#it tastes like lavender and milk

[snowcoffeee]

Anon, I will not be able to talk coherently from happiness for the rest of the day. Thank you so, so much for this amazing gift <3

[recallback-art]

Day 16: Food! This also counts as a meme, but I thought of it and couldn't just not draw it. Quite possibly one of the best images for communicating what Raffail's personality is like.

[paging-possum]

it is so vital that I know my characters' coffee orders

[luminiamore]

SOUL, PT.2

basketball player ony x black spiritual reader

first part here.

warnings: bomb dick, vibrating panties (idea came to me last minute)

masterlist

The day finally arrived. The man you had been crushing on for months— the man who sucked the soul out of pussy just two days ago— was taking you out on a date. Your nerves were racking up, your breathing heavy as you stared at yourself in your mirror. The scent of lavender and the burning blunt you just rolled are lingering in your nostrils. It was 5 p.m., 30 minutes before Ony told you he was coming with your outfit.  

You were stuck in the mirror, fixing the baby hairs on your ginger wig as you took another hit. Your head was being hit pretty hard by the effects of the marijuana. Your gold and stone bracelets jiggled around with every movement you made. Why were you so nervous? This is the same man that slobbered over your clit on your clit appallingly not too long ago. So, why were you so nervous? You jumped when you heard a ding coming from your phone. 

“omw mama.”

Another hit. You read the text without even clicking on the message, and if Ony was the type of nigga to go 50 on a 20 road, you had about 10 minutes before he came knocking on your door. You quickly wrap a pink silk robe from one of your hangers on your body, not putting on panties because you have a gut feeling. You already showered, already lathered your body in your strawberry body milk. Your light makeup sat perfectly against your skin, your lips brown and glossed.

The only thing left for you to do was to spray a bit of your Kayali Sugar Candy perfume, and after the final spritz, you heard a light knocking sound coming from outside your room. Your heart is beating ten times faster— he didn’t even tell you he was outside. Another hit, and you ash it out outside your window. 

Your feet could barely be heard on the ground as you rushed to open the door and shit. Seeing Ony outside of his usual attire was doing more to you than you cared to admit. He was in a white dress shirt and black suit pants— all dressed up for the date he was taking you on. His hair was freshly cut, the first two buttons on his shirt were loose, and he had a freshly ripened hibiscus bouquet in his right hand and a medium-sized bag on his left. How did he know those were my favorite flowers?

“Heard you tell that girl you always with that you really liked these.” He smirks a bit when your eyes widen in realization that you said your thoughts out loud. You grab the flowers from his grasp, fingers burning when you accidentally graze his hand, and mutter a small, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. Come in, Ony.”

His aura alone was so potent, so calm and safe, and inside, you knew your spirit guides were probably cheering you on. Your cat’s immediate approach to him, rubbing its head on his legs, was a sign that you made the right choice. Waiting for him to pet her, she plopped down on the floor, and unsurprisingly, Ony crouched down to honor her wishes.

You wanted him to take you now, but you knew Ony was a man of his word. He wouldn’t fuck you until after tonight. You just had to wait until after tonight. You glance up to where a regular clock is hanging above your door. 

5:25.

..Waiting until after tonight suddenly seemed like forever. 

“Not as beautiful as you. You smoking in here?” The smell of it was immediately detected when you opened the door. He smiled internally because he was waiting outside your apartment in his Hellcat while he texted you and lit his own joint. You really were meant for each other. 

Ony thought you looked good enough to eat. Again. Nothing but a thin robe on you, accentuating your curves and showing a slight peak of your voluptuous brown tits. Flashes of you moaning his name and bucking your hips wildly onto his tongue started slipping into his mind— would it really be wrong to taste you again?

Your pretty voice breaks him out his thoughts, “Yea, you want a hit? Or two?” You release a chuckle, the sound making the tall man shiver a bit. He takes a deep breath— patience. He has to have patience. You’ll be moaning his name soon enough.

“Nah, was smoking before I got here. Here, mama.” He hands you the bag he was holding after you got done putting the flowers on your kitchen counter. You were a bit.. skeptical when Ony asked if he could dress you for tonight, worried that he might choose an outfit that you wouldn’t like. 

What you didn’t know is that Ony observed you. Studied your peculiarities and the way you dressed when you walked up into Econ, he wouldn’t have asked such a question otherwise. He had precise knowledge of what to give you, and it was evident when you took the bag from him and found an exquisite crochet skirt set. 

The skirt ended with shades of light to a deep royal purple, and the top had no straps. Flower patterns were all over it. There was also a pair of shoes, white mini heels with thin straps. And when you reached the bottom of the bag, you saw panties, purple, and flower patterns all over it, too. 

“Ony, this is- It’s gorgeous. I-”

He kisses your cheek and gently pushes the items to your chest, “Go put ’em on. Reservation’s at 6:30.”

You giggle and nod, rushing to your room on your tiptoes. In your living room, Ony is waiting for you, lying down on your comfortable couch and petting your cat after she jumps onto his lap. He has reason to believe that you two wouldn’t make it outside if he came inside your room with you. 

You take your time, slowly putting each piece on to not stretch the crochet material. Your last step was the panties, and you couldn’t help but feel that they were slightly heavier than any of the panties you owned. You’re about to examine it a little more, but you stop short when you hear Ony’s voice: “You ready, mama?”

Any confusion about the panties was long gone after you put them on, following the heels. After spritzing your perfume one more time, you grab your keys and head out the door, Ony following closely behind you. 

It was a peaceful ride to wherever Ony was taking you, with only soft Brent Faiyaz music playing in the background and the light-burning sound of the half-finished joint he offered you. At every red light stop, you would let him take the hit until both of you finished it. 

He parked his car in front of a garden-like spot just before you ashed it out, just in time. You are about to reach your hand to open your door but fall short when you hear a click!

“You should know better.” Was all he said before he got out of the driver’s seat and got to your side. As he opens the door for you, he grabs your hand to guide you out and leads you to a person who is ready to seat you both. Hand in yours the entire time. “Reservation for Onyankopon, please.”

The man gives a smile and gestures for you both to follow him. It would be an understatement to describe how beautiful the area was when you surveyed it. It was like a restaurant in a garden of flowers. You are led by the person to a table surrounded by grass and daises, with occasional butterflies flying around you. 

“How did you even find this place?” You ask in complete awe. Ony spent a while trying to find a place he knew you would like. You didn’t seem like the type of person to like classy restaurants, and he definitely didn’t want to take you to some low-end place. He wanted to find something that resembled you. A place where you would feel completely comfortable. 

And well, when you sat down, and a white butterfly made its way onto your awaiting finger... Ony couldn’t help but think he made the right choice. You look like a goddess. An ethereal being that was all his. “I drove by it one time, and it reminded me of you. You like it?”

He hoped you did. The expression on your face wasn’t telling him enough. He wanted to hear the words come out of your mouth, or else he would drown in his anxiety. All he wanted to do was please you. 

“I love it, Ony.” A bright smile graced your face. You never looked more pretty— aside from when you made those gorgeous faces when he was pleasuring you. 

A server came to take your order, Ony ordering for himself before the woman turned to you, 

“And for you, miss?”

“Could I please have the-” The sensation of intense pressure vibrating on your clit causes you to stop your sentence with a faint gasp. Both of your hands are gripping the table to provide support.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

“You good, mama?” You look up when Ony questions and catch the faux concern in his eyes, his lips twitching up a bit as he almost fails to contain his smile. This was his doing. You knew those panties were different. And you seriously should’ve questioned why he bought you a pair anyway. Fuck it felt so good.

You steady your voice so you don’t stutter when you speak up, “… I’m okay. Could... I have the-the Shrimp Fried Rice, p-please.”

You curse yourself internally when you stumble upon your words. You observe as she reluctantly nods and accepts your order. You would’ve flushed your head down in embarrassment, but in your defense, you had a vibrator going at full speed on your clit. Fuck whatever she was thinking about you right now. 

The minute she walks away from the table, you give Ony the meanest glare you could muster— which, to him, wasn’t doing much. In retaliation, he just turned the vibration up, causing you to yelp silently. 

“Ony! W-why?” You whimper out as quietly as you can so as not to raise attention from the people around you. He just shakes his head, amused at how weak he could get you. 

“You look so pretty like this, mama. Enjoy yourself, hm? You deserve it.” 

He couldn’t get his mind off the events that occurred when you came to his dorm. Could you even blame him? For wanting to see more of those pretty faces you make. For wanting to eat you whole again.

He realized he couldn’t outright finger you in a public setting, not here anyway. He didn’t want to wait to fuck you so he could witness you fall apart like you did last time. He longs for you with a strong desire. Even 72 hours later, the flavor of your juices is still lingering on his tongue. “But-”

“Shh. Just try not to get too loud, yeah? Don’t want anyone else seeing those gorgeous faces you make.”

Squeezing your thighs together, your head falls back against your chair. This goes on for a good while, Ony just staring at you, biting your lips to stop the moans bottling in your throat from getting too loud. He watches as your pretty lashes flutter open and close while your eyes roll in the back of your head.

You rub your lower hips against the chair subtly in quick, fast motions to stave off your impending orgasm. Light gasps released from your throat when you feel a burning sensation in your abdomen. Just when you start feeling like the dam is about to burst and ruin the only thing that holds you up right now, everything comes to an end. 

The vibration, your rubbing— nothing but your ears buzzing can be heard until you finally register what just happened. You don’t have time to dwell on it much because your waiter comes back with what you both ordered. 

“Would you like some water, miss?” And this time, Ony grants you the mercy of answering for you, ears still buzzing and clit still twitching because of your ruined orgasm. 

“She would, please.” When the waiter walks away from your table, Ony almost cracks under the pleading look you give him. He can’t believe it took him this long to ask you out. What if someone got to you before him? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

Your soft and crackling voice reaches his ears, “Please, Ony. Let me-”

“Eat your food, mama. I said enjoy yourself, never said you could cum.”

Giving him a pout is all you can do, and his tone indicates that this is not a subject for discussion. The rest of the night went surprisingly well. The conversation was full of rich details about both of you. Only told you many stories about him, how he got to be a basketball player, and how it was a dream of his since he was a toddler. In return, you told him how you even started your spiritual journey, spoke about your childhood even because you were just so comfortable around him. 

He didn’t turn back on the vibrator for the remainder of the evening, only listening to the sweet melody of your voice whenever you said something or laughed at something he said. It seemed like you hadn’t been here for that long when the bill came. You were truly in the present moment with Ony, so you lost all sense of time. But you caught a glance at your phone— 9:30.

Damn. It’s already been three hours? Ony takes out his wallet and pulls out some cash. He gently grabs your hand to pull you out of your chair so that you and he can leave together. Before you know it, you both are on your way back to your apartment. What catches you off guard is the intense vibration from the restaurant coming back, causing you to let out a loud moan in his passenger seat. Your passenger seat after tonight, if he was being honest. 

Your body thrashes against the seat belt, hips bucking wildly because you are still so horny after being left on the edge like that. “F-Fuck!”

He pretends to be unfazed, his eyes still focused on the road as you release the honey moans contained in his car.

“Can you hold it f’me? You’re almost home, mama. I’ll make you cum as much as you want when we get there.”

He must like torturing you. That’s the only explanation. At his words, you don’t think you ever worked harder to stave off an orgasm in your life. The pressure feels so good, your body bubbling with heat and the pleasure being felt in every corner. You wail when the vibrator hits a particular spot on your clit due to your hips rapidly shaking and moving.

Your breathing starts to become erratic as you release light hiccups. Your efforts to not cum are so intense that tears are falling from your brown eyes. Why was it taking so long to get home?

“I n-need to.. cum. Please!”

How do you do that? Look so divine while your pussy is being overstimulated? He almost wants to let you have cum because you look so pretty while trying to beg for him. But then he thinks about how he doesn’t want you finishing on anything other than the massive tent in his pants, and he figures— you can wait a bit. He’s pulling up in your garage anyway, and he wasn’t going to fuck you in his car for your first time together. 

Your heavy breathing and the sudden slam of Ony’s door are all that remains in the car when he puts it in park. He opens your door and swiftly holds you in a bridal style to your apartment number. He presses light kisses to your cheek, his tatted hand rubbing gently on your wide hips.   

He doesn’t wait a second to devour your lips once you open your door, your moans being muffled by the sheer force of the kiss. His lips were soft and sweet against yours, fitting perfectly as your lip gloss was smeared onto him. Still in his hold, you weakly point to the direction of your room, which he follows wordlessly. Heels are long gone, and been thrown in the hall amid your make-out session. 

He plops you down on your mattress, and you don’t hesitate to yank him down towards you into another brutal make-out session, your smooth legs encircling his waist. You gasp when he firmly squeezes the fat of your tits, allowing him to dip his tongue into yours, deepening the kiss.

Fuck, you wanted him so bad. Your skirt rises, and soon, there’s nothing but his pants and your panties separating the two of you. Ony was unusually big.. you knew this when you first saw his print at his dorm. And right now, as he was fumbling to take his belt off, your mind was scrambling, trying to figure out how you were going to fit all of him inside of you. 

All thoughts went out the window when he ripped your damp panties off in one go and immediately started playing with the obscene amount of slick that’s been gathering ever since he came to pick you up. Your cute sounds are heaven to him.

His deep voice whispers in your ear, “You’re so wet, baby. Don’t need me to prep you, right?” 

His fingers are moving rapidly against your clit, as he is awestruck by how his hands keep slipping off out of rhythm due to your wetness. Or maybe he was already drunk on you, desperate to split your pussy apart on his cock. His pants aren’t even entirely off before he’s fisting his fat cock out of his boxers and slapping his brown tip right on your pussy lips, creating wet squelching sounds.

“Could just slip right in with how you’re leaking all over your sheets. You gonna take it, mama?”

And he was right. Your wetness was creating a dark stain on your bed, likely gonna start seeping into the mattress. You sneak a glance down at Ony’s ministrations, and you immediately try to move your hips away. This man was dead-ass walking around with a third leg. It was so big, it actually scared you. How the fuck was that supposed to fit inside of you? Even your last fling wasn’t this hung. 

He immediately pulled your hips back towards him, refusing to let you run away from the deep fucking he’s been craving to give you. “Don’t do that. Take it f’me, baby. Please?”

You whimper, his pleading tone getting you even more wetter. “O-Ony.. you’re too b-big! I can’t- Ooo fuck.”

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence before he sank his length past your tight walls, making you feel every inch of him. Fuck, he was so deep, and he almost wanted to cum right there. He looks down at you and shit. 

You never looked more beautiful, as he said. Your mouth is constructed into a lovely “o” shape, and your eyes roll back so deep into your skull he can see your white eye sockets. You were drooling, the feeling of his dick inside of you simply too much for your tiny brain to handle. He wasn’t gonna last long.

Your wet cunt was so stretched out, and Ony didn’t even give you a second to relax before he started feeding you deep, harsh strokes. You could do nothing but let tears fall from your eyes and wail his name so loud you’re sure you’ll probably get a noise complaint from your neighbors. 

“Gorgeous. Such a good girl taking my dick like this, you love it baby? Talk to me, mama.” He pleads as his face is buried in the crook of your sweat-filled neck, the feeling of your pussy being better than he ever imagined. Than he ever dreamed of. The sounds you both were making were so lewd, so nasty. But it was bringing you much closer to splashing all over his disheveled dress shirt.

“So-so good, Ony! L-Love it s’much.” Your pretty cries make him groan loudly against you; you can feel it vibrating against your chest. Your mind is blanking, and the fire in your stomach that you felt twice today is coming back, only much stronger. Your already overstimulated clit is causing it to come much faster.

With every thrust he gives you, you give Ony a beautiful yelp. And he could only watch your face contort as you struggle to find something to hold on to, to ground you. You’re a bit dense if you think he would let you do anything other than feel every spec of what he gave you. He grasps both of your hands with only one of his hands and presses them above your head.

“Pussy’s so damn good, shit. M’gonna cum. Where you want it, mama?” 

And you respond to him so eagerly, choking on your spit when he presses down on your stomach, his bulge being prominently displayed every time he thrusts in and out of you. 

“Ahhh! M-me too! Inside, Ony. P-Please Ony, cum in m-me.” 

He can’t say no to you, not when you beg him to fill you up with tears like that. The final straw for you was when he forced his tongue into your panting mouth again, swallowing every gasp and moan that managed to fall past your lips. You make a sudden and unwarranted shriek against his mouth, and your pussy splashes all over him. 

He groans as you babble his name repeatedly, allowing salty tears to flow freely down your cheeks. Your body twitches as your pussy creams and squeezes tightly around him, and that’s enough for Ony to shiver as his cum spurts past your womb. He should have slowed down or stopped because now you both feel overstimulated. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thrusting his hips rapidly against you, the feeling of you squirting on his dick quickly becoming something he wanted more of. He needs you to do that again. He needs you to spray your sweet juices so hard it reaches his face. Your chest is heaving as you try to wriggle your hands out of Ony’s grasp to slow him down. Your attempt doesn’t do much but make him tighten his grip on you,

“Give me another one, mama. Come on, just one more, baby.” And by the look on his face, even you can tell it wasn’t just going to be one more. You were in for a long night.

check out my store :D

[anjelicawrites]

In the night

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: written as a part of Targaryen-Dinasty’s 3k milestone celebration. Whenever sleep evades him, Aemond can find refuge in his spouse’s embrace. Tonight he needs a little something more to fall deep into slumber. Read the other fics for this celebration here!

Warnings: breast kink, pregnancy kink (reader is not pregnant yet), a dash of lactation kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), Aemond coming untouched thanks to pussy eating

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used. One instance of “Lady” and “Wife” used.

Aemond has never been a deep sleeper, or someone capable to have a full night’s of rest, since his marriage to you, his habits have improved. Having your soothing presence by his side has helped him relax behind closed doors, resting his head on your bosom to listen to the beating of your heart has lulled him to sleep for countless nights, after long days at court.

But Aemond is a man, flesh and blood and fire, with carnal urges only your soft, willing body can fulfill.

He wakes up slowly, his head is hidden in the curve of your neck and he nuzzles the skin like a cat; he’s not sure of the time, the thick draping around the massive bed hides the windows and lets just flickers of the candlelight in, the silence he hears tells him it should still be night.

He doesn’t know what has woken him up at first, his mind is still clouded by the tendrils of the dream already fading. He doesn’t remember it, just the feeling of warmth and contentment coursing through his body, until his eye had opened, groggily, and you were next to him, keeping him warm and safe in your arms.

A long moan leaves his lips when his hips brush against your body, and his hard cock presses on your thigh. Oh, he thinks, that’s what it is then.

On instinct, your sleeping body curls tighter around his, almost trying to shield him even in the sanctuary of your shared quarters; he smiles at that. He’s the trained warrior, the prince who rides the biggest dragon in the whole world, you’re a lady, soft and gentle, but with a core of steel no one can imagine under the silks of your flowery dresses.

Against his naked chest the light material of your nightgown shifts, the loose bindings closing the neckline open to let a your heavy breasts spill out.

Not for the first time since the wedding, Aemond thinks that your body is made to carry forth pregnancies, that you have the wide hips for it and such a gentle disposition, that your children will never feel misunderstood by the person who should love them the most.

The thought of your body growing full with a child makes a pang of need burn in his lower belly, your breasts swollen with milk, your nipples tender and oh, so sensitive!

Aemond has to take a deep breathe trying to control himself and his raging erection. You were so tired last night, having to deal with all the guests at court for days, showing the ladies around and chatting with them for hours about inane topics. He saw how exhausted you were after another official dinner, where you had to keep a fake smile plastered on your face and pretend you weren’t bored to death: you deserve your rest for the night.

Trying not to wake you up, Aemond lays his head on your soft bosom and tries to make himself as small as possible to fit your frame, hoping that the lavender smell of your bathing oils will lull him to sleep.

He tries to relax and enjoy the closeness you two have been denied these days, tries to let your soft body envelope his into slumber again, yet having you in his reach only fuels the desire inflaming his loins. His neglected erection seems to grow, instead to flag, the longer he lays close to you, drunk on your lovely scent and silky skin.

You move in your sleep and the nightgown slips down your shoulders to show him more of your breathtaking body, as if the Gods are tempting him, as if barely being able to see you for days hasn’t hindered his self control enough!

Only a taste, he thinks, a quick taste without waking you up.

You’re, usually, a deep sleeper, dead to the world, you wouldn’t stir, would you?

As silent as a deadly snake, Aemond slides down your body, leaving butterfly kisses on the exposed skin that make goosebumps appear wherever his lips land, until he’s between your legs, slightly splayed in your slumber.

He has to bite down on a moan, when he lays on the bed and his erection comes in contact with the cotton of the bedding, his skin feels raw already and he has done nothing, yet.

Careful not to wake you, he spreads your legs more and rucks the light material of your nightgown up to your chest observing, adoringly, your soft tummy and heavy breast, trying to imagine how you’ll look like when you’ll be full of his child and he’ll take care of you in every way possible.

In the barely illuminated darkness he can make out the patch of hair adorning your cunt, the lips he loves to kiss and the small pearl that has you whine in his hold; his mouth waters with the phantom taste of your honey: if he could, he’d live off of that only, forever.

He lays between your legs, his hands take a loose hold of your splayed tights, before the tips of his tongue breaches your warmth, with a moan.

Just a taste, his brain says, a quick one, yet he’s already lost in you, his face plastered against your cunt, his tongue slowly fucking your hole; above him you start stirring, small flames of warmth licking at the edges of your consciousness have you whine, the pleasure a soft caress on your nerves that awakens you with a moan and your back arching.

For a moment you don’t know where you are, lust clouding your mind, before you feel the warmth of your husband’s hands on your skin.

“Aem… Aemond.” You moan, grabbing blindly at his hair.

He doesn’t respond, he’s too drunk on your taste to be coherent, his hips fuck the mattress and he groans against you, hungry for your essence.

You arch again, and squirm against his hold when his lips find your pearl, to suck it hard and fast, with wet sounds of appreciation. Fingers breach you now, and curl against that spongy part inside of your body that makes you jump against his arm weighting you down. His fingers fuck you faster, following the rapid shift of your hips, your muscles clench against his intrusion as pleasure washes over you, stealing you words away, leaving you squirming and moaning, tears streaming down your cheeks when his teeth gently nibble your pearl.

Uselessly you try to plant your feet on the mattress to push against him, your muscles liquefy against the pleasure, against his tongue writing nonsense on your pearl and his fingers so deep inside of you, fucking your tight hole.

He moans and whines against you, torn between his raw cock and your soft cunt, his orgasm so close he can feel his stones draw impossibly tight against his body as he finger fucks you with squelching sounds.

“Please!” You beg, voice drowned by the carnal sounds. “Please!”

Your legs wound tight around his head, forcing his face closer to you, the lack of air only spurring him on to add another finger inside your hole to spread you open and torture your battered insides when he feels you tremble against him, your end so close, so close.

You explode against his face, back arching painfully and he follows you, spending his seed on the bed sheets with a long groan against your center that makes you shudder.

You’re breathless, your legs lay splayed on the bed as you try to find purchase on Aemond’s naked skin to pull him closer to you.

On cue his face finds refuge on the hollow of your shoulder, so that he can look adoringly at your tired face before he makes himself as small as possible to fit against your body.

“Hello husband.” You smile tiredly. “Shall I ask what bought that forth?”

Aemond’s long fingers find yours to play with, lazily in the tendrils of light of the candles the canopy of the bed lets in.

“I woke up hungry, wife.” He answers.

The eyelid of his injured eye is closed to cover the hollow there, as he is not wearing his sapphire; it fills your with pride that your husband is showing himself to you, fully, even the parts he believes to be too ugly for you to see.

“Have you satisfied your hunger, my love?”

Aemond’s smile is sleepy on his cheeks, his cute dimples showing, a rare sight to behold.

“Come.” You say, before he can actually answer. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

Like a satisfied cat Aemond pushes his face against your bosom, until all he can smell his you, and he relaxes fully, lulled to sleep by the gentle carding of your fingers through his hair.

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess, @xcharlottmikaelsonx, @qweencrimson

[teaboot]

Y'know, despite having tea in your name, I can't find it you've said what your favorite kind of tea is.

If you don't mind, what are your top 3 teas that you'd say people should try?

Oh, like if you enjoy tea and want to try new stuff?

First off, tea (broadly speaking, for readers who aren't familiar) is made of leaves from the tea plant, and the TYPES of tea- White, green, oolong*, and black- just refer to different levels of oxidization. The darker the tea, the more oxidized it is, the higher the tannins are, more bitter it gets, the higher caffeine is.

That said:

First pick, London fog. The kind I like is the customary earl grey tea prepped with milk, sugar, vanilla, and lavender. Feels soft and cozy and lightly floral, but not in a perfume way- best I can describe it is drinking a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer.

Earl grey tea, btw, is a black tea flavored with bergamot oils. Bergamot is a sour-bitter citrus fruit. Oversteeped or scalded, Earl Grey can taste super nasty and bitter-flat, but I like mine steeped for about 3-4 minutes for a milder taste.

Second pick, Gunpowder green tea, chilled. I like mine steeped for about 2-3 minutes in a medium boil, remove the leaves and place in the fridge until cold. Gunpowder tea has more caffeine than most green teas and is very refreshing when iced, in my opinion. Has more of a kick to it than plain ice water, especially after hard exercise. No idea if that's healthy or not, I just like the taste.

Third, Lemon black tea boba with tapioca pearls. Because I know what I fuckin like. Sassy dance

Honorable mentions include Russian Caravan (reminds me of my grandma), Market Spice Rooibos Blend (reminds me of my mom), Chai, Mint Tisane, and Black Tea iced with sugar and lemon.

Enjoy!!

*Edit: I was thinking "warm plant drink with 'oo' in name that steeps red" and wrote Rooibos instead of Oolong in the original. Oolong comes from tea plants, Rooibos does not

[str4ngr]

a weekly routine. [ megumi fushiguro ]

cw: fluff, established relationship, gn! reader. notes: stuck w bad connection so im just trying to post something bc writers block is up my ass rn. not proofread

he never like pancakes that much. it's not that they're bad, inherently. rather, it was never a part of his regular diet that tsumiki worked so hard to ensure would always be there. cereal with milk and a glass of juice or water.

megumi quickly became accustomed to the somewhat nostalgic taste of delicate, crunchy honey, washing his milk-mustache off at the sink, and slipping on his shoes to walk to morning training. when lukewarm water running over his hands as he finished cleaning dishes, soft towel brushing over his skin as he dried his hand, lingering scent of soap roaming around the small bathroom, all of it was normal to him.

but life changes, his life changed. day after day, new people, new curses, new problems, everything constantly changed. but his cereal always tasted the same, milk still clung to his upper lip, his bathroom still smelt like lavender.

when he first started his relationship with you, he didn't really think it would change much. but suddenly his cereal was now slightly burnt toast and fried eggs. now he fought back smiles as you teased him for his faux mustache. now the lavender was a new scent as you bought random sets of scented soaps. now instead of walking straight to practice and being the first one there, the two of you would take the 'scenic route' and end up the last ones there.

suddenly the quilts he usually piled on during winter were replaced by a fluffy, thick duvet that wouldn't even be for him because someone was a blanket hogger. it never bothered him though.

it never bothered him when he woke up first, half covered by his old quits and the remaining length of your duvet, because he saw your face. drooling from one corner of your lips, a dark stain beside your cheek as you make strange sounds. he loved how your hair was a mess, wispy strands bothering your eyes.

he loved the winter—the winter with you. the way you clung to him as he fried eggs. or when you leaned on his shoulder, half asleep as warm water flowed over the four hands crammed into the sink. he loved when you whined as the front door open and cold air wafted into his warm home.

your warm home.

"our home."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

directory

[heartfeltcherie]

Lucifer x shy Baker reader

very first lucifer story and i can’t tell if i like it or hate it lol but i hope u guys enjoy it!! :)

☾. °.   ࿐  ` , •

sugar. butter. flour.

that’s how most of your days went — baking pastries in one of hell’s finest bakeries, serving regular, everyday sinners, to the fanciest overlords of hell. it was tiring work, starting everything from scratch each and every morning and making sure every bite would be the freshest it could be.

you, yourself, weren’t an overlord — just a normal city goer on the streets of pentagram city, doing your job to make a living. even in hell you’re expected to pay rent; but i guess that’s why it’s called hell.

the door chimes, signalling a customer entering your quiet little bakery that smelled of strawberries and sweetness.

“hello, darling” and there he was — lucifer morningstar, the king of hell, himself. you look up from where you were putting the last of your pies in the display case, your cheeks becoming as red as the strawberries you cut up earlier. “oh, your majesty! hello!” you make your way to the front counter, hoping he doesn’t realize how flustered he makes you merely by his own presence.

oh, he absolutely notices. and it feeds his ego tenfold.

he rests his elbow on the counter, resting his chin on the back of his hand.

“i believe i ordered a dozen of your finest cupcakes. shaped like ducks, to be more precise” you chuckle to yourself — who knew the king of hell would get so much enjoyment out of rubber ducks? “let me go get those for you, your majesty”

“oh, dear, there’s no need for formalities. lucifer’s just fine. especially since i’m in here oh-so often” he looks at you with half lidded eyes, raising his eyebrows at you. he knows exactly what he’s doing to you when he speaks in that tone.

you try not to stumble over your own two feet as you get the fancy pink box that has a clear lid, perfectly displaying his highness’s order. you can feel yourself trying not to shake with nerves because satan, he’s so beautiful. “i’m beginning to think you come in here for more than just the sweets i bake” you place the box with fragile goods down in front of him on the counter. lucifer chuckles at your statement, drawing small circles with his pointer finger on your counter. “oh, really? and what makes you say that, hm?”

“i-i don’t know… maybe it’s just an observation, but you come here more than the regulars. and when you do, you usually strike up a conversation with me for hours on end until i have to tell you we’re closed” you chuckle shyly, recalling the countless times lucifer has come in just to talk to you, or give you so many compliments that turn you into a blushing mess.

you don’t understand why he has specific interest in you; he barely knows you, and you him. only in the fairytales in your mind are happily holding hands together.

“oh! haha! that!” he looks nervous, fiddling with his jacket lapels and wiping none existent dirt off his sleeves, not realizing how many times he’s come in just to see you. but he can’t help it, he’s craving the sweetness you give off of lavender and daydreams that it spins him poetic; and he hopes that maybe one day you’ll let him have a taste (you will). “i suppose you just have a way of… drawing me in, i-i guess”

“i just work here, lucifer… you don’t even know me”

“well then, perhaps we should change that then, don’t you think?” you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, tilting your head like a small puppy. lucifer’s heart nearly beats out of his chest. “what do you mean?”

“i meaaan… come by! a-and share some cupcakes with me! and we can also have tea! or chocolate milk! we don’t even have to have the cupcakes! i can get something made for us! michelin-tasting menu, free à la carte!”

you giggle at his excitement and lucifer swears he could listen to that sound for the rest of eternity.

“i-i get off work at five?” you ask with a shy smile, pink dusting your cheeks at the thought of a date with the man you’ve been crushing on for so long. “then i shall see you then, my dear” he kisses the back of your hand with a gentleness that leaves your head spinning as he picks up the box of duck-shaped cupcakes and walks out of your bakery.

please reblog/comment if you enjoyed my work, it’s greatly appreciated ♡

[becquerel]

Announcing our drinks for the upcoming Homestuck x Requiem Cafe collaboration! First off is the Batterwitch Latte - A cake flavored latte using actual Betty Crocker ingredients (don't tell John) / Next drink at the Homestuck x Requiem Cafe celebration is the Strawberry Lalonde: Strawberry and Rose Lemonade topped with Sprite (Tastes like therapeutic gnostalgia) / Drink the rich with the High Blood: a Blackberry Butterfly Tea topped with Lavender Lemonade

Gamebro gives this drink 1.5 hats: Enjoy an exclusive soda built for gaming (Green Apple Mtn Dew) / Gamebro couldn't review this one because they spilled a Sburb Soda Beta all over their keyboard, but this one is a Dragonfruit Mtn Dew Code Red

It's Apple Juice. There's also a Candy Apple Cold foam. But it's Apple Juice. Don't be sus. / Only for the cryptically clever, we have a Rose Milk Tea with a Sweet Matcha Cold Foam

From Requiem Cafe's official Twitter! (Link in replies)

[elodieunderglass]

Mad Spring - sour gummies, you feral little goblin. Tangfastics. Airheads. Sour Patch Kids. Like High Summer, you choose fruit-flavored gummy sweets, but you pick ones coated in Pain Sugar. It isn’t enough to just get sugar: you’re chasing a different Sensory Experience (TM) than the rest. And that’s great.

Warm Spring - white chocolate, ruby chocolate, pastel mint drops, cotton candy, bubblegum. Marshmallows. Sweet, creamy, usually pastel. You have no particular objection to floral tastes like lavender and rose. You may be able to appreciate Turkish Delight.

Midsummer - tropical fruits: chewy and slightly creamy in pastel colors. Starburst/Opal Fruit, Creamsicles/Solero. Maoam strips. Cream sodas. Skittles, despite being jewel-toned, are in this season. Coconut and pineapple flavors go here. Also the home of chalky-type sweets like Love Hearts/candy hearts, smarties (usa) and You may be also able to appreciate Turkish Delight.

High Summer - Gummy bears and chewy, jellyish, jammy, gummy, springy in bright jewel tones. Gummy worms and jelly snakes, jelly babies, jelly beans, Haribo. Clearer and gummier than Midsummer.

Autumn Night - darker and more complex sweetness, often including an element of burning or alcohol, or another challenge. Cherry cordials, marzipan, champagne truffles. Also home of burnt-sugar tastes: maple candy, bonfire toffee, candy corn. Also home of matcha; red liquorice; red bean paste. When people bring you sweets from other countries, they’ll choose unusual local delicacies. You almost certainly were fascinated as a kid by lollipops at the science museum sold with real bugs in them.

Autumn Salt - peanut butter and peanut brittle, salted caramel, toffee, butterscotch. Toffee popcorn, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, Snickers, Daim. If nobody has any nuts, you’ll choose chocolate with nuts, crisp or crunch over other things. Sweet just isn’t enough.

Winter Spice - herbal, spicy and medicinal sweets, usually hard old-fashioned sweets. Red-hots, burning cinnamon, chilli - eucalyptus, root beer, menthol; sarsaparilla. Hard candy, generally: old fashioned ‘boiled sweets,’ things that look gorgeous in glass jars. Parma violets. Fisherman’s Friends. You’re the only person who would eat a gingerbread house after decorating it. You’re also possibly a ghost, or used to be a Mad Spring. It’s also about the SENSATION.

Midwinter - dark black Licorice. Salty? Sweet? saltlakrids? Allsorts? Australian? You might like other things too, but when your loved ones are in another country, they go to the licorice aisle and get you the weirdest local variant they can find.

Long Winter - true chocolate, basic chocolate stuff: M&Ms. Dairy Milk. Hershey’s Kiss. But also home of fudgy tastes and sugar-on-sugar in a long slow sauce. Marshmallow, Handmade fudge, Phish Food ice cream.

Cool Winter - naturally, the homebase of minty tastes. peppermint wheels, York’s Peppermint Patties, After Eights. Also orange - chocolate orange - and, oddly, pixie sticks/sherbet and other sweet things that involve eating simple flavored sugar.

[musingsofahufflepuff]

coffee shop headcanons

mattheo, enzo, theo, blaise, & draco; fluff

a/n: to all my draco people, sorry for the draco slander. also, first time writing about blaise and draco, so they might be ooc, don’t yell at me. this is shamelessly more starbucks focused bc i work there. another lil guy to make up for how long the theo soulmate au is taking ♡

Mattheo

♡ this man is a cold brew guy, whatever delivers the most caffeine the fastest. inject it into his veins if you must.

♡ definitely adds espresso shots to all his drinks, even the cold brew.

♡ energy drink in one hand, coffee in the other.

♡ i’m biased, but i think he’d vibe with a lavender chai when he’s not getting his fix. (if you catch him ordering a dirty chai, mind your business)

Enzo

♡ he’s a “barista’s choice” kinda guy.

♡ he’ll walk up to the cashier and with that charming little smile of his go, “i’ll have whatever your favorite is.”

♡ he frequently gets little heart doodles and stickers added to his cups bc the employees love him.

♡ this boy also loves a seasonal drink and will get his friends to get one with him.

Theo

♡ espresso lover, 100%

♡ however, if the beans are shit, don’t bother.

♡ latte art lover, you can make a little cat drawing on his coffee?? do it, do it rn.

♡ secretly loves a pumpkin spice latte with enzo.

Blaise

♡ iced coffee all the way, no sweeteners bc he likes the taste.

♡ will also drink black brewed coffee, dark roast.

♡ can and has been suckered into getting a seasonal drink with enzo

♡ ofc he doesn’t actually like them, why would you ask him that???

Draco

♡ fucking iced matcha lattes because they’re a bitch to make.

♡ or he’s getting the equivalent of a frappuccino/frozen coffee. (the guys tease him relentlessly for this)

♡ does not like the taste of coffee, so he has to add a ton of milk and sugar to it.

♡ he just prefers tea.

[irndad]

* Dandelion - finally hearing the other person laugh after a period of hardship

Why am I always in the mood for hurt/comfort??? Does this say something about me??

hello my sweet apple pie !!!! this is far more comfort than hurt and i hope that's okay :))))))) it's all fluff LOL flower prompts

“You look nice,” he hears himself say. She does. Very nice, in fact. The sight of her is very tempting, actually, the polyester purple blanket that he’d had since college draped over her lap. She smiles at him lazily, eyes all warm and fond and there’s something just so sweet about it. 

Strictly, Carmen does not have to work tonight. 

He knows this. When he’d met her, Carmen knew that he wouldn’t really be able to resist the siren song of her company for very long. He can still remember the moment they met, dim lighting at house music at a friend’s party. How odd is it, that he even ended up at something like that? She was all warm disposition and lovely eyes, joy written all over her like she couldn’t be bothered to hide it. He doesn’t even remember what he said that was funny, but he does remember how she tipped her head back, joy overflowing till she couldn’t hold it back, and he saw her lovely neck. The pride of making her laugh like that. He wants to feel that way all the time. 

So, yeah. He couldn’t really avoid seeing her. 

He has a headache. He knows he’s not good company. Somehow, she’s not the kind of thing he can deny himself even when faced with how much he does not deserve it. 

He tries to makeup for being in a relationship while doing this restaurant thing, tries not to repeat past mistakes. He tries to be up earlier, do his prep work on time, tries not to get behind. He’s actually pretty good at it, and somehow- it’s a Saturday night, and he’s ahead of schedule. He could theoretically stay in with his girl tonight. 

His girl. He’s not sure he’s allowed yet, still tentative about scaring her away. 

Her makeup is a bit faded and her hair is in a clip. He tries not to think of the image of her rummaging around his drawers, nimble fingers quick and lovely, finding the clip he kept just for her in his bedside drawer, along with a few other things she might need. 

“Thank you,” she replies, looking up at him with the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever seen, “You look nice too.” She outstretches her arms, hoping for an embrace and- fuck it. 

It’s a little awkward, the positioning but god, she smells like the lavender perfume he and Sugar picked out for her, and he can’t stop thinking about it. You like nice too, she had said. A little ridiculous. He’s pretty sure he’s got anchovy juice on his shirt and smells like literal ass and he hadn’t had time to change before he got home, so really, he’s quite sure he’s not the most pleasant sensory experience. 

And yet, she rakes her hands through his unkempt hair, graces him with a lazy, pleasant smile. 

“How are you doing, Carmy?”

Her tone is warm, like milk and honey. He could drown in it, he thinks, spend years trying to pin down all of the melodic qualities of the ways she chooses to keep him company.

He ponders the question. 

She looks so stunning, warm and pliant in his arms and god, it loosens the knot in his chest a little. This week has been fucking awful, none of his recipes tasting in the real world how he pictures in his mind, nightmares ever-present in his sleep, only eased by the mornings where he wakes with her pressed against his chest. He’s so grateful for the sight her, drinking her in like a man starved. 

He takes her hand, gazing at it with reverence before pressing his chapped lips onto her delicate fingers. 

“I’m better,” he manages to rasp out, blue eyes trained on her lovely face, “I think I’m doing much better.” 

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

i’m so in love that i might stop breathing.

i want to brainwash you into loving me forever, i want to transport you to somewhere the culture’s clever, confess my truth in swooping, sloping, cursive letters.

Eddie Munson is signed to a big-name label, one that monitors every move their artists make. The label practically runs half of LA, with so many artists under contract that Eddie’s not really sure how they can even keep track, let alone micro-manage every single one of them. But somehow they do it.

Eddie’s in the hard rock and metal division. Very rarely does he have to cross paths with artists outside of his genre. It’s not really an issue. It’s not like he’s going to collaborate with some bubblegum pink pop princess.

But then the label decides that they need to cross-market some of their artists. They’ve got lots of big names and Eddie’s on tour for his fourth studio album. He’s established, already done a world tour that was so successful the label had wanted to send him back out almost immediately, but he’d pushed back, asking for some time to write. So it’s been two years, but he’s written some of his best songs to date and the arenas are selling out.

Eddie’s so successful that the label decides that they’re going to pair him with some new up-and-coming singer-songwriter duo. The label wants at least one song, but hopes are high that Eddie will take them out as an opener for the last leg of the tour. Eddie’s given their EP a listen; he can’t really imagine that his demographic will ever overlap with theirs, but if this it what the label wants, then who is he to deny them?

It’s a sunny afternoon in LA when Eddie meets Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley at his favorite coffee shop downtown. It’s a safe place for celebrities, with a hidden back entrance and tinted windows, so he’s fairly certain they won’t be caught out together. Eddie’s ordered some lavender honey oat milk latte, something he would never admit to liking in a million years, but it tastes so good he makes the trip here at least three times a week. He’s sitting in a secluded corner, far enough from the windows that he won’t feel nervous, and he’s still got his sunglasses on, just in case.

He spots Robin and Steve almost immediately. They’re hard to miss, both beautiful and sun-kissed, smiling wide as they bicker before they both stop to look around the space.

“Hi!” Robin exclaims when she spots him, rushing over to his table. She grabs his hand between both of hers before he’s even had the chance to offer it to her and pumps it up and down a few times, like they’re shaking hands.

“Rob,” Steve mutters, placing a hand on her shoulder. Then, he turns his blinding smile on Eddie. Eddie had never believed in that whole ‘heart skipping a beat’ thing before but… he feels something happening in that region. “Sorry about her, she’s, like, a huge fan.” He offers his own hand to Eddie and they shake, the brush of skin on skin leaving Eddie just a little breathless, before Steve pulls out a chair and drops into it.

“Ugh, don’t make me sound like some creepy stalker, dingus.” Robin puts her hand on her hips. “What do you want?”

“Uh,” Steve squints at the menu before glancing down at the cup Eddie’s got between his hands. “What’d you get?” He directs the question at Eddie. Eddie tells him, only a little sheepish about it, and Steve smiles again. Eddie’s skin starts to feel itchy, too tight at his collarbones. “That sounds good. I’ll have that,” he tells Robin and she turns to head toward the counter, mumbling about having to order girly drinks.

Once they’re alone, Eddie slides his sunglasses off his face and up into his hair. He clears his throat before looking up into Steve’s face. Their eyes meet and something… happens. Something electric, something pulled taut between them. Eddie feels it and he’s pretty sure Steve does, too, judging by the way his lips part and his tongue darts out to wet them, quick and nervous. Eddie can’t stop staring. Neither can Steve.

Robin comes back with her hands full and glances between them. “Everything alright?” She asks slowly, cautiously, and their gazes finally snap away from each other, a blush rising in Steve’s cheeks.

Steve looks back into Eddie’s eyes like he just can’t help himself. Like he wouldn’t want to look anywhere else. “Yeah,” he says smiling. “Everything’s great.”

~*~

Eddie agrees to take them out on tour with him. The minute he saw Steve Harrington in the flesh, he knew he’d be taking them, but Robin turns out to be pretty cool too. He warns them that his fans can be pretty intense, that he can’t imagine they’ll be all that pleased with the kind of music the duo plays, but Robin and Steve assure him that they’re really just looking for some tour experience more than anything else. They’ll figure out the songwriting on the road, collaborate in a way that will bridge the gap between their style and Eddie’s.

When he gets home later that night, after a detour back to the label’s offices, Eddie can’t help but insta-stalk. He looks up Robin’s page first, upholding the pretense of ‘market research’ even in the privacy of his own mind. Most of her pictures include Steve and so it’s easy to be led away to Steve’s profile. It’s a natural progression. Totally normal.

Steve is… extremely cute. That’s usually not a word that Eddie would apply to someone he’s interested in—he tends to prefer the leather and chains variety much more than the sugary sweet type—but for some reason Eddie’s left breathless this time. He scrolls down Steve’s page, sees a picture of him with a herd of kids climbing on his back, another of him and Robin in matching sailor costumes. He hits the follow button without giving it too much thought and then slides back to his own page. Eddie is notoriously private, Instagram page consisting of only professional and promotional shots of him on tour with his band or in the studio recording. It’s not that Eddie is hiding anything, but he knows enough to know that the more you open up, the more that can be taken from you. He knows enough to know that the metal community can be somewhat closed-minded about some things, so he prefers to hide his personal life away, to keep some things precious and secret.

He wonders what Steve would think of his page, if he were to scroll through it. He wonders what it would be like to be open and honest about his personal life, about loving someone. What it would be like to not have to worry about losing fans, losing sales, losing bookings. To not worry about what the public would think of him.

He sighs and places his phone face down on his bedside table before turning out the light and drifting off to sleep.

~*~

Steve and Robin have been on tour with Eddie for two months and Eddie is almost positive that he’s falling in love with Steve. It was one thing to listen to Steve sing on their EP. It’s something totally different to watch Steve perform, to see his fingers slide up and down his guitar, the notes and his voice melancholy sweet. Eddie thinks almost anyone would fall in love with Steve if they’d just pay attention.

They haven’t done anything. Nothing has happened. But the green rooms and the tour busses have been full of lingering looks and soft brushes of skin. He’s pretty sure that Robin is close to saying something, clearly irritated by their pining. But Eddie’s still unsure. He knows it’s a lot, being on tour and in close quarters for the first time. It’s complicated and he doesn’t want to jeopardize Steve’s first big break. He doesn’t want to distract him. It’s easy to get caught up on tour, to mistake proximity for real feelings. It had happened to Eddie before; he didn’t want it to happen to Steve now.

Because this is a big deal, for Robin and Steve. Eddie had been unsure about taking them on, but, surprisingly, Eddie’s fans had embraced the duo. Their songwriting methods had complimented each other in a way Eddie hasn’t experienced since he first started writing with Gareth and the three of them had written five songs together already. Eddie would pull them both onstage halfway through his set to perform at least two of them and then again for one during the encore. The crowd went wild every time.

It’s the last night of tour when the space between them finally snaps in two. It’s the encore, they’re playing Eddie’s favorite of the five songs they’ve written together. They’ve made it through the complicated bridge, the final chorus, and now they’re closing out the last verse. The energy between Steve and Eddie practically crackles, almost visible under the harsh arena lights. Adrenaline is pumping, making Eddie feel invincible, and he can tell that Steve feels it too by the way he smiles across the stage at him. The final notes ring out and Eddie can’t help himself. He grabs for the strap of Steve’s guitar and pulls. Steve falls into Eddie’s chest, laughing, eyebrows raised, and Eddie can’t even think. His lips crash into Steve’s and it’s magical. Better than Eddie ever even dreamed it would be.

There’s a roaring in his ears as Eddie pulls back, reluctant. Steve’s eyes are still closed and he tries to follow Eddie’s mouth with his own, but Eddie laughs and gives him a little shake. Eddie glances around and realizes that the roaring he’d heard was the crowd going absolutely wild, screaming and cheering and clapping. Eddie looks back at Steve, who’s looking just a little dazed, blush on his cheeks and dopey smile on his lips. Robin’s screaming into her microphone, jumping up and down, egging the crowd on. Steve looks around the arena, still smiling, before looking back at Eddie and mouthing something in his direction. It’s too loud, Eddie can’t hear him over the crowd, so he shakes his head just a little. Steve tries again but Eddie still can’t hear him, so he raises his microphone to his lips.

“Finally,” Steve practically shouts, voice ringing out across the cavernous space. “Thought you’d never take the hint.”

All Eddie can do is laugh and pull Steve in for another kiss as the crowd continues cheering.

@grtwdsmwhr gave me “i want to brainwash you into loving me forever” and this is what I came up with i guess

[bornagainmurdock]

a dirty chai latte kind of love // matt murdock

Matt wasn't much of a coffee guy. And by not much of a coffee guy, he means he cannot fathom waiting in line at a cafe for a drink when there is perfectly good (abhorently bitter adn two day old) drip coffee at the office. Coffee for Matt was for one thing, and one thing only: the caffeine. He didn't care about the taste because in his eyes, as long as he drank it fast, he didn't have to actually taste it.

He never understood why someone would care so much about coffee until you had bought an espresso machine for the apartment.

Truly you had bought the machine for yourself. Coffee in New York is becoming increasingly exprensive and increasingly toasted too long pre-brew. So you bought an espresso machine.

You knew coffee, perhaps not like a career barista would, but close enough. Once the machine arrived and you unboxed it (and you bought all the syrups and flavorings you liked), you immediately began experimenting with drinks. And Matt was going to be your taste tester.

Every morning you would make him a drink in his travel mug, refusing to tell him what was in it until he took a sip and guessed.

"Okay. Is this hazelnut and vanilla?"

"Noooo. Guess again!" He took antoehr cautious sip, licking his lips to make the best guess.

"Chai?"

"Yes! A dirty chai, with almond milk and a bit of brown sugar syrup. I took a sip before I handed it to you and I think it's the best thing I've made so far."

"Better than the lavender latte." He rolled his eyes and set down the mug to give you a quick kiss.

"Lavender hater. Get with the times old man. We're all drinking lavender now."

"Everyone but apparently this old man." He chuckled grabbing his drink again and heading towards the door to go to work.

"Have a good day Matt."

"Love you sunshine, I'll give you my full review when I finish it."

"Sounds good love!"

[maddiethedogstories]

Sarah's Playground - 2

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

As I open the door to my apartment, I'm greeted by the beautiful plants, ample daylight, and modern furniture that suits my mature tastes so well. Little things give away the presence of my little 'guest' in the house though.

A large mesh-sided playpen full of stuffies, dolls, and blocks is shoved into a corner of the living room. An extra large highchair sits in the dining room, with a bottle still perched on the tray. Rather than a recliner in the living room, there is a large rocking chair. Also, sitting out on one side table is a hospital quality breast pump.

Looking at the breast pump causes me to rub my breasts. They feel warm, hard to the touch, and tender. Just the act of touching them causes them to leak milk into my bra. It's definitely time to feed the baby! I must have taken longer on my walk then I planned.

I quickly walk to the hallway in my apartment and open the second door on the right. I can't help but smile as the smell of the room hits me before I can even see it. The room has an overwhelming odor of lavender baby powder and bleach that almost covers up the underlying smell of ammonia and messy diapers. In essence, it smells like a daycare or nursery, exactly how I want it to.

As I open the door and look inside I'm greeted by a familiar sight. The room is a fully stocked nursery, but sized up to handle an adult baby. An extra large, fully stocked changing table sits along one wall next to a large diaper pail. Set into another wall is a closet with white doors which, I know, is filled with onesies, baby dresses, fleece pajamas, and other baby clothes sized up to fit my precious little one.

Next to the closet is a large toy chest. Beyond the standard baby toys, it also contained more adult toys I let my charge use for my own pleasure and entertainment. There is nothing more fun than watching a fully grown adult, wearing a poopy diaper and sucking on a pacifier, hump her favorite stuffy while pushing a vibrator into her crotch. The combination of arousal, submission, and humiliation is perfect.

Finally, placed against another wall of the room is a queen-sized crib with locking railings that reach 6' into the air. It's the perfect location to keep my precious little adult baby safe and contained while I am out.

I look to the crib and see exactly what I am expecting. Crouched on her knees is a five-foot tall woman wearing a pastel pink onesie with the phrase "Mommy's Little Pampers Packer" emblazoned across the front. Her small but noticeable breasts push against the soft fabric of her onesie. The onesie is also stretched almost to its limits around the woman's waist and bottom where the extra large, and, based on what I am smelling, extra messy, diaper is taped onto her. The small woman's blonde hair is cut short and styled into short pigtails high on her head. A pacifier is tucked snuggly between her lips. Above her pacifier, the woman glares at me angrily. She looks exactly like the petulant toddler I have strived to turn her into. I subconsciously reach up and rub my magic necklace between my thumb and forefinger in satisfaction.

The woman in front of me, Lidia, despite all appearances, is four years older than me. We grew up on the same street, and our mom's were best friends. Growing up, Lidia was the stereotypical perfect girl. She was beautiful, a straight 'A' student, a varsity soccer player, and the most popular kid at school. Basically, everything about her stood in stark distinction to the pants wetting adult toddler locked in the crib in front of me right now.

In contrast, growing up, I was always a little small and immature. My mom was a helicopter parent who didn't want me participating in anything where I could get hurt or into trouble. I wasn't allowed to play sports, go to sleepovers, or even have a boyfriend or girlfriend.

My mom also didn't trust me. She always saw me as a small child, all the way until I was 18. So, whenever she left town or had something to do at night, she'd call Lidia's mom and have the neighborhood's golden child come over and babysit me.

Having your mom hire a babysitter at 16 was bad enough, but Lidia was the worst. Lidia had a dark side that no one knew about or even believed when I told people about it.

I was a bedwetter growing up, and, as my babysitter, Lidia knew all about it. I eventually grew out of it at 13, but that didn't keep Lidia from blackmailing me with it. You see, when Lidia babysat me, she thought it was hilarious to treat me like her little baby doll. I had to comply, or Lidia threatened to reveal how long I was a bedwetter to my classmates. I was already a social outcast and knew that information would ruin me.

So, everytime my mom would hire Lidia, within minutes of her leaving I would find myself wearing nothing but a diaper and shirt, sucking on a pacifier, sitting on a baby blanket in my living room, and watching Cocomelon while Lidia laughed at me. I have horrible memories of spending entire weekends being forced to act like a toddler by perfect little Lidia. It was horrible.

As a result, when I realized the power I had, one of the first things I did was turn the tables on Lidia. I shrunk her down as I made myself bigger. I took away her independence, changing her reality so she lived with her parents again. I made her a bedwetter. I made it so her parents, like my mother so long ago, didn't trust her, and hired me to babysit her.

From there, just like she did to me, I've blackmailed her over time to becoming my personal adult toddler. Without changing her, I've changed reality such that Lidia was forced to choose to become my plaything--choosing to act like a toddler rather than being forced to--despite remembering everything that happened prior to me reshaping reality. Watching her devolve to my naughty little girl by choice, all while I know she remembers bullying me, has been the most satisfying part of using my new found powers.

Now, after months of Lidia agreeing to be my permanent baby doll, I can't help but smile as she glowers at me, locked in her crib, sitting in a poopy diaper.

"Oh, my little pamper packer is awake! It smells like you made Mommy a present? Did you make me a present, Lidia?" I say as I walk up to the crib, stick my hand between the bars and rub her cheek affectionately.

Lidia scrunches up her nose behind the pacifier and I can see her willing herself to act like a toddler to avoid any punishments.

"Yeth, Momma! Lidy makes poopies for Momma!" Lidia lisped out from behind her pacifier with a false sweetness to her tone.

"Good baby!" I say as I reach over to unlatch the side of the crib and begin lowering it. "With such a full diapy, I bet Lidia has an empty tummy. Let's get it all filled up with some of Mommy's num-nums."

I watch as Lidia grimaces at the idea of suckling at my test and carefully avoids putting her weight onto her poopy diaper. I know, from history, that she wants to ask me for a change before she eats. I also know that she knows she is not allowed to ask for a change.

"Yeth, Momma, Lidy 'ungry," Lidia tells me as I lift her from her crib and place her on my hip, making sure to mush as much if her mess into her butt as possible as I carry her out into the living room and sit in the couch.

"Good, baby, because Mommy needs you to empty me out!" I say as I sit down, laying Lidia on the couch with her head in my lap and pop her pacifier out of her mouth. I pull out my breasts, exposing my nipples that are now dripping with my creamy white milk.

Lidia looks at my massive, milky breasts with disgust. She then shuffles her body in discomfort, probably trying to get to where she can't feel the shit sitting in the back of her pants. But, as she is expected to, she opens her mouth like a hungry baby and waits for me to help her latch.

I smile in satisfaction at how well trained Lidia is now. Hundreds, if not thousands, of punishments, tears, and public humiliations have turned Lidia from the bully who loved to play mommy to my perfect bratty little girl.

I grab Lidia by the back of the head and pull her mouth up to my left breast. I moan in pleasure as she begins to suckle, relieving the pressure that's been building for hours. I run my hand through Lidia's hair lovingly.

"That's it, good girl," I moan out as Lidia continues to suckle.

The relief of pressure, the dominant feelings I am having, and the knowledge of how much Lidia hates this is incredibly arousing. Like almost every time I feed Lidia, I'm tempted to rub myself. I resist though, and settle for throwing my head back and closing my eyes, imagining what tortures I can work up for Lidia next.

While my eyes are closed, I feel Lidia's hand drift up to my breast and begin to press. I'm not concerned by this. She does this often to help fully empty me, and, frankly, the pressure feels good.

I keep my eyes closed and moan as she suckles me with her mouth and milks me with her hand. I didn't notice as her hand drifted to the magically ruby pendant on my necklace. I didn't feel her grip it firmly in her fist.

Before I realize what is happening, I did feel Lidia unlatch from my breast and hear her rapidly call out a wish.

NEXT CHAPTER

[aemondsquill]

In The Dark Of My Room

Aemond Targaryen × Reader

Just a short lil story while I finish my other one🥰

Synopsis: Aemond's darling wife dies and Alicent Hightower fears he has lost himself to madness

Warnings: Grief, violence, death, mentions of smut, bro is murderous, mentions of drinking and substance abuse, choking, angst, lmk if I missed any

Aemond's wife had been cold in the ground for a week. He could not bring himself to attend her funeral, rather locking himself in his chambers drinking himself into a stupor. The enticing chilled wines and meads were the only anesthetic to his grief.

There were times when he drank enough, a dizzying and sickening amount, that would allow him to catch a whiff of her soft flowery scent floating in the dust that swirled in the beams of sunlight. This mere taste of her was not enough, he needed more. He craved more.

When the wine could not sate his yearning for his beloved lady he sent for milk of the poppy and allowed it to addle his mind.

His eye was nearly blinded by the swimming vision, but his heart nearly stilled when he was able to catch glimpses of her. A soft swish of her hair, a faint giggle in his ear, and a soft touch on his shoulder.

"Wife...Are you there?"

To another's eyes the room was empty, but Aemond could finally see her in the flesh. The blackened night darkened the corners in his chambers, but he could make out her lovely curves beneath her pale nightgown.

He stumbled over the furniture to reach her, hissing when his body made contact with the sharp corners, but ever determined to reach her.

Aemond was within an arm's reach when he lunged forward and came in contact with nothing but a curtain. Frustration burned like dragon fire in his chest as he let out a wail.

His fists made endless contact with the stone wall, splitting his knuckles and splintering his bones. The blood stained the wall and splattered on his chest.

The pain folded his knees, landing on all fours and letting out heaving breaths. She was so close, just right in front of him, taunting him. 'Death turned her into a cruel woman' he thought.

A breathy sigh pulled him out of his self-pity, head turning sharply to the opposite corner. There she stood, grinning her sweet smile.

"Please, my love, do not torment me so."

It was a beg for mercy. Aemond always thought the act of begging was beneath him, a pathetic display for any man. But in his despair, he'd crawl through the Seven Hells just for a taste of her lips once more.

Aemond let out a gasping breath, tears burning his eye, and heavy mush weighing down his head.

"Just...Just stay here. With me. Please."

He began his slow stalking towards the darkened corner. His shoulders were slumped and his hands trembling fiercely at the thought of her tricking him again.

Aemond fell to his knees once he reached her. She stood silently, watching him curiously. His eye fell shut and he could smell her lavender perfume, the scent soothing his aches.

A gentle hand on his cheek caused a burst of euphoria to spike through his skin. The mere ecstasy rendering him delirious as his arms wrapped tightly around her legs, much like a child clinging to his mother.

Aemond pressed gentle, frantic kisses to any part of her body he could reach from such an angle, tears leaking heavily from his eye.

"You cannot leave me again, I will not allow it."

It was a demand. The obsession clear in his voice, and again, she said nothing, only smiling at him gently. His chest squeezed painfully and his voice wobbled heavily as he spoke.

"You are a wicked woman for inflicting this pain upon me."

She leaned down, brushing his disheveled platinum hair out of his face and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Aemond, who are you talking to?" The voice of his mother rang through the room. Aemond's head turned toward the door to his chamber where his mother had just entered. With a whip of his hair he looked back to where his wife was, but could only find the thin air.

It felt like loosing her all over. Completely unbearable, a nauseating stab to his heart. A hateful eye burned into his mother's figure.

With murderous intent and red rimmed eyes, the prince approached his mother. Her eyes widened in fear and she flinched away from him.

"You frightened her and now she has left me again!"

Alicent felt his breath hitting her face harshly as he roared. She fumbled over her words, attempting to reach his sanity, "Aemond, n-no one is here... You are alone..."

"No, she was just here! I kissed her and touched her!" Alicent felt a weight in her chest at his words.

"My dear, you have lost yourself to madness, to grief! She is dead and buried! You cannot lock yourself away with a ghost!"

Only Aemond's ragged breathing could be heard in the chamber. Alicent took a moment to look over her son, her precious Aemond who was so deliriously drunk with sorrow.

His fine hair in knots, blood staining his hands, and his ribs beginning to poke through his skin. Her heart broke at his appearance.

She approached him gently, as if coaxing a wounded animal. Her hand laid on his cheek as he collapsed onto her, the weight of his anguish to heavy for him to bear.

Alicent cradled him tightly, afraid they'd both crumble to the floor if her strength faltered.

Fury trickled into Aemond's heart. She had been the one to scare his wife away just as he was rekindling his happiness. He pulled away from his mother harshly before wrapping his broken hands around her throat.

Alicent's large brown eyes widened at the action, confusion and fear coloring her irises. Her nails scratched against his pale wrists, desperately fighting for air.

"You will not keep her from me." His seething voice was laced in hatred and venom, a combination that he deemed appropriate for his enemies. And to him, his mother became his enemy. Anyone who dared disturb his delusions would feel his wrath.

His teeth were bared in a vicious snarl as he watched the life seep from his mother's eyes.

He quickly abandoned her corpse in favor of another swig of milk of the poppy, delighting in the thought of seeing his undead bride.

"Where are you, my love? No one will disturb us now."