expression of the love that had blossomed between you. His hands cradled your face, deepening the kiss as excitement surged through him.  

“Our forever isn’t ending between us,” Spencer declared, his conviction unwavering.  

“While I’m here, nothing will happen to you. I’ll make sure of it.” He wiped away a few stray tears that had escaped your eyes.

He finished reading the last letter while savouring half the cookies and coffee he had made.

Darling,

I meant to write this letter so many days ago, but I was putting it off so I could spend more time with you. It’s funny that I’m writing to you now while you’re right across from me—well, lying on the couch, engrossed in “The Collector” by John Fowles. I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m sneaking glances at you every so often. You’ve caught me twice and also have found myself giggling. Now, you probably think I’m going to do a prank or something on you, and I am two seconds away from laughing out loud as you are currently very, very engrossed in telling me “Why I shouldn’t wage a prank war against an MIT graduate?”

I find it utterly adorable, my sweetness. You know how much I wish for us to remain in this blissful state forever, surrounded by love and free from any threat to the life we’re building together. You know how much I wish we remain like this forever, in so much love always, with nothing ever threatening to bring down the life we’re building. However, life is, for lack of a better term, life, and it will bring sadness and other emotions as well. But what I have realized is that whatever happens, I will always be there for you. The love, care, and understanding that we have gained over the years, Spencer, shines and is a captivating element of our relationship. My mom says, “A relationship having care, trust, and understanding as fundamental properties goes a long way! Love can come after that as well.” We have all of them. I hope our relationship also goes on to infinity.

Do you know why I chose the name ‘BONA FIDE’ for my bakery? There were countless options, but that one stood out. It’s catchy, it has a Latin flair that intrigues people, and, most importantly, it has a beautiful meaning: “Made in good faith—authentic and genuine.” When I opened my bakery, I was embodying that meaning—an assurance that the food and the atmosphere would be authentic and made with love. But now it doesn’t end here. Now, it stretches to you, Dr. Spencer Reid. 

My darling, I’m making you a bona fide promise: I will love you unconditionally for my entire life. I love you, Spence <3. I love you more than I love my bakery, and that says a lot. But in all seriousness, I have never loved anyone as deeply as I love you. You have my heart, now and always.

With all my love,  

Y/N.

As Spencer put down the letter, his vision blurred slightly. It had been so long since someone had appreciated him so openly. Your words filled him with warmth, a wave of gratitude washing over him for the depth of your feelings.

He smiled, thinking of the love that enveloped him. If someone had told his teenage self that he would one day experience this kind of happiness, he would have scoffed. There was no way he could have envisioned such a bright future, but now, surrounded by love from friends, the team, and you, he felt truly overwhelmed.

He caressed your handwriting and kissed the letters, hoping his affection could be transferred through conduction. He wasn't worried. Even if it didn’t work, he would show you himself how much he loved you. All his life.

“So it was all planned, huh?” Rossi asked Hotch, as they sat in a bar, drinks in hand.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hotch replied, taking a sip of his whiskey, attempting to maintain his composure.  

“You knew Y/N and Reid would hit it off. That’s why you praised her bakery so highly. You basically orchestrated their meeting.”  

“Y/N is a wonderful baker, and I genuinely appreciate her talent. I was not doing what you think,” Hotch said, a smirk threatening to break free.  

Rossi shook his head, amused. “Attaboy!” he muttered, and the conversation drifted to other topics.

[thelcsdaily]

Parisian Chocolate Cake from Porto's Bakery

This delicious moist cake is a constant favorite. Composed of a smooth chocolate mousse layer with Porto's famous whipped chocolate ganache on top. Crispy pearls made of dark and white chocolate were used to finish. A heavenly creation. Life is too short not to indulge in the rich, decadent flavors from time to time.

"In the childhood memories of every good cook is a large kitchen, a working stove, a cake who cooks and a mom." - Barbara Costikyan

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Sweet Delights

Peeta Mellark x AFAB!Reader

Summery: It's a slow work day in District 12. With rain pouring down outside, who can blame you for wanting to indulge a little? Everything's fine so long as no one walks in... right?

Tags: Pre-established relationship, no use of y/n, pet names, reader has AFAB body/female pronouns, switch!Peeta, switch!Reader, edging, female fingering, teasing, count down, orgasm denial, blow job, face fucking, public sex, someone walks in, dirty talk, Peeta's a freak but he's sweet about it, praise kink if you squint, mentions of eating out, cum swallowing, cursing, post-Mockingjay but that's not really relevant, no reader orgasm this time around. Once again, I'm probably forgetting something.

Notes: I have to say, I did not expect Peeta to win the poll! And not to worry for everyone else, I'll get to all those characters eventually. (Derek girlies, I see you and I love you.) Thank you for your support on the last one, I hope you like this one too! Bon ABBA teeth.

•°《▪︎♡▪︎》°•

Peeta loves surprises.

Giving them, receiving them. If it's unexpected, Peeta is practically bouncing off his chair to figure out what to do with it.

It made everyday life sweeter. Slipping a note into his apron pocket when he wasn't looking for him to discover, finding a million more hidden in my apron. Little drawings hidden amongst everyday things, like the wildflowes Peeta likes to draw and place next to my powders and perfumes. But best of all surprises were the little pastries we would make when the days were slow and the other was watching the front of the bakery. Usually using scraps, because Peeta detests wasting food, but always delicious nonetheless.

The best innocent surprise, I should say.

Today was an especially slow day. Rain pounding down in District 12, making the roads thick with mud. It's a blessing for the hot ovens that fight against the cold seeping through the front windows. Although they're helping me more than Peeta, who's up front perched at the counter, insistent as always that someone needs to be watching the shop. "We won't hear the bell over the rain," he'd said.

I knew better than that. There were tells when Peeta wanted a surprise. He'd never just ask for something, always fearing rejection. Of course the minute I opened my mouth he was ready to do whatever I had even intrusively dreamed of so long as it meant love and praise. But to ask for himself? It's a whole different matter. So when he is insistent I work alone in the back, I understand that this is his own silent way of asking for some sort of surprise. And with the way his broad shoulders look in that pale yellow knit sweater, who am I to deny him?

I'm not one to deny him anything, quite frankly.

The best surprises of all are when we sneak up behind the other, always starting so innocently. Maybe while one of us is baking, maybe while one of us is simply dressing. With the quick slip of a hand, it doesn't take long before the other is panting and begging for release. Not that we always give it to each other.

Peeta liked sneaking up on me in private. Usually when I was in the back baking.

"What are you working on?" He'd usually ask.

"Custom order," I may answer with a smile. He liked my smiles, always said so.

"What are the details?" He'd ask. He'd put his hands on my lower back, rubbing soft enough to not disturb me while still working out some knots.

Then I'd prattle off details. This one is for so-and-so down on whatever-street-or-corner, they'd like a cake.

"For the Harvest Festival?" He'd ask. I'd nod, still focused on my task. "How many orders do we have for the Festival?"

"A good bit, it's our busiest time," I'd always say with a bright, soft tone to my voice. He'd chuckle, placing a small kiss on the back of my neck and pressing his hips against mine from behind, usually revealing his hard on.

"So, how many orders this year?" He'd ask. His hands would work at a knot, his breath hot on my neck, and his hips would roll ever so slowly against mine, taking his time to build both of us up.

"Ah, I think- I think 12?" I'd say, trying to focus on both him and whatever I was making. Cake. Right. Stir.

"12?" He'd ask. His cock would be deliciously hard, grinding against my clothed cunt just a bit harder as his hands would return to my hips, steadying me against him. "That's pretty good."

"Double digits," I'd say brightly, my voice breathy as I struggle more to focus. Cake. Stir. Hands, not hips.

But I'd always do hips instead, leaning back and tilting my head ever so slightly so he can see my enjoyment.

"You need to stir," Peeta would gently guide in my ear. My back would press against his front, his chin now resting on my shoulder.

"I know," I'd say softly. I didn't know shit.

He'd chuckle, one hand slipping to my front to cup one of my breasts.

"Need to get those orders out," he'd remind me. "You always seem so stressed about being on time."

"One of us has to be," I'd say. His hand on my hip would find the band of my pants, slipping past them and teasing me, sliding his fingers against my wet folds.

"Pick up the whisk," he'd instruct. My hands would shake as they obeyed, moving from being splayed across the marble counter to resume my task.

"Stir slowly," he'd say. His large fingers would slip over my entrance, coating himself in the thick lube now dripping from me. "You want to make sure the texture's correct."

It took such mental energy to balance the two things. Especially when he would finally sink in his middle finger, always going knuckle deep and twirling it around inside of me, making sure to leave no spot untouched. His other hand would pinch and pull at my breast, giving special care to make his fingers replicate the feeling of his soft lips wrapped around my sensitive nipples.

"What's the next order?" He'd ask. I could feel myself dripping down his hand, and I knew he loved this. Peeta would do whatever he could to make sure I was wet, even when he wouldn't go any further than simple teasing. I think he liked the idea of me always being ready. Not that he would assume. He always started out slow, and if I ever said no it was never a big deal. He'd simply continue talking to me and go on with his day perfectly fine. But if I was willing, he'd always massage or do whatever until he could feel my arousal himself. I think it's why he likes eating out best. Especially when I'd talk him through it, usually promising to cum down his throat while tugging his soft blond hair. His eyes would grow wide and soft at that, his whimpers increasing as he'd fuck me quicker with his tongue, grinding himself against whatever. It was a beautiful mess he'd turn himself into, desperate and begging silently as he clutched my hips.

"The what?" I'd ask breathlessly. I was tight around him, focused on how slow and sweet he was pumping in and out, twirling and wiggling his finger inside of me. His other hand slipping under my shirt, and his lips sucking gently at my neck, careful not to leave bruises.

"The orders, sweetheart," he'd gently remind me. "What's the next one?"

My lips would part, eyes fluttering shut as I tried to remember. His middle finger would pump out and then pump back in with the addition of his pointer finger, tearing a soft moan from my throat.

"Shh," he'd gently whisper. "We're at work."

He liked this little game. Ramping me up, forcing me to behave a certain way so to not tip off customers. If Peeta wouldn't immediately be arrested for it, something tells me he'd simply fuck me in the front room, bent over the register counter during business hours and just act like it's a normal thing. Such a sweet boy.

"I- ah- need to look at the book," I'd say. He'd roll my nipple between his two fingers, his other two fingers pumping slightly faster as his lips suck at the spot just under my ear.

"You have such a good memory though," he'd say. "You can remember. Just think."

That's a lie. I have a horrible memory and we both know it. But if I say I can't, he'll pull away. Sweet and gentle, he'll go get the book and place a million kisses on my cheek before leaving me to my work and dizziness.

Next order. Next order. That's easy. It's a tart with cream on top. Cream. God, I'd like his cock in my mouth right now.

"Next order. Come on, pretty girl. I know you know it," he'd softly encourage.

"I know it," I'd moan, my head tilted back and resting on his shoulder, fucking his fingers instead of working on the cake. He feels so good, so warm and protecting. Simply smelling the traces of dill and cinnamon baked into his skin made my mind shut off, my eyes growing tired from the feeling of safety.

"I know you know it," he'd say so sweetly. "You're smart, pretty. And you've got a delicious cunt I'd love to fuck over and over if I could," he'd say softly, placing warm kisses on my neck between each point. I was panting openly now, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried desperately to remember who ordered what.

His fingers curled inside of me, making rapid 'come hither' motions fast enough to steal a soft, sudden cry fron my lips. Peetas mouth found mine, swallowing my moans and giving me some of his own.

"I may have to count down, sweet girl," he'd warn me. His fingers had found my g spot, hitting and rubbing it at rapid speed. The cuff of his sweater is soaked from me, his hand sticky and coated. I shake my head quickly, moaning and gripping the counter as best I could to keep myself standing.

"I can remember," I whimpered. Peeta laughed softly.

"I know you can, sweet girl. But look at you, you're a total mess." His voice is sweet and kind, his eyes taking in my current state. "I can't have you all dumb back here during work hours."

He's sweet but he's cruel. God, he's cruel!

"I think there's berries in it," I stammered.

"Ten," he's start patiently, his teeth tugging at my earlobe.

"N-no, wait! There's- There's berries and there's..." I'm completely making this up. I have no clue what's next.

"Nine," he continued, knowing this.

"That's not fair, you started low on purpose!" I whined.

"Eight." He wouldn't argue. I was right.

"It's got- got cottage cheese frosting." I'm so close, so awfully close. I can feel myself clenching around him rapidly, my pussy swallowing his fingers quicker and quicker as I climbed closer towards the edge.

"Seven." Oh, God. This motherfucker.

"Six. Come on, good girl. You can do this," he'd encourage sweetly, kissing my cheek and trailing to my collarbone with said kisses.

"They wanted flowers on the top. Violets, I remember that!" That detail is actually true, surprisingly. The candy violets were always easy to remember because I loved them so much.

"Five." His other hand kneeded my breast, admiring the soft flesh and running his thumb over my stiff, aching nipple repeatedly. "Four."

"You're speeding up," I whined. "This isn't fair."

He let out a soft 'aw,' apologizing and speeding his hands to bring me closer to the edge.

"If you can come before one, I'll fuck you right here," he promised. "You can come before one, can't you?"

I nodded stupidly, moaning and panting as I sped up my hips, slamming down on his hand repeatedly. Cake details be damned, this is my mission now.

"Three." I'm so impossibly close.

"Two."

"Wait a minute, slow down-"

"One."

With one final, cruel, hard thrust of his hand he slips away, leaving me to almost crumple to the ground and opening my eyes to blink stupidly, trying to process what just happened.

"You okay?" He asked softly, his dry hand cupping my cheek and looking at me carefully with his sweet, hazel eyes.

A long, soft whine escaped me, batting my lashes as I lean against him and whisper as many 'please's as I can, pressing a dozen kisses all over him. He laughed softly, returning the kisses with whispered 'I love you's.

"Let me go get that book," he'd said. And that was that until that evening when he made up for it like he always did.

Now I was carefully removing a tiny apple pie made from leftovers meant specifically for Peeta. The rain was as bad as ever as I entered the front room, Peeta leaning on the palm of his hand while he struggled not to doze off. His long lashes flutter softly, his lips pressing against each other and his jaw a bit tight.

"Hi sleepyhead," I whisper, sneaking up behind him. He started a little, turning to look at me with the sweetest smile he has.

"Hi," he says cheerily, his voice just a touch gravely. His eyes glance down to the small treat in my hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Is that for me?"

"Of course it is," I say, placing it in front of him. "Figured you could use something to warm you up. It's freezing up here."

He chuckles. "It's not that cold," he says as he picks up the fork I'd placed next to the tiny pie and began scooping some up.

"Liar," I teased. "You're shivering."

He shifts in his seat slightly. "Not from that," he says, a small blush growing on his cheeks. He takes the first bite, then another, smiling and leaning his head against my shoulder.

"Thank you, dear," he says softly. He leans in for a kiss to which I happily oblige, cupping his jaw with my left hand. His lips taste sweet, the sticky apple and cinnamon tasting delicious on him. I swipe my tongue across his lips, stealing a soft moan from him as he allows my tongue access to his mouth, melting in my hands. His hand dropped the fork, accidently missing the pan and instead hitting the counter, but neither of us care. His hand comes up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to silently ask me for more.

My other hand trails down to his lap, finding one of his hands already there, palming his stiff, clothed cock through his pants.

"Is this what you were doing when I came up?" I ask softly, pulling away from the kiss only a bit. He chases me, biting at my bottom lip to drag me back to him. That's a yes, then.

My tongue explores his warm mouth, tasting him while my hand traces the outline of his dick, pressing and flicking against the tip. He whines, bucking softly into my hand, desperate for more.

"Can you stay quiet?" I ask him, pulling away again. This time my hand on the back of his neck grabs his golden locks, holding him still as I look into his eyes. His cheeks are red as well as his lips, kiss swollen and damp. His breathing is heavy, his eyes blown out. Barely touched and already a beautiful mess.

"Huh?" He asks, his voice higher than usual as he tries to focus. His hand grasping my wrist, making sure to keep my hand where he can buck against it.

"If I asked you to, would you stay quiet?" I repeat gently, teasing him with kisses by leaning forward and pulling away. We both liked this.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Anything."

"Anything?" I ask, raising my brows.

"Anything."

Alright.

I press a quick, admittedly sloppy kiss to his lips once more before dropping to my knees and slipping under the counter. His brows furrow in confusion before he realizes what I'm doing.

"You can't!" He whispers frantically. "What if someone walks in?"

"That's why I asked if you could stay quiet," I say patiently. "Can you?"

He bites his lip, obviously unsure. His eyes dart between me and the shop door, thinking.

"We can wait," I offer genuinely. This seems to be the deciding factor.

"I'll be quiet," he promises eagerly. "I've got a pie I can shove in my mouth if I can't, right?" He jokes, his smile crooked and eager as his hands work quickly to begin freeing himself. He's excited alright.

"Right," I say, taking his hands away and undoing the buttons on his pants myself. "Just keep watch of the shop, alright sweet boy?" He nods, placing his arms on the counter and trying to resume his position.

I slip his cock from the confines of his clothes, pressing a soft wet kiss to the underside along a thick vein. A quiet whine escapes him, his hand covering his mouth. I'm not truly worried about him being quiet, no one is going to come in here during such bad weather. It's just an edge to help work him into a frenzy, knowing full well he never stays quiet. I'd thought I was vocal when we started our relationship, but Peeta easily takes the cake.

His cock is warm, half hard against my lips that trail his veins. My tongue slides from his tip to his base, barely any pressure on his skin. Grazing always works best to start out with. When I reach his base I lap at his skin, blowing soft, cold air against the wet spots to make him squirm in his chair. I focus on his base for a while, sucking, licking, blowing. Ever so gently I even bite just the tiniest bit, enough for him to notice the edges of my teeth along his red, pulsing cock. His voice is soft, panting quietly.

My tongue trails slowly up his cock, exploring different ridges and spots that make him whimper quietly, working my way back to his tip which is soaked with thick, warm precum. I wrap my lips around him, swiping the moisture away with my tongue in one round sweep. I relish in the cry it tears from his throat, the dozen little apologies he whimpers immediately after. His hand covers his mouth, and the other trails down to gently cup the back of my head. I smile around him, swirling my spit around his tip as I suck gently, pressing my tongue against the underside of his dick.

His fingers play with my hair, unintentionally tugging it and apologizing as he does. I simply squeeze his thighs and begin lowering myself, taking him until his tip hits the back of my throat, taking deep, even breaths to fight off the gags that threaten to escape me.

It's when my nose buries in his soft, curly hair at his base that the bell of the front door rings.

"Hi!" Peeta says a little too quickly, a little too brightly. "Welcome to Mellarks Bakery. How may we- I help you today?"

I'm frozen, his hand gripping my hair out of anxiety. If I pull away, we'll be done. If I stay here, Peeta may very well have to make good on his promise.

Although, acting has never been a challenge for him, has it?

The customer is describing a custom tart she wants made, then pulling out a long list and prattling about this, that, and the other thing. Her accent clearly shows her as a Capitol transfer, and these orders always take forever given that they still have a hard time releasing the concept of not over indulging. But this time I don't plan on complaining.

My tongue begins to move slowly, rubbing carefully along the bottom of his cock while I watch his face carefully. He's smiling at the woman who's still going down the list, his eyes glancing at me to confirm this is what we're doing. With a small nod from me, his hand casually covers his mouth once more and he resumes focus on the woman, his other hand now guiding my head slowly, carefully.

He pulls me to the tip of his dick, working me back and forth slowly on just that spot. My tongue works quickly, my lips wrapping around him tightly to help create proper suction around him while I suck.

"Do you have pumpkin?" The woman asks.

"W- what?" Peeta asks, clearing his throat. "Oh, pumpkin. I'll admit I'm running a little low, it's been a popular request since we don't grow them locally. I've requested more but I don't know if they'll be in in time, so if you want something that uses it you'll have to get it-" his voice cracks as I deepthroat him again, swallowing around him quickly before returning myself to his tip. He clears his throat. "You'll have to reserve it right now," he finishes. I can see him quickly scoop up some of the pie, shoving it in his mouth and trying to hide his blush. It's lucky for us how oblivious Capitol born citizens are.

His hand guides me faster, focusing on fucking his tip near the back of my throat since we both know full well how hitting the back of my throat isn't an option. We can't risk any noise gagging may cause since it may not be covered up by the soft music playing on the shop speakers, a gift from Beetee for the reopening.

His pace is fast, faster than it should be. He's close, smiling at the woman and acting as though everything is normal. His large vein throbs, precum spilling out of him with each new thrust into my mouth. My hand reaches to press two digits against the soft spot behind his balls, a sensitive spot that makes him cry and squirm.

His jaw tightens as I do this, his eyes darting down daggers quickly. I can hear coins on the counter, Peeta accepting the list and opening the register. With the loud 'clank' springing forth from the older device, he takes the chance to slam my face down fully on his cock, his fingers making the coins loudly shift around as he gives the customer her change. Tears spring to my eyes from the sudden force, swallowing around him as I focus on my breathing to recover. He promises the woman he'll do what he can and wishes her a good day, and she coos sweetly. She reaches across the counter, patting his cheek and calling him a sweet boy before turning and walking out of the bakery, the bell chiming at her exit.

Peeta looks down at me, smiling brightly. "Hi," he says with a newfound excitement.

I moan around his cock. He gets it.

"You okay?" He asks, his hands moving to cup my cheeks. I make an affirming noise, trying to smile. "I wasn't too rough, was I?" He asks, his thumbs swiping away the small tears dangling from my bottom lashes. I shake my head, swallowing around him. He moans softly, his grip tightening.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot you like it when I am, don't you?" He asks, beginning to slowly pump his dick in and out of the back of my throat. I moan happily, taking him as easily as I can.

"You know how hard it was not coming down your throat with that lady in here?" He asks. "I had to edge myself so that it wouldn't become known how much I like fucking your throat."

My cunt throbs at his words, his closeness making him willing to be more rough. He starts fucking my face in earnest, tearing noises from both of our throats as he loses himself.

"Can't do that again," he pants. "Next time I'm just taking you. I don't care who walks in." He's moaning openly now, his cock abusing me. I can feel him throbbing, twitching. There's enough precum it's all I can do to focus on swallowing and breathing.

"Show this whole District how much I love you," he babbles. "I'll eat you out on this fucking counter, I don't give a fuck."

I press my heel against my clit, grinding into it to relieve some friction as my hands steady my body against his thighs. The chair underneath of him creeks horribly. If anyone walked in now, I don't even think we'd have a small second to hide what we're doing.

"I love your fucking pussy," he rambles, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. "Love your fucking mouth. You take me so well. So eagerly."

I moan around him, spit dribbling from my mouth, hair stuck to my face. His balls slam against my chin, his wet curls pressing against my nose as he face fucks me like a rabid animal.

"I'm gonna cum down your throat," he announces. "Then you're gonna cum down mine. Again," thrust. "And again," thrust. "Until we don't even have to make dinner from how full we'll be." Goddamn, he's close.

His hands are rough, gripping my face. "Rub your tongue harder," he commands. I do, putting as much pressure as I can on his throbbing vein. He moans loudly, leaning forward and clutching my head.

"I'm coming," he pants, his voice high and tired. "Fuck, I'm coming-!"

His warm, thick load shoots down my throat, filling my mouth so much I cant breathe if I want to swallow it all.

"Such a sweet girl," he praises. "So sweet and good, eager to make me cum." His face is pressed against the cool counter, his chest heaving as he recovers his breath. His thumbs stroke my cheeks at different paces, small whimpers escaping him as I milk him dry with my mouth, making sure not a drop is left behind. When he's fully softened, I place a small kiss on his tip before tucking him back in, rebuttoning his clothes and patting his thighs one more time.

It takes a moment for me to rise, my joints stiff and my mind scrambled from the abuse it had just suffered. I stumble a little as I stand, Peeta's weak arms collecting my body and bringing me into a warm embrace.

"You're wonderful," he whispers, resting his head against my chest. I chuckle softly, placing a soft kiss on the top of his messy hair.

"So are you," I say.

He looks up at me, flushed and smiling at me with the most wonderful, lazy look on his face.

"Your turn," he says, finding a new wave of surprising strength and placing me on the counter.

"Peeta, we're still open," I giggle, batting his hands away.

"I know," he says. "Did you think I was joking?"

He stares at me, smiling and eager as he begins to part my legs.

This is going to be a long night.

•《♡》•

Whoever gets second place on the poll is who I'm writing next. Feel free to send in requests for characters/scenarios! See you next time, you degenerates <3

Masterlist

[roguishcat]

Augustarion Day 6 - Cream

Pairing: the reader (You) x Astarion

Tags: just silliness and fluff

Word count: 2.3k

Excerpt: “Oh, goodie! Someone in need of a rescue,” Astarion whined and threw his arms up dramatically. “What is it with people falling over themselves to get into trouble just so we can play hero time and time again! Let’s just go,” he said with an air of an overtired toddler.

A/N If you want to be on the tag list, feel free to send me a message or leave a comment. ❤️

Day 1 - 🍓, Day 2 - 🌊, Day 4 - Mythologies, Day 7 - Underwear, Day 14 - Protective, Day 15 - Shirt that goes hard

It started with you craving some pastries. The four of you were making your way through the city when you caught a whiff of something sweet, delicious and so very tempting. You kept on walking at first, because you were on a budget and new armour for Karlach was more important than letting your sweet tooth dictate your purchases. But then your stomach made itself known, to your embarrassment.

Gale smiled and pointed in the direction of the bakery. “Seeing as we are nowhere near Elfsong, how about indulging in some baked goods? I, for one, wouldn’t mind having a sweet butter bun or two.”

Well, that was a different matter entirely! If it wasn’t a senseless purchase but rather something to improve morale, who were you to refuse?

“And I find your blood tastes just a little sweeter if you enjoy yourself, dear,” Astarion whispered into your ear.

“Oooh, I’ve heard about this place!” Karlach pushed the door open, “it’s meant to have the meanest, best damn apple pie in the city!”

Looking around, you wondered why Karlach was excited about the place. The bakery looked like any ordinary bakery except for one detail. It seemed to be suspiciously empty of any people. You listened carefully. There was shouting and thumping coming from the direction of the kitchen. Something seemed off.

“Oh, goodie! Someone in need of a rescue,” Astarion whined and threw his arms up dramatically. “What is it with people falling over themselves to get into trouble just so we can play hero time and time again! Let’s just go,” he said with an air of an overtired toddler.

“We can’t leave!” you frowned, bow at the ready as you took a step in the direction of the commotion, “they might need help!”

“Well, then some other do-gooder is welcome to come by and- hey!”

Ignoring Astarion’s protests, you burst through the kitchen door, the rest following close behind, to be greeted with a most peculiar sight.

Kobolds pranced around the kitchen to the dismay of the baker and a woman who appeared to be his spouse, the latter’s face almost puce as she shouted at the wretched creatures to leave. The kobolds seemed to think that her shouts and the weak, spluttering spells aimed at them were a nice accompaniment to their meal. They mostly ignored the couple and seemed to be quite content to gorge themselves on the pastries and cakes and, cream, cream, cream and more cream! What did not get eaten got carelessly thrown at the floor, the walls and the owners. There was a great big glop of custard on the baker’s cheek and his wife almost slipped in the puddle of jam on the floor.

Astarion doubled over in laughter.

“Oh, this was not what I expected to see but I definitely needed this!”

“Oh hush,” you admonished him, feeling your own lips twitch as you fought a smile. “We have to help them.”

“The kobolds?”

You gave him a deadpan look.

“Right, so how should we go about this one, soldier?” Karlach shouldered her axe with a frown, “can hardly use most of my attacks.”

“Yes, in such close quarters and with this much flour in the air, a single spark will set off an explosion. Most magic might prove too destructive. I doubt that us destroying the building in an effort to drive the kobolds out will be received with thanks,” Gale frowned.

“Perhaps we could try to reason with them?” you suggested weakly. The idea was not without its merit. You did have a somewhat successful chat with the kobold at the Circus of the Last Days.

“Are you proposing to hold a conversation with these base creatures? Oh, I have to see this,” Astarion grinned, giving you a shallow mocking bow and motioning for you to proceed with the entertainment.

That bastard. Sometimes you could not believe that you let him get away with being such an ass.

You cleared your throat loudly, which garnered no reaction from both the battling parties. It took Gale briefly casting a Silence spell on the kobolds for them to realise that you and your companions were even in the kitchen. All inhuman senseless eyes turned to you as the creatures adjusted their stances, clearly seeing your group as a bigger threat than the baker and his wife.

“Right. Can somebody please tell me what is going on?” you motioned at the destruction.

“We give money for treatos!” kobolds screeched, each wanting to be the first to complain.

“One gold piece! It was not enough for all the buns that they demanded from us!” the baker protested loudly.

“You give no treatos, so we take treatos!”

“Oh, and just look at all the damage that you have done!” the baker’s wife lamented, wringing her hands and being quite understandably upset.

“Next time, you remember to give treatos. We give money!” the kobolds defended themselves, tongues flicking out of their mouths, shaking their scaly fists as they shouted about the great injustice that was committed against them.

“So how are you planning to defuse this one, darling?” Astarion leaned closer to you.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?”

“Very much.”

“Any chance you might want to contribute to the conversation?”

“When you are doing so splendidly? I don’t think so.”

The kobolds seemed to have decided that you were not on their side and started gathering whatever buns and cakes that were not destroyed. Their ammunition in their hands, they attacked in quick succession. Karlach and Gale were fortunately out of their range, but you and Astarion found yourself swiftly covered in jam, and cream, and sticky dough. Astarion roughly pulled you down behind an overturned table, the second barrage missing you by an inch as you dropped to the floor.

“Argh, just look at me! Will the horrors never cease!” Astarion flicked a flaky piece off his shoulder and into your face. “This is all your fault, you know! If only you did not have some kind of hero complex, we would have grabbed some cakes and been on our merry way. But noooo, we have to get involved!”

“Oh, shut it,” you hissed, “how could I have known this would happen?”

“Rule of thumb, if you see people in trouble, you walk away!”

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“You have jam in your curls.”

The look of pure horror on Astarion’s handsome face was just the revenge you needed.

“Gale! Slow spell!” you commanded, hoping he could still hear you over the cacophony of shrieks and cries.

“On it!”

You heard the incantation and dared peek from behind the table. The kobolds were still on the offensive, but their movements were sluggish, as if the air thickened and they had to fight against it.

“This is your last warning, you little rat bastards! Either you stop this, or we are going to turn your asses to stone and sell you to Popper!”

“Popper? You tell Popper? No tell Popper!”

Apparently, you mentioning the kobold from the Circus of the Last Days did the trick, as he was the law and order when it came to their community in the city. You rubbing shoulders with Popper, the best and the greatest of them all, was reason enough for the kobolds to regret their actions, renounce their fiendish ways, promise to never set foot near the bakery, and hastily make their way out of the kitchen.

Finally, there was silence. Complete blessed silence. Beautiful silence that lasted for a grand total of ten seconds before it was broken.

“Oh, these horrible creatures, I thought they would never leave!” the baker’s wife wiped her eyes as she tried and failed to hold back tears, “However can we thank you?”

“Coin always works best,” Astarion chose that moment to speak up.

“What coin?” the plump woman bawled pitifully, “we didn’t have the chance to sell anything!”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shot Astarion a look full of admonishment, “we were glad to help.”

“But of course we were,” Astarion rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “It was a pleasure to be of service,” he mocked and marched out of the room, muttering something derogatory under his breath.

The walk back to Elfsong was uncomfortable and silent. You were hungry, sticky and quite frankly not in the mood to entertain one of Astarion’s moods.

You knew that he was right, in a way. You didn’t have to help out everyone you came across on your journey. You could have looked the other way, turned a blind eye. But that wouldn’t be you. So, he would just have to deal with it!

You loved Astarion, faults and all. But if he berated you every time you chose to do a kind turn and made you feel small and stupid, then perhaps he shouldn’t have chosen to be in a relationship with you. Because you would do anything for Astarion, but you refused to change who you were on the off chance you would get a smidge of approval from him.

When you opened the door to your shared room at first there was complete silence. Everyone was trying and failing to keep a straight face as they looked at the damage done to you and Astarion.

“Oh, shut up!” Astarion shoved past Shadowheart, making sure to leave traces of cream and jam on her as he pushed her out of the way.

“I see you clearly fought a great, formidable foe today,” Lae’zel quipped sarcastically, “at least tell me that you were the victors.”

“Argh, so not in the mood to talk about it! Gale, could you do the talking, please? I just want to wash and sleep,” you grumbled and dropped your bow and arrows near the trunk. You could not wait to get out of your clothes and into a bath.

“Certainly, my friend,” Gale wanted to pat your shoulder, but then decided against it, not wanting to get whatever was on you onto himself.

It took several changes of water for you to scrub yourself clean. You were bone tired and prickly when you finally settled in, choosing to sleep alone rather than in the bed you and Astarion have been sharing pretty much ever since you started staying at Elfsong. You heard his annoyed huff from across the room and squeezed your eyes shut. If Astarion had a problem with your sleeping arrangements, he could shove his complaints in any orifice of his choosing. In spite of being worn out, it took hours of tossing and turning for you to finally drift off.

You were woken up by sunlight spilling into your eyes through the gap in the curtains. Rising and groggily rubbing your eyes, you noticed that your living quarters were empty, the others apparently deciding to let you sleep in and having gone out hours ago. You flopped back onto the bed and stretched out your sore muscles. Perhaps yesterday’s humiliating display was worth it if you were given the chance to have a lazy morning. But then you remembered your fight with Astarion, and your smile turned sour.

You heard the door open and shut as the subject of your musings came into the room. You quickly turned away and pretended to be resting, not really sure what to say to him. You felt the bed dip as he sat on the edge.

“Darling, I know that you are awake. Will you look at me, please? I come bearing treatos.”

And he did. He held a tray laden with butter buns, delicate little pastries, fruit tarts and an assortment of other mouthwatering, freshly baked delights.

“The baker sends his regards and says that you, as his favourite customer, can be assured to have a discount for life. So, dig in my sweet! I got you the coffee you like to go with it.”

You sat up and looked at your vampire, worrying your bottom lip with blunt teeth. Cautiously, as if not unsure whether you will accept the gesture, Astarion took your hand into his, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them gently.

“I think an apology is in order. I- I do get annoyed that you spend your energies on creatures who, quite frankly, don’t deserve you giving them a moment of your precious time. Someone odd and pathetic that you pick up on the roadside and decide their cause is worth fighting for.”

He put a cream puff onto a plate and handed it to you, long cool fingers brushing against yours. You took a tentative bite without breaking eye contact. It was lovely, not too sweet, delicious and flaky. Astarion brushed a speck off your lips with his thumb and cupped your cheek tenderly.

“But then I realised that at some point I too was an oddity that you chose not to leave behind. A creature who did not deserve your protection, just seeking to take advantage of your kind nature at the time. Recognising your worth and how truly wonderful you are as I got to know you.”

You felt something warm and pleasant bloom in your chest, Astarion’s words making your shoulders relax as you all but melted into his touch.

“So, no matter how aggravating you may be, and how you drive me up the wall with your selflessness, I do not want you to change. You are perfect in every way.”

And then you thew your arms around your vampire and kissed him, all the worries and troubles seeming insignificant as you got lost in each other’s touch. You felt Astarion release a shuddering breath against your lips as he deepened the kiss.

All was well in his world. You were his and he wanted you, faults and all. Even if that meant that he had to spend half the evening getting various foodstuffs out of his curls.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: I’ve missed this man. I hope you like? Next part will have some saucy little smut. Just trying this out first, also for self-indulgence.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, language, mentions of injuries, self-esteem issues, mentions depression and body image.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Plus size!Reader

Eddie Munson loves his new band of misfit friends, an extended family that has welcomed him and Wayne in with open arms. Hell, he’s even getting along with Harrington, Wheeler is tutoring him, and everyone else just understands. And then, well… Then there is you. He’s never seen someone so in tune with the needs of others without ever considering herself. Someone who purposely pushes herself on the world’s hottest back burner to avoid opening up and letting anyone truly see what’s going on… Behind incredibly beautiful eyes, if Eddie does say so himself.

It’s been over a year since shit unfolded with Vecna. They lost, he died for a little while, the apocalypse reigned down on the town and then he wasn’t dead anymore. Memories are vague, but most things he does remember. And when he wakes up tangled in his bedsheets, scars aching with prickles of phantom pains - you are the only person that he calls. A lot of times he ends up singing you to sleep, but it’s not without you always making sure he’s calmed and okay first.

It was a bond that grew since you began caring for him when he came back with memories. He’s lost track of days spent together, lunches shared, a graduation a long time coming, complete with a party he never expected to have. He isn’t sure when it became a deeper feeling than he’s ever known, one that scared him so damn bad he avoided you for days and began physically ill because of it. If Eddie Munson has to pick one moment, it was probably that day you walked into his Uncle’s living room, (a cookout happening in his yard with Steve and Wayne at the grill outside) your beautiful curves on display, a cherry sundress hitting you in all the right places, and some strappy red sandals adorning your feet. You wore a glowing smile beneath your bright red lipstick, energy matching with Henderson’s as you entertained his enthusiasm for Hellfire’s next campaign.

You didn’t have a clue of what you were talking about, but it didn’t deter you in the slightest. You were passionate about writing, you enjoyed Sci-Fi and fantasy, which meant you had to be the one who helped Dustin create new characters. He knew the game, you had some extra creativity to lend. You’d high fived Dustin, stealing his pen to jot down your scribbled suggestions on his spiral sheet. Eddie was a goner.

And now… Here you are, at his house, on a Friday night. You didn’t have plans, you didn’t make a date - nothing. You did what you normally do and called him up, accepting his invite to hang out all evening. He’d made sure to be off work by a steady time, picking up your favorite bakery cookies at the store on the way home, lingering over flowers that he was sure he should get, but knew it would probably cross a line if he did so. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel spooked, or even anything remotely close to uncomfortable around him.

You’re sitting above him, cross-legged on his bed as he rests with bent knees at the foot, your overalls bagging out at the sides to show your crop top with little lemons and daisies printed all over it, and the most delicious, overflowing curves Edward Munson has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. He’s got a pair of your maroon sweats tied down, extremely loose on his narrow hips, and one of your decorative character shirts with a picture of Eeyore plastered front and center, hanging across his torso. You might not be able to wear his clothes, but he can wear yours, and Eddie would be stupid to say he doesn’t notice your eyes crossing a little whenever he steps into some of your ensembles. You’ve been chattering away at the TV, giving your input on Friday the 13th part 2, whilst being blissfully unaware of sending Eddie to heaven with your pink brush running through his freshly washed curls, your neon yellow painted nails scratching at his scalp. He’s like a mother fucking purring cat in your grasp.

“So, anyways… I can’t figure out if Muffin survived or if that was her in the woods. And did Paul really make it out too, or was Jenny imagining shit?”

Eddie smirks, tilting his head back to look at the curvature of your physique, the contours of your face - upside down (no pun intended). “Haven’t you seen this movie, like, a thousand times before?”

You have a mock look of offense. “Hmph.” He doesn’t like what it brings, because you can tease, but please - for the love of all things unholy - don’t stop brushing his hair.

“Hey, hey. Why’d you quit?” He’s pouting, it’s rather cute. One tattooed arm, decorated with scars - elongates, ring clad hand seeking out your wrist. Anything to get you into motion again.

“You know that you can brush your own hair, Eddie.” You’re melting at those fluttering lashes draped over an enriching, smooth chocolate pair of irises. And his mouth��� Fuck.

“But it’s so much better when you do it, sweetheart. Pleaseeeee? Forgive me for questioning your brilliant questions!?”

You make a good show of it, tossing the brush out of your hand, it landing a pile of Eddie’s clothes in an unpacked hamper. They’re clean, but he’d rather wear yours. He gasps, shifting positions so quick that you think Steve must’ve Ninja-fied him. He’s got you by your wrists, the cool of his rings tracking across your arms as they follow warm palms, and dip under your pits to gain leverage - easing you forward into a heap onto the carpeting with him. “Freak attack!” He’s gleeful, tickling your denim clad sides (well, at least where he pretends he can’t see the overspilling flesh more closely now).

He smells good, like that familiar Old Spice wash and whatever shampoo he’s lathered his curls with. He’s hovering, he’s incredibly warm, he’s safe, he’s Eddie. Someone you didn’t know you needed until he appeared and retrieved his piece of your heart, snapping it into the place where all the people you love have their own shards. Hmm, not entirely though. If you could describe it, it’s as if they make up the outside lining, keeping the inside of your heart reserved for a more… Different, private type of love, that only Eddie Munson seems to have found.

“Should spank your ass with that thing for stoppin’,” he starts, interrupting your reverie, moving to shut his mouth when he realizes he crossed a line. Maybe? It’s there, your eyes flicker over his lips, your hidden reaction dancing behind your pretty little temple - he sees, giving him a fraction of hope. He isn’t used to this…

You jolt, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, “Like that would be a punishment,” you finish, effectively crossing that line for him.

Both of you remain silent, your sweet perfume making him lose focus. What he thinks he should do and what he wants to do, those are two very different battles raging inside.

// Eat me paragraph //

[jacky93sims]

Deliciously Indulgent Bakery - Birthday and Wedding Cakes Functional for The Sims 2

As requested, I made functional these two cakeS by Veranka, low poly. They have their own slices, found in Party Section.

DOWNLOAD BIRTHDAY CAKE DOWNLOAD WEDDING CAKE

[2-dsimp]

——|———-|———|———

Yandere hitman squad

Introducing the Enforcer

——|———-|———|———

Yandere Enforcer that is the right hand man of the boss and bears a striking resemblance to a lion that is benevolent but also ferocious. He is the second tallest compared to the torturer standing at 6’ 5 having a lean muscled build littered with battle scars.

Yandere Enforcer Who is a rowdy impulsive individual that’s a bit rough on the edges with his intimidating looks and scruffy voice but in reality is just a giant ball of fluffy joy that can never sit still and always has to be on the move with his mind racing over peculiar tasks such as chatting up with random strangers, attending multiple activities, and picking up the Boss’s slack.

Yandere Enforcer That can’t get you out his mind from the current incident being replayed in his mind repeatedly, remembering you, as the cute firecracker who maced him in the dark alleyways when he was just tryna return your wallet that had fallen out from your pocket when you were leaving from the club after you were ditched by your friends who went to go hop another bar.

Yandere Enforcer who’s surprised at the attempted assault which fails because you were to short to aim it at him correctly and only messed up his pants leg but nonetheless laughs heartily at the misunderstanding and at the lil firecracker who’s embarrassed at their actions and blurts out many apologies and words of gratitude for his act of kindness.

Yandere Enforcer who finds your timid nature to be endearing and adorable enough for him to want to devour you. As he watched you struggle to formulate words in order to formally invite him to your apartment so you can offer him some bakery goods from the bakery shop that you owned as an apology gift.

Yandere Enforcer who’s fiery eyes lit up in childish excitement at the prospect of getting bakery sweets and breads, and at the fact that you owned a bakery to which he immediately asked you if he can drop by sometimes and when he received permission he gave you a big bear hug lifting you up into the air as if you weighed like a piece of paper. And that’s how you got him hooked.

Yandere Enforcer who gets very passionate when it comes to timid darling as they say a way to man’s heart is through his stomach and because you kept on indulging him in his gluttonous habits he’s now grown a taste for you and is just completely obsessed with his sweet baker. And since the Torturer is also an excellent baker one day he’d love to see the both of y’all collab and make some delicious food for him to eat.

Yandere Enforcer Who will always try to be around you wether it’ll be coincidentally bumping into you on the streets are just calling you frequently to see if you wanna go on adventures with him and will go to any lengths just to make you smile. He’ll be your best friend and lover making sure to always think about you and what you’re doing and how he can rock your world 24/7.

Yandere Enforcer Who unlike some of the others is not as prone to using violence as a means to keep his competitors at bay. Since his physical build and high levels of confidence he displays speaks for himself, I mean who’d wanna try a man who’s built like Tarzan and has the confidence of Gaston? But when it comes down to an unavoidable situation he will “accidentally” critically harm his rivals and turn them into a cripple for the rest of their lives. It was very unfortunate that your “friends” had gotten into an “fatal car accident” a few days later…

Yandere Enforcer that will be your exclusive guard dog being your best friend while also you shielding away from the world that dares to harm you, his little firecracker.

[strwbnnie]

Oh nothing, just thinkin about a cute, chubby little babe whose new fav hobby is baking. Do you like sweets? Sure, but that’s not why you started. 

No, it was the look on your husband’s face whenever you’d go to the bakery to pick up fresh bread. He’d stare at the dessert case like a kid in a candy store, begging you to let him get one as if he wasn’t a grown man making his own salary and now he makes that same face whenever you offer him first pick of your own delicious, freshly baked pastries. 

This time is no different, you hear the click of the front door shutting, he’s walking into your quaint little kitchen with a news paper tucked in his axillary and his briefcase in hand. He’s dropping his case near the threshold and tossing the paper onto the table, footing over to you and placing an earnest kiss on your lips before flipping on the sink’s faucet to wash his hands. 

Your husband is old fashioned, no social life and not many hobbies due to his demanding work schedule. He says you’re too pretty to work a job so he works six days a week, every single week, in order to give you your soft life.

You carry not a worry in the world except whether or not you may have over starched his jeans or added too much salt in your latest confection. Of course these little desserts and things don’t equate to all that he does but it’s literally the least you can do to thank him. He swears he doesn’t deserve it, coming home to your love and a hot meal everyday is more than enough but you tell him otherwise every single time. 

“Made ya somethin.” 

He’s drying his hands with a dish towel, turning around to see what delectable treat you’ve gone out of your way to make for him today. 

Bright eyes lighting up as you present him with a display tray of heart shaped puff pastries, lightly dusted with powdered sugar, split down the middle and filled with a tall dollop of a blush-pink colored cream. He’s pulling the chair out, pulling up the legs of his trousers and plopping down in the seat, his legs spread wide. Today was long, or at least it felt long, but even a second away from you is just too damn long. But, it’s over and now he gets to indulge in a sweet treat and hopefully his sweet wife later on. 

He goes to grab one and his pinky finger catches some of the cream from another, those big hands of his are never really ideal when it comes to grabbing such delicate, tiny things. He admired your creation, from the flaky layers of the puff pastry to the little specks of red littered throughout the cream. 

“Strawberry cream?” 

“Mhm.” 

He’s so attentive, it melts your lil heart. “But they’re not in season.” 

“I got the freeze dried ones from the store and a tiny bit of strawberry flavoring. Tastes just as good, I promise.” It tastes the same to you, but who knows if it’d taste good to him, his favorite fruit is strawberries after all. 

He goes in for his first bite and he’s not surprised when a tiny little bit of the cream oozes out and plops onto his white collared shirt—some of your pastries do tend to get messy sometimes, his face and his laundry have come to find out.

But it’s no big deal, he just swipes it up with that same pinky & sucks it off like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

He let’s out the sweetest groan—one that has his cute little wife squeezing her thighs together, trying to keep your cool as you wait for him to finish.

“Damn that’s tasty.”

“Yeah?” You gush, the way he closes his eyes and tosses his head back has you damn near squealing.

“Mhm, but everything you make is delicious.” 

Gosh, when he gives you that dazzling smile you almost melt. You rarely ever heard your husband swear, at least not outside of the bedroom, and you have to admit it’s so damn sexy.

“Reallyyyy?” You drag. 

“Yeahhhh.” He mocks your tone, free hand gently grasping your jaw to pull you in for another quick kiss. 

Two bites. Two bites is all it takes for him to finish the dainty little pastry before he’s reaching for another. 

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head when you pop his hand and push the tray away.

“You’ll ruin your dinner.” 

He’s not sure what you’re cooking, maybe a roast or stew and it smells hearty and delicious. He’s sure one more little cream puff won’t ruin his appetite. 

“Babyyy.” Here he goes with the damned whining. “Just one more.” 

He pulls you closer by the hem of your pretty pink gingham lace trimmed apron, the scraping of the chair’s legs against the wooden flooring harsh and loud as he pushes back to give you some room. A pat of his thigh has you raising your leg, throwing it over both of his and straddling his lap.

“I just wanted you to try one! You can have more for dessert after dinner.”

“I tried it and I liked it. I want another.”

It’s a little while before you feel it—him moving his hips back and forth, grinding the hard bulge in his slacks against your panty-covered cunt. He thinks he’s sooo slick, giving you those eyes, that look—you know the one.

“Please baby, you don’t mind dessert before dinner when it’s you I’m eating, let’s keep things fair, my love.” 

Your mouth goes ajar for a quick second, opening and closing in speechlessness before a heavy gasp escapes. You don’t have a comeback and your adorable little pout is no match for his fiery gaze and quick tongue, determined to get his second treat. You’re folding almost immediately, sighing as you reach back to grab another cream puff.

“Okay, but only one more.” 

This is soooo Rengoku coded but you can insert any of your favs really 😁 

*this wasn’t even supposed to be this long 😭

[kentofic]

a lil self-indulgent smutty gojo x reader drabble 💗

18+ minors dni 💖 cw: fem reader, oral, overstim, creampie, pet names, gojo loves to run his filthy mouth

Imagine coming home to Gojo Satoru after working all day at a bakery—a sweet treat for him in hand. He welcomes you back with a huge goofy grin and peppers your face with kisses as you laugh. You try to press the pastry into his hands, but despite the hungry look in his eye, he tosses it to the side. He’s craving something better.

He pulls you close to him, burying his face into your hair, smelling the sugary sweetness that still clings to you at the end of the day. And he tells you in that low, needy whine of his that he’ll eat later. Right now, all he wants is the taste of you, straight from the source. Maybe you hem and haw about being on your feet all day, how you should shower first—but he begs you not to make him wait.

“C’mon, just let me have a little taste, baby. Y’worked so hard today, lemme help you relax, yeah?”

So you let him of course, because when have you ever been able to deny him anything. You lay back on the bed and let him pull off your clothes before settling himself between your legs. He grins up at you from between your thighs as he flattens his tongue against you, wet and hot as he slides it through your folds. He laughs, his eyes gleaming with delight when you let out a weak, whimpering sound. Then he begins his work in earnest.

He eats you out like he’s starving, like you’re truly delicious, like he wants to devour you whole. He loses himself in it, tasting you for his own pleasure as much as yours, his hips rutting his hard-on against the bed. And when you finally come in his mouth, he moans and praises you as he swallows you down.

Part of him wants to give you time to recover, but he really can’t hold back for another second with his cock so hard and leaking in his pants. He begs you to let him put it in your sloppy little cunt.

“Please baby, lemme feel you. So wet and tight just f’ me. I know you want this cock t’ fill you up. Say you want it, baby.”

And even though you’re still sensitive and trembling, you say it, because you love the way he fills you. You both groan as he pushes in, inch by inch, until he bottoms out inside you—the stretch of him warm and delicious. Then he throws your leg over his shoulder, pushes your thigh to your chest, and starts fucking into you at a dizzying pace. He whines and moans, praise spilling from his lips as you take everything he gives you.

“Fuck, you take me so well, baby. Lettin’ me stretch that pretty little pussy—such a good fuckin’ girl for me. Gonna fuck you full of my cum if you keep suckin’ me in like that.”

He fucks you until you’re babbling and gasping, and he lets out a low, desperate groan when you come again, clamping down impossibly tight on his cock. He never lets up his pace, chasing his own pleasure as you shudder through your orgasm. He strokes into you with increasingly wet, obscene slaps each time his hips connect with yours.

You can tell he’s about to come when his eyebrows scrunch together, his breath starts shuddering, his thrusts turn sloppy and erratic. So you pull him in for a kiss, and you let him gasp and moan into your mouth as his hips stutter one final time before he empties himself inside you. He gives you everything he has, then he collapses against you. He murmurs mindless praise into the crook of your neck as he relaxes against you, his mouth pressing wet, sloppy kisses over your heated skin.

“Mm, I filled you up good, huh, pretty baby? Y’re so perfect, y’know that? Took my cock so good, like you were made for it. Could fill you up every day just like that.”

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he slowly pulls his spent cock out of you, a dribble of his cum leaking from your aching entrance. He definitely makes some stupid pun about a cream-filled donut as he watches his cum drip out of you. He cackles when you groan and weakly try to swat him away. He fetches a wet cloth and wipes you down, tender and loving, making sure to clean you thoroughly. His gentle touch after your strenuous activities nearly lulls you to sleep.

But right as you’re about to tip over the edge into a blissful sleep, you hear a comically loud crunching sound next to you. You crack one eye open to see Gojo happily eating the pastry you brought him—and getting crumbs all over the damn bed.

—

a/n: ty for reading!!! sry if i wrote the smut too… nasty? idk i’m a slut. i’m getting back into writing n trying to stretch my creative muscles, so feel free to send ideas or requests :3

[valkyriexo]

cake tasting with fiancé!jeongin maybe :>

Cake Tasting | Jeongin

ᑉ³pairing; Fiancé! Jeongin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Fluff

ᑉ³warnings; mentions of food

ᑉ³Authors Note; thank you for the request! i hope you like it!

As you stepped into the elegant bakery with Jeongin by your side, the familiar scent of freshly baked goods enveloped you, filling you with a mix of excitement and fear. This wasn't your first cake tasting; in fact, it was the fourth one you'd attended in the past month. Each time, you had hoped to find the perfect cake flavor for your wedding day, but despite the variety of flavors you'd sampled, none had quite hit the mark.

It wasn't that you were picky – far from it. You simply wanted everything to be perfect for your wedding. After all, you were marrying the perfect man, and you wanted nothing but the best for this special day that would mark the beginning of your life together. Every detail mattered to you, from the venue to the flowers to the cake.

As you and Jeongin made your way to the tasting table, you couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety in your chest. What if you couldn't find the right cake? What if none of the flavors lived up to your expectations? The thought of settling for anything less than perfection left you feeling unsettled.

Now seated at a table adorned with a pristine white tablecloth, you glanced at Jeongin, his warm smile doing little to ease the knot of worry tightening in your chest. Like you, he was beginning to feel the pressure of finding the perfect cake for your wedding day.

He noticed the furrow of your brow and reached out to gently squeeze your hand, his touch offering reassurance.

"It's okay, love," he murmured softly. "We'll find the perfect cake, I promise."

You nodded, and managed a weak smile in response, trying to push aside your worries and focus on the task at hand.

A tall figure emerged from the kitchen, clad in a crisp white chef's coat. It was the Bakery owner, Mrs. Park, a woman renowned for her culinary prowess and attention to detail. Her warm smile immediately put you at ease, despite the lingering apprehension in your heart.

"Good afternoon," she greeted, her voice gentle yet confident. "I'm Mrs. Park, and I'll be guiding you through today's cake tasting experience. We're thrilled to have you here."

With practiced grace, Mrs. Park set a beautiful assortment of cakes before you and Jeongin, each one a masterpiece in its own right.

"Here are the cakes we have for you today," Mrs. Park announced, her voice as sweet as the confections before you. She gestured to each cake in turn, adding a touch of flair to her presentation.

"First, we have our signature Rich Chocolate Ganache Cake," she said, indicating the decadent creation with swirls of silky buttercream atop its luscious layers of chocolatey goodness. As Mrs. Park handed you the decadent cake in its beautiful container, you and Jeongin couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement.

As you took your first bites, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by a shared sense of anticipation. Mrs. Park watched you both closely, her keen eyes assessing your reactions with each mouthful.

Jeongin's eyes lit up with delight as he savored each bite, while you found yourself nodding, appreciating the rich, bittersweet notes.

As you both savored the chocolate ganache cake, Jeongin's eyes closed with delight, and a soft hum of satisfaction escaped his lips. His expression was one of pure joy, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched him enjoy the indulgent treat.

"This is amazing," he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "The chocolate is so rich and creamy, and the ganache is just perfect."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you realized that perhaps this cake could be the one. But even as you enjoyed the indulgent treat, a nagging thought lingered in the back of your mind.

"I have to admit, it's pretty delicious," you admitted, a hint of surprise in your voice. "But I wonder if it might be a little too rich for a wedding cake?"

Jeongin's grin faltered slightly, his brows furrowing in thought. "Yeah, you might be right," he conceded. "As much as I love it, we don't want our guests feeling overwhelmed by sweetness, do we?"

Before you could respond, Jeongin swiftly seized the remaining slice of cake and, with a playful wink, devoured it in a single bite. With a muffled "Mmm," he chewed hurriedly, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

You simply stared at him in disbelief, your mouth slightly agape as you processed what just happened. Jeongin, oblivious to your reaction, licked his lips with satisfaction, a mischievous grin still plastered on his face. "Can't let this deliciousness go to waste" he mumbled . "Especially since I know you're not picking it, and this might be my last chance to enjoy it."

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, shaking your head affectionately as he grinned back at you, relishing the impromptu dessert without an ounce of regret.

Mrs. Park, nodded understandingly as she observed your exchange. With a gentle smile, she interjected, her voice warm and reassuring.

"I completely understand your concerns," she said, her tone calming. "While our Rich Chocolate Ganache Cake is indeed indulgent and delightful, I can see why you might hesitate to make it the centerpiece of your wedding celebration."

She paused, allowing her words to sink in before continuing.

"However," she continued, her eyes alight with excitement, "I believe we can find a solution that strikes the perfect balance between decadence and elegance. Perhaps we can adjust the sweetness level of the ganache or incorporate complementary flavors to add depth and sophistication to the cake."

"However, it's only the first cake of the day," she said, her tone gentle yet encouraging. "Next, we have our Delicate Lemon Chiffon Cake," she continued, her voice brightening with the mention of the citrusy treat. The cake exuded a light and airy charm, promising a refreshing burst of flavor with each bite.

As you both took a bite of the lemon chiffon cake, the contrast from the rich chocolate ganache was striking. Jeongin's expression softened, but you noticed a subtle grimace flicker across his face before he quickly composed himself, chewing thoughtfully as he tried to mask his discomfort.

"I can see why some people might enjoy this," he said diplomatically, his tone gentle. "The citrus flavor is definitely... refreshing."

You couldn't help but notice the forced nature of his words, and as you took another bite, the overly tart lemon flavor assaulted your taste buds, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Despite your best efforts to hide your distaste, you couldn't quite conceal the slight downturn of your lips.

"Yeah, it's... interesting," you managed to say, though the disappointment in your voice was evident.

It was clear that the lemon chiffon cake didn't quite hit the mark for either of you.

"But I'm not sure if it's quite what we're looking for." you remarked, searching for the right words.

With a sense of disappointment settling over you, you turned your attention to the remaining cakes. As you sampled each one, your heart sank a little more with each passing moment. Each one had its own unique qualities, but none of them seemed to have the "wow" factor you were hoping for. 

As the reality of the situation sank in, you tried your best to maintain a façade of composure, but the weight of disappointment pressed down on you. You desperately attempted to hide your sadness, to push it down beneath a veil of a forced smile, but it proved futile.

A lump formed in your throat, making it difficult to swallow. You blinked back tears, willing them to stay at bay, but a stray tear betrayed your façade, slipping silently down your cheek.

You felt exposed, vulnerable in your inability to conceal the depth of your disappointment.

Jeongin's arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close in a gesture of comfort and support. "Oh, baby, come here," he said tenderly.

"It's okay to feel upset," he whispered softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "We'll find the perfect cake, I promise. And even if we don't, our wedding day will still be beautiful because we'll be together."

Feeling the warmth of his embrace, you leaned into him, finding solace in his words. "I know," you murmured, your voice tinged with sadness. "But I just wanted everything to be perfect."

He gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Hey, it's not that big of a deal," he said, his voice filled with reassurance. "It's just cake. What really matters is that we're getting married, surrounded by the people we love."

You sighed softly, resting your head against his chest. "Yeah, but I can't help but still feel sad," you confessed quietly.

Your words struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he felt a pang of sorrow in his heart at the sight of your sadness. Determined to ease your burden, he gently disentangled himself from your embrace and rose from his seat.

"I'll be right back," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before making his way over to Mrs. Park, who was observing from a distance.

Mrs. Park noticed the concern etched on his face as he approached her. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine care.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Would it be possible for us to explore a custom flavor for our wedding cake? Something that incorporates both of our favorite flavors?"

Mrs. Park's attentive gaze shifted between you and Jeongin, a curious smile playing on her lips. "Of course," she replied warmly, her voice filled with genuine interest. "I'd love to hear about your favorite flavors. What do you both enjoy?"

"Well.. we love the comforting warmth of cinnamon," he began , a hint of nostalgia coloring his voice. "But we also seemed to like the classic sweetness of vanilla."

"And I've always been a fan of creamier flavors," he added with a grin. "Oh, and fruit. And chocolate. Well, actually, I just love everything delicious."

Mrs. Park listened intently, her expression thoughtful as she considered the possibilities. With a nod of understanding, she smiled warmly.

"I think I have just the thing in mind," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "A Tres Leches style cake could be the perfect fit for you both. It combines the creamy richness of milk with a hint of cinnamon, and we can add fruit fillings to the inside to enhance the flavor profile. Additionally, we can adjust the moisture level to ensure the cake remains sturdy and doesn't become too delicate."

"Could we try it, please?" he asked, unable to contain the anticipation in his voice.

Mrs. Park's smile widened at your request. "Of course," she replied warmly. "I'll have a sample brought out for you right away."

With a reassuring smile, he returned to your side, his steps light but purposeful.

The moments ticked by slowly, each second filled with anticipation until finally, Mrs. Park reemerged from the kitchen, carrying a beautifully decorated slice of Tres Leches cake on a delicate plate.

The aroma of cinnamon and sweetness enveloped you as Mrs. Park placed the slice before you. With trembling hands, you and Jeongin picked up your forks, eager to taste the creation that held the promise of perfection.

As you took your first bite, a symphony of flavors danced across your taste buds, the creamy richness of the milk blending harmoniously with the subtle warmth of cinnamon and the burst of sweetness from the fruit filling. It was as if each bite told the story of your love, a perfect balance of flavors that left you breathless.

Jeongin's eyes sparkled with delight as he savored each mouthful, a grin spreading across his face. "This is incredible," he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm.

As he glanced over at you, a furrow formed on his brow, concern flickering in his eyes. Despite the exquisite flavors that had left him enchanted, you hadn't uttered a single word.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with worry as he reached out to gently squeeze your hand. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that perhaps you didn't share his enthusiasm for the cake.

"We don't have to make any decisions right now. We could always go to another place, take a break, and come back to it later-"

"It's perfect," you whispered, your heart swelling with joy.

"What?" he said, unsure if he heard you correctly.

"This is it. This is our cake," you said with certainty.

Jeongin's expression softened, his concern giving way to a mixture of surprise and elation. "Really?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"Do you like it?" you asked, wanting reassurance.

"Of course," he replied, his smile widening. "Even more so now that you like it."

With shared excitement, you and Jeongin turned to Mrs. Park, gratitude shining in your eyes. "We've found it," you declared, your voice ringing with certainty. "This is the cake for our wedding day."

Mrs. Park's smile was radiant as she nodded in agreement. "I'm thrilled that you both love it," she said warmly. "It will be my pleasure to create this beautiful cake for your special day."

He leaned in, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips curling into a delighted smile. "We finally found it," he exclaimed softly, his eyes sparkling with affection. "After all those tastings, we found the perfect cake for my beautiful fiancée." You couldn't help but blush at his words, feeling your heart flutter with happiness.

With a tender squeeze of your hand, he gazed into your eyes, his expression overflowing with love. "You know," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity, "I wouldn't want to go through this journey with anyone else but you. Every moment, every tasting, every decision we make together just feels right, because it's with you."

His words enveloped you like a comforting embrace, and in that moment, you felt the truth in them deep within your heart.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[muiitoloko]

hi! Could you write something for Frank but with a younger reader? Something fluffy and cute 🙈(and maybe with some smutt👀) where the reader is a baker (Frank having a seweet tooth🥰) , I find it very interesting and cute when the professions are so opposite/diferent 💫🙈

Ty!!! 💖✨

Title: The Sweetest Mission

Summary: A lieutenant general's routine is upended by the warmth and love he finds at a local bakery.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Smut.

Author's Notes: Hey there! That sounds like an adorable idea. Thanks for the sweet suggestion! 🥰💫

Also read on Ao3

Frank Benson drove to headquarters silently, as he did every day. His eyes were always alert, scanning the streets and keeping an eye on everything around him. The gun on his waist was a familiar weight, and his military uniform was impeccable, a testament to his disciplined nature. Frank straightened the tie around his neck, and that was when he saw it—A small, pink, and cute bakery that seemed new, and the sight of the delicacies in the window made Frank's stomach growl.

Checking the clock on his dashboard, Frank saw that it was still early. He would arrive on time even with a quick stop. Deciding to indulge his sweet tooth, he parked the car and walked toward the bakery. The bell above the door tinkled as he entered, and the warm, sugary aroma enveloped him.

You were behind the counter, arranging a tray of freshly baked pastries. The sight of Frank in his military uniform caught your attention, and you couldn't help but smile. With a playful glint in your eyes, you greeted him cheerfully.

"Good morning, sir! Are you here to confiscate our delicious merchandise?" you joked, your voice light and teasing.

Frank's stern expression softened slightly, a hint of amusement in his hazel eyes. "Good morning," he replied, his baritone voice steady. "I assure you, I'm here purely in a personal capacity."

You chuckled, appreciating his dry humor. "Well, in that case, welcome to Sweet Haven Bakery. What can I get for you today?"

Frank glanced at the display, his eyes lingering on the assortment of pastries, cakes, and cookies. His stomach growled again, louder this time, and he felt a small pang of embarrassment.

You noticed and smiled warmly. "Everything looks tempting, doesn't it? We have fresh croissants, éclairs, and some very popular cinnamon rolls."

Frank nodded, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. "I'll take a cinnamon roll and a black coffee, please."

As you prepared his order, you couldn't help but notice the contrast between Frank's stoic demeanor and his obvious delight at the prospect of a sweet treat. "You know," you said conversationally, "we get all kinds of customers here, but I think you're our first military officer. Are you stationed nearby?"

Frank accepted the coffee and cinnamon roll, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your cheerful demeanor and the playful sparkle in your eyes. It was second nature for him, as a soldier, to be suspicious of everything and everyone. He read your name on the badge—[Your Name]—and analyzed the situation, questioning silently why you were asking him questions. Was it simple curiosity, or was there something more?

You noticed the suspicious gleam in the older man's eyes and smiled slightly, deciding to lighten the mood. "Don't worry, I'm not a Russian spy if that's what you're thinking," you joked, your tone warm and teasing.

Frank's expression softened a fraction, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Good to know," he replied dryly. "Though I suppose a bakery would be an excellent cover."

You chuckled, appreciating his dry humor. "We do our best to remain inconspicuous. So, are you stationed nearby, or just passing through?"

Frank took a sip of his coffee, considering his response. "I'm stationed not too far from here," he said finally, his tone measured. "Headquarters is about a twenty-minute drive."

"Ah, I see," you replied, nodding. "Must be a demanding job. How do you find time to enjoy the simple pleasures, like a cinnamon roll and coffee?"

Frank looked at you, his eyes thoughtful. "It can be challenging," he admitted. "But sometimes, taking a moment to enjoy the little things is necessary. Helps to keep a sense of normalcy."

You smiled warmly, appreciating the glimpse into his life. "I couldn't agree more. Life can get hectic, and it's important to find those moments of peace. And speaking of peace, I hope you enjoy that cinnamon roll. It's one of our specialties, sir...?"

Frank took a bite, savoring the sweet, buttery pastry. He nodded in approval. "Lieutenant General Frank Benson, and it's excellent," he said, his tone sincere. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," you replied, pleased by his compliment. "If you ever need a break from the chaos, feel free to stop by. Sweet Haven Bakery is always here to provide a bit of comfort."

Frank looked at you, his hazel eyes softening with warmth. Before he could respond, the doorbell tinkled again. You turned your attention to the new customer entering the bakery. "Good morning, Mr. Hart," you greeted warmly, your smile widening. "How are you today?"

The man, dressed impeccably in a suit and leaning on an elegant umbrella, nodded politely. "Good morning, [Your Name]," he replied, his tone polite and reserved.

Frank observed the interaction, his curiosity piqued by the respect and familiarity you showed toward Mr. Hart. The newcomer acknowledged Frank with a courteous nod, and Frank returned the gesture with a slight wave. With a final, appreciative look at you, Frank took his coffee and cinnamon roll and made his way back to his car.

As he settled into the driver's seat, he couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself. He took another bite of the cinnamon roll, savoring the sweet, buttery flavor. "Damn," he muttered, a hint of regret in his voice. "Should have bought another one."

Driving through the streets, Frank reflected on the brief but pleasant encounter. The warmth and lightheartedness you brought to the conversation had been a welcome change from the stern and disciplined environment he was accustomed to. There was something comforting about the way you interacted with him, a sense of normalcy that he hadn't realized he missed.

Arriving at headquarters, Frank parked his car and finished his coffee. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the day's responsibilities. The fleeting moment of indulgence at the bakery had given him a small but meaningful boost, reminding him of the importance of finding balance amidst the demands of his role.

As he walked through the halls of the military headquarters, his thoughts drifted back to you and the small, pink bakery. He made a mental note to stop by again soon, perhaps even making it a regular part of his routine. After all, everyone needed a little sweetness in their lives, even a seasoned military officer like himself.

Later that day, during a break between meetings, Frank found himself thinking about the brief conversation he'd had with you. There was a genuine warmth and sincerity in your demeanor that had left an impression on him. It was a stark contrast to the often cold and calculated interactions he had within the military.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he had enjoyed the encounter. Perhaps, he mused, there was something to be said for taking a moment to connect with people outside of his professional sphere. It was a small reminder of the world beyond his uniform, a world filled with simple pleasures and genuine human connections.

As the day came to a close and Frank prepared to leave the office, he felt a sense of anticipation. Tomorrow, he decided, he would stop by the bakery again. And this time, he would buy two cinnamon rolls.

The next morning, Frank moved through his routine with military precision. He dressed in his impeccable uniform, the fabric pressed to perfection, and the shine on his shoes reflecting his disciplined nature. However, this morning held a sense of anticipation as he added a new stop to his routine: Sweet Haven Bakery.

As he approached the bakery, the soft pink exterior and inviting aroma of freshly baked goods brought a faint smile to his lips. The bell above the door tinkled as he entered, and he found himself scanning the room for you. There you were, behind the counter, arranging a tray of pastries with the same cheerful demeanor that had left an impression on him the previous day.

"Good morning, [Your Name]," Frank greeted, his baritone voice warm and steady. "I'm back for another cinnamon roll and a black coffee."

You looked up, your eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure at seeing him again. "Good morning, Lieutenant General Benson," you replied, your voice teasing. "Back for more of our delicious merchandise?"

Frank chuckled softly, a rare sound that surprised even him. "Indeed. Your cinnamon roll was too good to resist."

You began preparing his order, the familiarity of the routine bringing a sense of comfort. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. We aim to please here at Sweet Haven Bakery."

As you handed him the coffee and the cinnamon roll, Frank felt a sense of warmth that had been absent from his life for far too long. He looked at you, taking in your cheerful smile and the way your eyes sparkled with kindness. "You seem to enjoy your work here," he observed, his tone conversational.

You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. "I do. There's something wonderful about creating something that brings joy to others. Plus, I get to meet interesting people like you."

Frank's heart skipped a beat at your words. It had been years since he had felt such a connection with someone, and he found himself drawn to your warmth and sincerity. "It's a nice change from the usual routine," he admitted. "I suppose everyone needs a little sweetness in their life."

You chuckled softly, appreciating the sentiment. "Absolutely. And speaking of sweetness, would you like to try something new today? We have a fresh batch of éclairs that just came out of the oven."

Frank hesitated for a moment, then nodded, feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect. "Why not? I'll take one of those as well."

As you prepared the éclair, you couldn't help but notice the way Frank's eyes lingered on you, a mixture of curiosity and something deeper in his gaze. It was clear that beneath his stern exterior, there was a kind and thoughtful man who had been through a lot.

"Here you go," you said, handing him the éclair with a smile. "I hope you enjoy it."

Frank accepted the pastry, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment, sending a jolt of electricity through him. "Thank you, [Your Name]," he said softly. "I appreciate it."

As he took a bite of the éclair, the rich, creamy filling and delicate pastry melting in his mouth, he couldn't help but let out a small sound of approval. "This is excellent," he remarked, his eyes meeting yours. "You have a real talent."

You blushed slightly, pleased by his compliment. "Thank you, Lieutenant General. That means a lot coming from you."

Frank took another sip of his coffee, savoring the moment. "Please, call me Frank," he said, his tone gentle. "There's no need for formalities here."

You smiled, nodding. "Alright, Frank. I'm glad you're enjoying the pastries. It's always nice to see someone appreciate the little things in life."

Frank felt a warmth spreading through him, a sense of connection that he hadn't felt in years. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let someone in. The memory of his ex-wife and the years of loneliness that had followed their separation weighed heavily on him, but here, in this small bakery, he felt a glimmer of hope.

"Thank you, [Your Name]," he said sincerely. "You've made my morning a little brighter."

You beamed at him, your smile infectious. "That's what we're here for. Don't be a stranger, Frank. Sweet Haven Bakery is always open for you."

As Frank left the bakery, the scent of fresh pastries lingering in the air, he felt a sense of anticipation for the day ahead. The warmth and kindness you had shown him were a reminder that even in the midst of his disciplined, regimented life, there was room for simple pleasures and genuine human connections.

Driving to headquarters, Frank couldn't help but replay the morning's encounter in his mind. He found himself looking forward to his next visit to Sweet Haven Bakery, and the thought of seeing you again brought a rare smile to his face. It was a small step, but it felt like the beginning of something new, something that brought a sense of warmth and hope back into his life.

As he parked his car and prepared to face the day's responsibilities, Frank felt a renewed sense of determination. He had found a small oasis of comfort and connection in an unexpected place, and he was determined to hold on to it. With thoughts of you and the bakery lingering in his mind, he walked through the halls of headquarters with a lighter heart and a sense of anticipation for what the future might hold.

Days turned into weeks, and Frank Benson became a familiar face at Sweet Haven Bakery. He started visiting twice a day—once in the morning for his usual coffee and cinnamon roll and again in the evening, just before closing, for a brief respite from the demands of his role. The bakery became a sanctuary for him, a place where the rigid discipline of military life could melt away in the warmth of freshly baked goods and friendly conversation.

You noticed his regular visits, and a genuine friendship began to blossom between you two. Frank admired your work ethic and the way you handled your growing business with grace and intelligence. The bakery's success was evident as you hired more employees, yet you remained as down-to-earth and approachable as ever.

One evening, as Frank entered the bakery, the bell above the door tinkled, and you looked up with a bright smile. "Good evening, Frank. Back for your second dose of sweetness?"

Frank chuckled, his hazel eyes twinkling. "You know me too well, [Your Name]. I can't seem to stay away from this place."

You prepared his usual order, chatting amicably as you did. "How was your day? Anything exciting happening at headquarters?"

Frank leaned against the counter, his eyes never leaving yours. "Same old, same old. Meetings, briefings, and more meetings. Your bakery is the highlight of my day, to be honest."

You blushed slightly, appreciating the compliment. "I'm glad we can provide some comfort. We do our best to create a welcoming atmosphere."

As you handed him his coffee and pastry, Frank's fingers brushed against yours, sending a familiar jolt through him. He found himself increasingly captivated by you—your intelligence, your warmth, and your beauty. He scolded himself for these thoughts, reminding himself of the age difference. You were young enough to be his daughter, yet he couldn't help but notice the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed or how your hair framed your face perfectly.

Frank took a sip of his coffee, trying to shake off his thoughts. "You really have a talent for this, [Your Name]. The bakery is always bustling, and your pastries are top-notch."

You smiled warmly, leaning slightly on the counter. "Thank you, Frank. It means a lot coming from you. You've become a part of our little community here."

The connection between you two deepened with each passing day. Frank found himself drawn to your conversations, the way you spoke passionately about your work, and the genuine care you showed for your customers. He noticed the small things, like the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear or the delicate curve of your neck.

One evening, as the bakery was closing, Frank lingered a bit longer than usual. The last customer had left, and you were tidying up the counter. Frank watched you, his heart beating a little faster. He knew he shouldn't feel this way, but he couldn't help it. You were so vibrant, so full of life, and he was increasingly finding it difficult to keep his feelings in check.

"[Your Name]," Frank began, his voice low and filled with a mix of emotions, "I want you to know that coming here has been more than just about the pastries. Your company... it means a lot to me."

You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his voice. "Frank, I feel the same way. You've become a good friend. I enjoy our conversations and your visits."

Frank fell silent upon hearing you call him a friend. The word struck him more deeply than he had anticipated, and he didn't understand why he felt so disappointed by it. He had grown to cherish your company, and perhaps he had hoped for something more, even if he knew it was unlikely. Silently berating himself for his foolish thoughts, he stood up from where he was sitting at the counter. Straightening his uniform, he asked stoically, "Would you like a ride home?"

You looked up at him, surprised by the offer. "That's very kind of you, Frank, but you don't have to go out of your way."

"It's no trouble at all," he insisted, his tone firm but gentle. "I insist."

Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, you nodded. "Alright, thank you. I appreciate it."

Frank waited as you gathered your things and locked up the bakery. The drive to your home was quiet at first, the hum of the car engine filling the silence. Frank glanced at you from time to time, noticing the way the streetlights cast a soft glow on your face. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, his disciplined nature battling with the growing affection he felt for you.

As you neared your home, Frank finally broke the silence. "You know, I've been coming to your bakery for weeks now, and I feel like I know you quite well. But there's still so much I don't know."

You turned to look at him, curiosity in your eyes. "Like what?"

"Like what drives you," Frank said, his voice thoughtful. "What makes you happy, what you dream about. I see the passion you have for your work, but I want to know more about the person behind it."

Your heart fluttered at his words, touched by his genuine interest. "Well, I love baking because it brings joy to people. There's something magical about creating something with your own hands and seeing it make someone else's day better. As for dreams, I suppose I just want to continue growing the bakery and maybe... finding someone to share my life with."

Frank felt a pang of longing at your words, a desire he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge fully. He pulled up in front of your house and turned off the engine, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. "You deserve to be happy, [Your Name]. Anyone would be lucky to share their life with you."

You smiled softly, the warmth in his words wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. "Thank you, Frank. That means a lot coming from you."

There was a charged silence between you, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Frank's gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. "I should let you get inside. It's late."

You nodded, looking out the window before turning back to Frank with a playful smile. "Well, my neighbors will definitely have something to talk about now. Being dropped off by such a fancy car," you joked.

Frank suppressed a smile, maintaining his stoic demeanor. "Let them talk," he replied, his voice steady. "I doubt they have anything more interesting to discuss."

Your smile widened, and on an impulse, you leaned over and kissed his cheek. Frank's cheeks flushed slightly, a rare break in his composed exterior. He cleared his throat, struggling to maintain his usual authoritative presence.

"Thank you for the ride, Frank," you said softly, your eyes meeting his. "It means a lot to me."

Frank nodded, his voice a little rougher than usual. "You're welcome, [Your Name]. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

There was a charged silence between you, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You found yourself drawn to his warmth and strength, a surprising contrast to his usually stern exterior. "You know, Frank," you began, your voice low and sincere, "you're not as intimidating as you think. There's a kind heart under all that discipline."

Frank's gaze softened, his hazel eyes searching yours. "Discipline has its place," he said quietly, "but it doesn't mean I don't feel. I just... don't always know how to express it."

You reached out, your hand lightly touching his. "Maybe you don't have to express it with words," you suggested, your tone gentle.

Frank's breath hitched slightly at the touch, his eyes darkening with a mix of emotions. "You're very perceptive," he murmured, his voice dropping to a huskier tone. "It's been a long time since anyone has seen past the uniform."

You leaned in closer, your lips inches from his. "Maybe it's time you let someone in," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

Frank's resolve wavered, his disciplined exterior cracking just enough for you to see the man beneath. He reached up, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your cheek. "You're playing a dangerous game," he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of warning and desire.

You smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I like a bit of danger," you replied, your voice a seductive purr.

Frank's control finally snapped. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and intense. The heat between you was undeniable, a rush of emotions and desire that left you both breathless.

When you finally pulled back, Frank's eyes were dark with passion, his breathing ragged. "I've been alone for a long time," he admitted, his voice raw. "I don't know if I can give you what you deserve."

You shook your head, your fingers brushing his lips. "Just be yourself, Frank. That's all I need."

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "I'll try," he promised, his voice steadying. "For you, I'll try."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had let down his guard just for you. "That's all I ask," you said softly, leaning in for another kiss.

As you pulled back, you saw the genuine warmth and gratitude in Frank's eyes. "Goodnight, [Your Name]," he said, his voice tender.

"Goodnight, Frank," you replied, stepping out of the car and walking towards your building, your heart light with hope and excitement for what the future might hold.

Frank watched you until you disappeared inside, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and fear. He had taken the first step towards opening his heart again, and it felt both exhilarating and terrifying. As he drove away, he couldn't help but smile, knowing that this was just the beginning of something new and beautiful.

The weeks turned into months, and the relationship between you and Frank deepened. Your daily routine began to include not just the familiar comfort of your bakery but also the cherished moments you spent with Frank. He courted you in a manner reminiscent of an old-fashioned British gentleman, his approach both endearing and slightly amusing to you.

Frank was always the picture of decorum, his military training evident in every gesture. He would arrive at your bakery with a bouquet of fresh flowers, his hazel eyes lighting up with warmth as he presented them to you. "For you, my dear," he would say in his baritone voice, his tone both tender and formal. It was a small ritual that never failed to make your heart flutter.

You found his adherence to rules and propriety charming, even if it occasionally made you laugh. Frank was resolute in his refusal to kiss in public, a stance that both enchanted and frustrated you. "There are some things best kept private," he would insist, his tone firm but his eyes soft with affection.

One evening, after the bakery had closed, Frank invited you to his home for dinner. He had prepared a meal with the same meticulous care he applied to everything in his life. The table was set perfectly, and the food was delicious. As you sat together, the conversation flowed easily, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment.

"You're quite the cook," you teased, taking a sip of the fine wine he had selected. "Is there anything you can't do?"

Frank chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that made your heart skip a beat. "I have my talents," he replied, a twinkle in his eye. "But I must admit, I'm rather impressed with your baking skills. You've turned that little bakery into something truly special."

You smiled, feeling a rush of pride and warmth. "Thank you, Frank. That means a lot coming from you."

After dinner, as you moved to the living room, the atmosphere shifted. There was a tension in the air, a sense of anticipation that neither of you could ignore. Frank took your hand, his touch gentle but firm. "I've enjoyed our time together immensely," he said softly, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. "You bring a light into my life that I didn't realize I was missing."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. The kiss was tender at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened as the passion between you ignited. Frank's hands cupped your face, his touch both possessive and reverent, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

The intensity of the kiss left you both breathless, and as you pulled back, you saw the raw desire in Frank's eyes. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled, your own desire mirrored in your gaze. "So have I."

As the weeks went by, your relationship with Frank grew more intimate. You found yourself falling for the man beneath the uniform, the one who reserved his sweetest and gentlest moments just for you. Yet, there was a part of you that longed for more, that wanted to break through the barriers of his discipline and propriety.

One evening, after another dinner at his place, you found yourself unable to resist the urge any longer. Frank was in his kitchen, preparing dessert, when you slipped up behind him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against his broad back.

Frank felt a warmth spread through him as you wrapped your arms around his waist. He wasn't wearing his usual military uniform today, opting instead for a casual outfit that consisted of a well-fitted button-down shirt and dark jeans. The gun strapped to his waist was a reminder of the responsibilities he carried, but tonight, he was determined to focus solely on you.

He paused his dessert preparations, placing the utensils down and leaning back into your embrace. The feel of your body pressed against his back sent a shiver down his spine. He turned his head slightly, catching your eye with a tender smile.

"You know, you make it very hard to concentrate on anything else," Frank said, his baritone voice filled with warmth.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the outline of his belt. "Maybe that's the idea," you replied, your voice a seductive whisper.

Frank turned around to face you, his hazel eyes darkening with desire. He cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle yet firm. "You've been a distraction ever since I met you," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, passionate kiss. Frank responded eagerly, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as the desire between you intensified.

Breaking the kiss, you gazed up at him, your eyes filled with longing. "Frank," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I want you."

Frank's eyes darkened even further, his breath hitching at your words. "You have no idea how much I want you too," he replied, his voice a rough growl.

With a swift, practiced motion, he unstrapped the gun from his waist, setting it aside on the counter. He then lifted you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of the counter. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and contour with a reverence that made your heart race.

"You drive me crazy," Frank murmured against your lips, his breath hot and ragged. "I can't get enough of you."

You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his white hair, pulling him closer. "Show me," you whispered, your voice a sultry invitation.

Frank's hands slid under your shirt, his touch igniting a fire within you. He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a burning path in their wake. As he reached the sensitive spot just below your ear, you gasped, your body arching towards him.

Frank pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "You're so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to make you feel good."

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your desire for him overwhelming. Frank's hands moved with deliberate precision, his touch both firm and gentle. He leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss as he continued to explore your body.

But Frank suddenly stopped, his breath ragged and his eyes dark with desire. With a surprising tenderness, he pulled you off the counter, and you clung to him as he carried you towards his bedroom. This was the first time you had been in his private sanctuary, and as he placed you gently on the bed, you took advantage of the break to look around.

The room was a reflection of Frank himself: impeccably tidy, everything in its place. The bed was perfectly made, the surfaces clear and organized. It made you smile, seeing this side of him so clearly manifested in his living space. Frank observed your reaction, a small, shy smile playing on his lips.

When you turned your attention back to him, he hesitated, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "I can wait if you want to wait. I don't want to rush you."

You reached out, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "I want you, Frank," you whispered, your voice filled with need. "I want to feel my lieutenant general inside me."

Frank's eyes darkened with lust at your words. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. "My baker, you're making it hard to control myself," he murmured against your lips, his voice a rough growl.

You arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him. "Then don't control yourself," you whispered, your voice husky with need. "I want you to take me, Frank. Make me yours."

Frank’s hands roamed over your body, his touch both firm and gentle. He kissed a trail down your neck, his lips leaving a burning path in their wake. "You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this," he said, his voice trembling with desire.

You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Show me, Frank," you urged. "Show me how much you want me."

Frank's breath hitched as he reached out to undress you, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your denim shorts. He pulled them down slowly, his eyes darkening with lust as your pink cotton panties came into view. He paused for a moment, admiring the sight before him, the contrast of the soft fabric against your skin making his heart race.

You noticed his lingering gaze and decided to tease him a little. "Do you like them, Frank?" you asked, your voice playful and sultry. "You can keep them if you want, but I don't think they'll fit you."

Frank's grip on your thigh tightened, his hazel eyes blazing with desire. "You're so naughty sometimes," he growled, his voice a mix of amusement and arousal. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

He held your legs open for him, his hands firm yet gentle, and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Frank leaned down and pressed a kiss to your pussy through your panties, the fabric dampening with your arousal. The sensation made you moan, your back arching into him.

"Frank, please," you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

Frank focused on the sounds you made, each moan and gasp fueling his desire. It had been a while since he had been with a woman, and he was determined to make you feel good, to show you just how much he wanted you. He nuzzled his face against your pussy, his nose brushing against your clit through the thin fabric, making you shudder with pleasure.

"You taste so sweet," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to make you feel incredible."

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and exposing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze. "Beautiful," he whispered, more to himself than to you, as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your bare skin.

You whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets as Frank's tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate path along your folds. He licked and sucked, his movements unhurried, savoring every moment. The feel of his warm, wet tongue against your most sensitive areas made you cry out, your body trembling with need.

Frank's hands slid up your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you open for him. He sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, and you gasped, your hips bucking against his face.

"That's it, baby," Frank encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Let me hear you. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel."

You moaned louder, your body writhing under his expert touch. Frank's tongue moved with practiced precision, his years of discipline and control evident in the way he brought you closer and closer to the edge. He alternated between gentle licks and firm sucks, his mouth working you over until you were panting, desperate for release.

"Frank, I'm so close," you whimpered, your voice a high-pitched plea.

Frank groaned against your pussy, the sound vibrating through you and pushing you even closer to the brink. "Come for me," he growled, his voice commanding yet tender.

His words were your undoing. With a final cry, you came, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Frank didn't stop, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, prolonging your orgasm and driving you wild with sensation.

As you came down from your high, Frank pulled back slightly, his face glistening with your arousal. He looked up at you, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of satisfaction and desire. "You taste even better than I imagined," he said, his voice a low, satisfied rumble.

You smiled weakly, your body still trembling with aftershocks. "Frank, that was incredible," you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

Frank stood up, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "I'm not done with you yet," he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with promise.

You shivered with anticipation, your desire for him reigniting with a vengeance. "Then don't stop," you whispered back, your voice breathless. "Show me what else you've got."

Frank's eyes darkened with renewed lust as he slowly stood up, the tension in the room palpable. You watched, your breath hitching, as he undid his belt. However, he hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. Instead of continuing, he turned away, walking over to the light switch and plunging the room into darkness.

You were a little surprised, but you understood. Frank's self-consciousness about his body was something you had noticed, but it didn't change the way you felt about him. His vulnerability only made him more endearing to you.

"Frank," you called softly, your voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "You don't have to hide from me. I want you just as you are."

There was a moment of silence before Frank returned to the bed, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light filtering through the curtains. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, yet intense kiss, his hands roaming over your body with a renewed urgency.

"I need you, [Your Name]," he murmured against your lips, his voice a low, rough whisper. "I need to feel you, all of you."

You reached out, your fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slight softness that came with age. "You're perfect to me, Frank," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. "I want all of you."

Frank groaned softly, his hands trembling slightly as he undid his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He climbed onto the bed, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his desire evident in every touch.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "So damn beautiful."

You smiled in the darkness, your fingers trailing down his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. "Show me how much you want me, Frank," you urged, your voice a sultry whisper. "Make me yours."

Frank's breath hitched at your words, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping you firmly. He positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his cock brushing against your wet folds. The sensation made you moan softly, your body arching towards him in anticipation.

"Do you feel how hard I am for you?" Frank whispered, his voice rough with desire. "How much I want to be inside you?"

"Yes," you breathed, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Please, Frank. I need you."

With a deep, throaty groan, Frank slowly pushed into you, the thickness of his cock stretching you deliciously. You gasped at the sensation, your body shuddering with pleasure. He moved with a deliberate, steady rhythm, his hands gripping your hips as he thrust deeper.

You moaned in response, your nails digging into his back as he picked up the pace, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The darkness seemed to amplify every sensation, the feel of his body against yours, the sound of his ragged breathing, the way his cock filled you completely.

"Frank," you gasped, your voice trembling with need. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

Frank didn't respond with words, his lips trailing hot kisses along your neck. He pulled your shirt over your head with a sense of urgency, his fingers fumbling slightly with your bra clasp before finally freeing your breasts. He cupped one in his hand, kneading it gently and teasing your nipple with his thumb.

"You're perfect," he muttered against your skin, his baritone voice rough with desire.

You moaned in response, the sensation of his hands on your body sending waves of pleasure through you. Despite the intensity of the moment, you couldn't help but notice the unusual silence from Frank. He was a quiet man, yes, but this level of silence during sex was new to you. It was almost as if he was holding back, afraid to let go completely.

"Frank," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I want to hear you. I want to know how much you want me."

When Frank didn’t respond again, you decided it was time to take control. Gathering your resolve, you turned him around on the bed and straddled him, catching him off guard. Even though you couldn't see his expression in the dark, you could feel the tension in his body. You were determined to make him loosen up, to break through the barriers he had built around himself.

You lowered yourself onto his hard cock, the sensation of him filling you completely sending shivers down your spine. You moved slowly at first, savoring the way he stretched you, but as you felt his hands grip your hips, you knew he wanted more.

"Frank," you whispered, your voice a sultry purr, "I want you to let go. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

You began to ride him, your movements steady and controlled, your hips rolling in a rhythm that had you both gasping for breath. Frank's hands tightened on your hips, his grip almost painful in its intensity. You could feel him holding back, his body tense beneath you.

"Come on, Lieutenant General," you teased, your voice low and seductive. "Let me hear you. Show me how much you want this."

You picked up the pace, bouncing on his cock with a sense of urgency that matched your desire. Each thrust drove you closer to the edge, your moans filling the room as you rode him harder. Frank's breathing grew ragged, his control slipping as you pushed him to his limits.

"Fuck, Frank," you gasped, your nails digging into his chest. "You feel so good inside me. You're so big, so perfect. I want you to come with me."

Frank's hands moved to your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples as you rode him. The sensation sent jolts of pleasure through you, making you cry out. "That's it," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. "Just like that. I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you lose control."

Frank groaned, the sound deep and guttural, as he thrust up into you, meeting your movements with a newfound urgency. "God, [Your Name]," he muttered, his voice strained. "You're driving me crazy."

You leaned down, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, your tongue exploring his mouth as you continued to ride him. "Come for me, Frank," you whispered against his lips. "Let go. I want to feel you come inside me."

Frank's control finally snapped. With a growl, he gripped your hips tightly, thrusting up into you with a force that left you breathless. The intensity of his movements pushed you over the edge, and you cried out as your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing with pleasure.

Frank followed you moments later, his cock pulsing inside you as he came, his groans filling the room. You collapsed against him, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you.

Frank's hands moved to your back, his touch gentle and reassuring. "That was incredible," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "You're incredible."

You smiled against his chest, feeling a warmth spread through you. "So are you, Frank," you murmured. "You just needed to let go."

Frank chuckled softly, his breath warm against your hair. "I think I can get used to this," he admitted, his tone tender.

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze in the dim light. "Good," you replied, your voice filled with affection. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Frank smiled, his eyes softening with warmth. "Neither am I."

As you lay together in the darkness, the bond between you strengthened by the shared intimacy, you felt a sense of peace and contentment. You had found something special with Frank, something worth holding onto. And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

[blindmagdalena]

Ok but Homie being obsessed with his girl taste and going down on her in every chance he gets

18+ cunnilingus, breeding kink, semi-public sex Whether it be walking into a bakery or catching a whiff of a barbeque down wind, there is something to be said for the specific kind of hunger one experiences when overwhelmed by the sudden smell of something delicious.

This is precisely the sort of hunger Homelander experiences every time he picks up your scent. His mouth waters, his jaw aches faintly. He's turning into an addict.

When you catch him staring down at your lap mid-conversation, seated at the Seven's conference table no less, with that familiar, far-away look of desire in his eyes, you give him a nudge with your elbow. "Have you heard a word that I've said?" You ask, amused. "You're ovulating," he replies, which tells you no, he didn't hear a single word. His lips are parted, quirked in a lopsided little smile. His eyes flicker up to meet yours.

"I hate that you know that before I do," you laugh, shaking your head. "Can we focus for a second, please?" "Nope." Homelander slides a hand up your thigh. "See, I'm just not gonna be able to focus on anything... Not with you smelling so fucking good," he tells you, his voice dropping low as he leans in close to your ear. He hears your heart jump. "John," you whisper, glancing over towards the enormous double doors. "The others could be here any minute." "Relaaaax, I'll hear them," he says slyly, catching the back of your neck to hold you steady while he kisses you. He fucking loves the way you squirm in his grip, putting a hand on his chest like you have a hope of dissuading him. He uses the distraction to slip a gloved hand up your skirt, swallowing the moan he surprises out of you when he rubs you through your panties.

"Wait, wait," you say, but it's too late. He's a shark, and your arousal is blood in the water. He moves his hand under your ass and hauls you up out of your chair with obscene ease, dropping you down on the edge of the V shaped table. Homelander wastes no time sliding in between your legs, smoothing his hands up your inner thighs, spreading them wide. He grins, licking his lips preemptively. Hooking your legs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward until his face is nestled nicely between your legs, buried under your skirt, leaving only your back resting on the table.

You cross your ankles behind his back, squirming, desperately pushing your skirt down over his head in an attempt to preserve some modesty. "Aren't there cameras in here?" You ask, biting your lip. "Sure are," Homelander answers wickedly. He's going to enjoy watching that security footage later. He follows up with a firm, slow drag of his tongue up the already-wet fabric of your panties, cutting off however you may have responded, reducing it to a sharp little gasp. Fuck, the smell of you drives him insane, but it's the taste that has him going truly feral. Moving a hand to your hip, Homelander holds you steady while he uses his other hand to pull your panties to the side. Immediately, he closes his mouth over your clit, sucking hungrily at you. He effortlessly holds you in place, keeping you from jerking away from him while he pushes his tongue into you, drinking you up like nectar. Homelander moans lewdly against you, dragging his tongue in deft figure eights before plunging it in deep, coaxing more and more from you, athirst with need. He encourages it with a light slap to your ass when your thighs clench and you start to grind against him. He presses in on your leg, a reminder that you can't break him, you can't suffocate him. You indulge him, squeezing tight on either side of his head, bouncing your hips with what little leverage you have. The sounds you make are music to his ears, muffled as they are by the press of your thighs. He meets each bounce of your hips, alternating between deep fucks of his tongue and swirls over your clit, sucking at it. He presses his tongue flat against the sensitive nub and that's when you really start to make noise. You cup the back of his head over the fabric of your skirt and hold him there, which feels to him like fucking heaven. His own cock throbbing, Homelander rocks his hips against thin air, grinding down in his seat, seeking pressure anywhere he can. He's consumed by the fantasy of fucking you with your taste fresh on his lips, pounding your soaked pussy and filling you with his come, putting a baby in your belly to make your tits fat and wet. He moans again, drooling a wet mess onto your panties, your skirt, lapping at you like he'll fucking die without it. You muffle your cry with your own hand, back arching fully, heels pressed into Homelander's back as you come hard, cunt convulsing wildly against his tongue. He doesn't miss a second of it, luxuriating in the way it changes you on a biological level, endorphins flooding your taste and smell. He drinks it like liquor, and feels just as intoxicated.

Homelander doesn't stop until you beg him to, pushing against his head, over-sensitized. He pulls away with an obscene, wet noise, licking his lips. He looks dazed when you see him, light sensitive and flushed, drunk on you. Your limbs feel like cooked noodles, useless to you. Homelander eases your legs down from his shoulders and maneuvers you into his lap, kissing the taste of you back into your mouth. Your panties are thoroughly drenched, clinging wetly to you. Homelander grinds up needily against you while you kiss, panting lightly through his nose. It isn't out of exertion, but sheer excitement.

"Let me fuck you," he murmurs fervently against your lips. He's already reaching between you to unclasp his belt. "What about the meeting?" You ask, cupping his face, not actually giving a shit about the meeting anymore. Not with him throbbing hot and hard between your legs. You grind down against him to hear the sweet way he keens. "They can fucking wait," he growls, reaching under the table to press a button that dings softly, flicking the green light above the door to red. Locked. "They can wait while I fuck you." Which is precisely how the other members of The Seven end up standing awkwardly outside the door of the conference room, exchanging looks, pretending they don't hear Homelander fucking you within an inch of your life on the other side of it.

[nectar-cellar]

i always love seeing your gameplay posts, they inspire me to play myself!! are there any mods you recommend to make the game more fun and/or realistic?

aw thank you so much!! knowing people like it also inspires me to play more :)

first of all i find a lot of gameplay mods through modthesims and creators here on tumblr: anitmb, twinsimming, olomaya, phoebejaysims, the sweet simmer @ mts, petalruesimblr, riverianepondsims (really want to try her tennis mod)

definitely check out those creators blogs to see all the gameplay mods they offer!!

nraas

nraas career + self-employed module: i am using this one mainly for the personal trainer career. your sim registers at city hall and then you can train other sims on any exercise equipment and earn $, it's kind of like a live career. with nraas careers you can also install more rabbithole careers for adults and teens from modthesims or missyhissy.

nraas relativity: i use this mod to slow down time so that my sims have more time during the day to do stuff. i set the speed to 19. you can edit the time speed by clicking on any clock or on city hall.

nraas register: i use this mod to disable paparazzi, tourists, and wild animals.

icarus_allsorts at modthesims

autonomous fun in the sun mod: makes sims do more stuff at beach

eat outside restaurants mod: makes restaurant rabbitholes more alive because sims are eating outside

lazyduchess lot population reduced mod: makes all lots more populated, more chances to socialize and get into drama. warning that lots can get really busy though!!

aroundthesims3

sandy has a lot of items that add gameplay. check out:

outdoor section

entertainment section

also the pets, kids, and downtown sections

EA Store - get these from blamseastore or free-sims3 archive

rim rockin basketball hoop: adds ability for sims to play basketball!! perfect for park/gym/university/community center lot

business as usual bistro: you can make your own restaurant for sims (also comes with a pre-built lot) to autonomously come in, sit down, order food, socialize. ani also has the "business as unusual" mod which is more in-depth.

deliciously indulgent bakery: adds more baking recipes and a pre-built cupcake shop lot you can place down

lucky simoleon casino: comes with lucky palms gold - you get a casino. the store also has a "double down poker and roulette bundle" for more gambling games you can add.

partaeus maximus statue: put it on any lot to make sims enjoy parties more.

DIY fitness career

you can make your own gym/exercise studio(s) around town and have your sim make a living by training others.

nraas careers self employed as trainer: train sims on the default gym equipment

twinsimming yoga mod + spin class mod: sims can teach yoga classes and lead spin classes using the cc yoga mat and cc exercise bike.

olomaya get pumped mod: sims can teach fitness classes using the cc exercise mats.

DIY twitch streamer career

ani simtube camera: your sim talks in front of a camera. improves social networking skill & adds blog posts to the blog app

twinsimming livestreaming mod: improves celeb level, social networking, video game skills

twinsimming level up video game skill mod: play video games, improvde video game skill, participate in tournaments to earn $ prizes

you can pair this with other jobs (modelling, singing, acting, etc.) for a sim who is trying to be a self-made social media star.

[growingstories]

Hiding on a Greek island

Eduardo was a successful entrepreneur, running a chain of gyms in the southern part of the country. However, Eduardo had a secret side business involving steroids, which added an element of sketchiness to his otherwise perfect life. Eduardo maintained his physique by working out in his gyms daily, and during the summer, he engaged in various outdoor sports while in winter he indulged in winter sports.

But Eduardo's life took an unexpected turn when his father, a wealthy mafia boss, decided to leave him alone and keep him out of the dangerous mafia business. Despite his father's wishes, Eduardo couldn't help but be drawn to his father's world. Little did he know that fate had something else in store for him.

One day, Eduardo's father warned him to lay low for a couple of weeks, revealing that he was making a tax deal with the government in exchange for some valuable information. He urged Eduardo to hire a bodyguard named Massimo, a former undercover military personnel, to ensure his safety. Following his father's advice, Eduardo hired Massimo to protect him during this uncertain time.

However, things took a dark turn when threatening letters arrived at Eduardo's gyms, warning him that if he didn't pay up, they would come after him instead of his father. A few days later, tragedy struck when his father was killed in a car bombing. Eduardo was devastated by the loss, but he suddenly found himself the main heir to his father's fortune and, reluctantly, the mafia business.

Eduardo made the decision to follow in his father's footsteps but with a twist: he decided to help the government take down criminals instead. As a result, many criminals lost their source of income and were arrested, leaving Eduardo feeling increasingly isolated and vulnerable. The gyms suffered as well, as the steroid trade came to a halt due to fear of police raids.

Eduardo considered hiring more bodyguards to protect himself but Massimo advised against it, warning that it would make his whereabouts known to more people. Instead, Massimo suggested going underground for a few weeks. So Eduardo and Massimo took a private jet and escaped to one of Eduardo's luxurious houses in the south of France.

Life in the French mansion was pleasant, yet monotonous. He would often go for runs with Massimo and enjoy a cup of coffee and a croissant at a small terrace. Despite the tranquility, Eduardo couldn't ignore the fact that his business was suffering, and his gyms were not as profitable due to the halted steroid trade.

As time passed, Eduardo's waistline started to expand, and his jeans became uncomfortably snug. Realizing he needed to make a change, he asked Massimo for a rower to continue his fitness routine. Meanwhile, Massimo took charge of their meals, ordering from local restaurants and ensuring that Eduardo had regular breaks to enjoy delicious food.

However, their peaceful respite didn't last long. Massimo discovered that the manager overseeing Eduardo's real estate was being followed, and in a daring move, he evacuated Eduardo from the French mansion. Unfortunately, during their escape, shots were fired, and Eduardo was wounded in the shoulder and legs. After a month-long hospital stay and a challenging period of rehabilitation, Eduardo was moved to a small Greek island where he owned another property.

On the Greek island, Eduardo's only outside contact was with Stavros, a local fisherman who brought groceries and fresh baked goods to him. Despite their seclusion, Massimo ensured that Eduardo could continue running his business through a secured internet connection. As the months passed, Eduardo's lack of movement, combined with the constant flow of delicious Greek food and pastries, caused his weight to skyrocket.

It wasn't until one Christmas when Eduardo ventured into the village that he encountered Alexios, the attractive son of a local bakery owner. Eduardo was instantly smitten and couldn't bear to be away from Alexios. Massimo facilitated their meetings, ensuring Eduardo's safety, and soon, Alexios became a regular guest at their dinners, often providing decadent desserts.

Eduardo's relationship with Alexios further contributed to his weight gain, as the bakery owner's son constantly showered him with high-calorie treats. Despite the weight gain, Eduardo embraced his new life on the Greek island. He rarely left his house during the summer months, basking in the sun and enjoying his lover's company.

After spending two years in seclusion, Massimo believed it was safe for Eduardo to return to Italy. Although Eduardo had grown accustomed to his isolated life and running his business remotely, he decided to stay on the Greek island, with Alexios joining him.

Not content with idleness, Eduardo proposed a plan to the island's mayor to develop a spa retreat on a prime piece of land. This venture aimed to attract wealthy clientele and infuse a steady stream of income into the local economy. With this project to focus on, Eduardo's life became more fulfilling, and he had a legitimate reason to stay on the island.

And so, Eduardo's life took a different path from what he had imagined. While his waistline had expanded, he had found love and contentment on the tranquil Greek island. His days were now spent attending to his business and enjoying the company and delectable treats provided by Alexios. Despite the challenges he faced, Eduardo had a created new life that truly suited him.

[slexenskee]

At Tea Time

Inspired by this lovely little drawing of Fuyumi and Satoru by @lwx-xx

Oneshot  [Here]

He keeps reaching up to stop it from tugging at his hair, but never seems to manage much else but more tangles. He doesn’t hate having hair this long, but it sure as hell is tiresome. He has no idea how girls can stand it. It’s not even that long, just enough to graze his shoulders and irritate him every time he turns his head. No matter how much it annoys him though, he refuses to cut it. The look of rage and disgust whenever his father sees him is enough to have him put up with it. 

Gojo hides a smirk of amusement. There’s no way that guy doesn’t have decades of smothered homosexual urges, with the way he gets so personally offended whenever his eldest son so much as puts a dress on. 

Really, Gojo’s just doing this for his benefit. If Endeavor could just embrace his own gayness and stop with this quirk genomics scheme, they’d all be better off. He snickers into his hand. The thought of Endeavor in a dress was so hideous he almost wanted to make it into reality. 

“Nii-chan,” Fuyumi whines, pulling him out of his thoughts. “What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing, Yumi,” he replies easily, picking up his little plastic teacup. “Aren’t you supposed to pour me more tea?”

She gasps in horror at the thought of being a poor fantasy hostess, and hastily leans over to splash more juice into his cup. Gojo didn’t really mind playing tea party whenever Fuyumi asked, including dressing up in whatever outfit Fuyum insisted on for him and procuring various sweets for their game, but he drew the line at using actual tea. A four year-old was more likely to scald them both than pour tea into a cup. 

Truth be told, Gojo has no idea what you’re even supposed to do during a game like this. Fuyumi seems to have a plan in mind, so he’s just winging it. Maybe it’s just his adult mentality, but it just seems awfully boring. Fuyumi just pretends to be some old-fashioned Victorian lady asking about the weather and playing at being an adult. Why would anyone want to be an adult? Gojo honestly can’t fathom it. 

It’s about as weird as having a sister in general— especially now that she can talk and play games and follow him around ceaselessly. The only reason he’s even here indulging her at all is because she’d cry if he left to fuck around with the neighborhood kids. 

“Do you— do you like the tea?” She stutters out, trying and failing so terribly to affect a refined, lady-like voice that he almost falls into laughter again. 

“Yeah, it’s great.” He takes a sip and plays along. “Not as good as the cake though.” 

He’d gone all the way to the bakery in the next neighborhood over for it. The obaa-san behind the counter had gushed over how cute it was, for a little girl to be running errands for her mother. Gojo hadn’t bothered to correct her. 

Fuyumi wrinkles her little nose at him.

Gojo sighs, and affects a very snobbish voice; “Yes, ojou-sama, the cake is really quite delicious. My compliments to the chef.”

Fuyumi bursts into delighted giggles. At four years-old, she has little to no grasp on formal speech, so she instead subjects Gojo to using it at her behest. It occasionally reminds Gojo of his unfortunate true childhood as the young master of an estate, where everyone demurred to him in such a manner, but he can ignore it easily enough when he’s trussed up as a girl playing tea party to appease his little sister. 

He sighs again. “May we please cut the cake now? I’m feeling rather famished.” 

“Yes, of course!” Fuyumi nods eagerly. Then she stares at the cake with a perplexed expression. Gojo quickly reaches over before his four year-old sister can attempt wielding a knife. 

//

He stops playing tea parties, and all of Fuyumi’s other favorite childish activities deemed too effeminate by his father the year after, when the man decides he’s old enough for ‘real’ training. Fuyumi’s despondent about it for weeks, but there’s really nothing Gojo can do about it. Fighting with his father over it would just cause more tension in their already untenable household, and by then Fuyumi has a willing victim in little Natsuo, who’s finally toddling around on his own. 

He’s not sure why he’s remembering it all so fondly now, when at the time he’d found it all quite the chore. 

Fuyumi liked all the things little girls liked; playing dress-up as princesses, playing house, making fake tea parties and playing with her assortment of dolls. Gojo had mainly been bemused and distantly fascinated by it all, having never had a little sister before, but still found indulging her to be tedious. He’d done it anyway, mainly out of pity. She’d been such a lonely kid.

“What is this?” Eri asks him curiously, holding up a very familiar teapot. 

Earlier, Fuyumi had dropped off the rest of her old clothes and toys that had been squirreled up in the attic, looking rather nostalgic as she’d handed over the plastic bin to him. She’d stayed for dinner and doted endlessly on Eri, who seems to be slowly but surely warming up to her, but with work tomorrow she’d left soon after, before Gojo could even start going through the bin. 

“That’s a teapot, Eri-chan. It’s for tea parties.” He crouches down next to her, rummaging through the unsorted mess of toys and clothes. “Have you ever played tea party?”

She blinks at him, brow furrowed. She slowly shakes her head. 

He laughs, as he unearths one of the matching teacups from the set. “Is that so? Well, why don’t we play before bed then?”

He uses real, lukewarm chamomile tea in a half-hearted attempt to have Eri in bed at a reasonable time. This promptly proves to be a lost cause, as Eri gets terribly excited over the whole affair as he sets up a fake tea table with flowers and cake and all of Fuyumi’s fake plastic servingware, and dresses them both up in something appropriately frilly. Somehow, wearing an entire fake wig of hair is a lot less uncomfortable than a little bow. They even get the cat involved, dragging him into her room and outfitting him with a generously sized bow he immediately hates. He still has no idea what the hell you’re supposed to talk about during these little fake tea parties, so he instead just teaches her how to sing Anti-Hero. Eri loves singing along with him, even if she has no idea what she’s saying. On the downside, this means she knows far too many curse words and unknowingly sings an awful lot about sex, but on the bright side her English pronunciation is improving by leaps and bounds.

“—at tea time, everybody agrees—” 

Gojo glances up as he hears the door open, smirking widely as Hawks catches sight of him and almost face plants into the carpet. It’s been a while since he’s put on his ‘Toru-chan’ look, hasn’t it? 

“I stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror,” 

Hawks fumbles with the door, but eventually makes it into the room with a dazed expression. He’d told the blonde he didn’t have to ring the doorbell every time he came over and could just let himself inside, yet still Hawks looks a little hesitant about whether or not he’s allowed to intrude. 

Gojo winks at him and beckons him over as he finishes up his little sing along. “It must be exhausting, always rooting for the anti-hero~”

Eri’s voice trails off in an offkey warble as she looks up and sees Hawks. She’s still shy about singing in front of others.

“Hi,” he says with a smile, holding out a teacup to the winged hero. “Want some tea?” 

Hawks looks a little mystified, settling down on the floor with them. “Uh— sure? What are we doing here?”

“Playing tea party, of course!” Gojo answers, cheerfully. 

“Right,” Hawks agrees, taking the cup so Gojo can pour him some tepid and terribly oversteeped tea. “And… what is that, exactly?”

“Eri didn’t know either,” Gojo laments, chuckling. “Let’s just say you learn a lot of interesting things when you have a little sister.” 

“Oh. Is this a game you used to play with Fuyumi-san?” Hawks trails an appraising eye down his outfit; the blatant approval in the hero’s gaze almost has him blushing a bit. “I think I like it.” He purrs. 

Gojo rolls his eyes, glad the wig is covering his reddening ears. “We’re princesses. You can either join us as a princess or— or you can be the butler, I guess.”

Hawks raises a brow. “No prince charming to come and rescue you from the evil dragon?” He jerks a thumb up at Meow in the corner, the dragon in question, who looks miserable in his bowtie. 

Gojo turns his nose up. “We don’t need one of those. We can save ourselves.” 

Hawks laughs. “That’s how it is, huh? A butler is fine, then. Devoting my life to making sure you’re always left satisfied… I’m on board with that.”

Gojo coughs weakly into his cup. He definitely doesn’t remember his tea parties with Fuyumi leaving him this flustered. 

“Just drink your goddamn tea,” he hisses at the other man, shoving a slice of cake in his direction. 

Hawks snickers under his breath, but gamely complies. 

--

lol not a Swiftie and no hate for her at all but I usually don't like her songs at all, but I recently discovered Swiftie rock/punk covers...