Ieyasu with Tip of Toe please, just to max out the difficulty level hehehe. If not the waist would be lovely too! Please and thank you!
Anonymous: You’re amazing! Would love to see what you can do with Ieyasu and “tip of the toe”~
Ieyasu + Tip of the Toe (worship/idolise)
It comes out like a snake, slithering past his lips and coiling itself around her chest. She won’t look at him for fear of giving too much away, but if he only knew what his voice did to her, chest pounding, the Archer of Tokai would not be giving her that particular look.
“Will you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” she asks. And she really won’t be doing anything, perched as she is on the porch near his bedroom, legs swinging, his warmth close enough to set her alight.
“Do you think this is funny? Stop right this instant.”
His scowl sets her mind aflame. She doesn’t stop thinking just how delicious it would be to kiss that face of his. With no warning. To sling her arms around his neck and press herself into that chest. How irritated he would be as her fingers grope inside to feel the skin that binds his heart away.
“Kitchen wench.” His hand shoots out, and she’s betting it will land near her face, or grasp at her arms, but it flies so off course and seizes her thigh, squeezing hard, that her body will shoot fireworks out of her brain for the sudden sizzle it elicits.
“I will only tell you one more time. Stop it.”
“Milord, perchance you’re distracted?”
And she won’t be able to stop teasing him. She puts a brake on her legs, and they slowly settle into a slight swaying, the motion soft enough to set her sandal bobbing up and down. With each back and forth, her kimono slides up revealing the most tantalising bit of skin; a roadmap of sin from her ankles up and up and up into the unknown.
She knows how it must look — absurdly distracting in that orderly mind of his — and the knowledge thrills her.
“How dare you.” But it comes out too soft, too choked, too breathy.
“Forgive me.” She doesn’t mean a single word, not when her sandal goes flying off, arching not too far away into the garden against a spot of sunlight. In a movement that sends her pulse careening off a cliff she lifts her foot and settles it in his lap, gazing at him through lashes at once provocative and unrestrained.
Oh, she feels the storm. It won’t be coming from the sky, but billowing at her side. Electricity sparks off him, and she sees how he fights with himself. She can’t tell if he’s furious or aroused. Or furiously aroused. Her toes will curl in anticipation either way.
He lets her have it, that’s for sure, ranting and raving like the child she’s so fond of, but it will escape him how her smile curves just a little higher, the amusement rolling into a wave before it bursts out of her in clipped tones, loud and giddy.
“You’ve gone and done it now. I will have your head.”
Her back arches in delight and she struggles for words. “You’d— Milord, you’d— You’d make a better case of it if you weren’t so— distracted!”
And he’ll look down and almost gag for how his hand has moved from her thigh to her feet, fingers clasped around the pesky appendage and sending tickles all over. He looks so much like a lost deer she doubles over, almost sending herself off the platform if not for his tight grasp around her toes.
She won’t. “Give us a kiss, milord, and I won’t mention this to Tadatsugu.”
For all the huffing and puffing, and for all the good it does him to glare at her, he will surprise her because she means a kiss on her lips, not the one he plants on her toes, soft and achingly warm, hair tickling the space of skin between her ankle and the edge of her kimono. It shuts her up immediately, and a longing so fierce contracts in her gut.
His look is hell itself. “If you mention this to anyone, dung beetle, I will–”
“–kill me, right?”
And she won’t feel the pinch at her feet because her head will be rolling so far into the clouds he’ll have to reach up and bring her down himself.
It had been three years since he’d last seen that smile. Castiel thought he’d never see it again. After the accident, Dean had been diagnosed with amnesia, and his father took him and Sam to a different city, wanting to keep him away from Castiel. Back then, Castiel was only seventeen, and didn’t even have a car of his own, so there wasn’t much he could’ve done.
His own parents not approving of their relationship hadn’t helped either.
But he was twenty now, restarting a life as a barista in this new city he’d barely had time to grow used to; New York. He’d thought that there, no one would recognise him. No one would look at him with pity, no one would talk about how broken he was after Dean left.
But now here he was, Dean Winchester, plastering one of the signature smiles he’d fallen in love with years ago. For the way he smiled, though, he was sure Dean didn’t remember yet. At least, he didn’t remember him. He was cocky, but not cocky enough to stand unaltered in front of him like that.
“So, what about that latte?” He raised an eyebrow, unaware of Cas’ internal trail of thought.
“Coming right up.” He said quickly, turning to write the order down in the old computer. “So, what was your name again?” He cleared his throat, daring to look back at him.